1st June, night; campfire

Wilhelm sat beside a smaller campfire near his tent. The night wasn't cold but the fire still felt good. He sipped a cup of coffee.

He felt a bit tired but generally good. There were these short moments of peace when he could actually enjoy the beauty of this country, the calm night, and thought about coming back, just to see more, if the war ever ends. Right now it wasn't very likely. Bonaparte kept them busy and Wilhelm was thankful for at least that - war was the only thing he was familiar with. Sometimes he mused about what he'd do without it but couldn't really imagine. Marry? He couldn't marry a lady of the right class till he clears the family's name. And somehow, the idea seemed odd to him. Could a killer like him ever become a good father and a loving husband?

He knew Gerald wanted to marry. His brother found an Italian love - he visited her when he could, but duty kept them apart for long. He remembered how they parted last time: "No matter how long this war lasts, I'll come back to you!"

Will you? Will she wait? Will we even live to see our homeland?

He took a cigarillo from his pocket and lit it. He inhaled the sweet aroma. It was not just tobacco, the scent was much better. He bought them from an old camp-follower who made his own mix and kept the receipt secret.

Looking at the stars, he enjoyed this rare moment.

The day had been a long one, after too short a night. Up well before dawn to spend the day patrolling through this miserable terrain, protecting the army's flanks. It wasn't the flanks that had needed protecting, but it was rather too late for regrets now.

Billy Stubbins led his weary horse toward the 15th's bivouac, having retired to a safe distance to relieve himself. Being the ones forced to retreat meant it was unwise to stray too far from your horse. There was a noticeably subdued mood hanging over the hussars' camp but, some distance away, Stubbins caught the scent of tobacco smouldering. Somebody had a pipe and was enjoying himself.

A longing for tobacco for his pipe, and not a little envy, spurred Stubbins to change his direction and head toward the source of the sweet-smelling smoke. To his dismay, however, he discovered the smoker was an officer and one of the KGL hussars at that. Still. Tobacco was tobacco...

"Evenin', sir," the trooper greeted cautiously.

Cold but a bit dreamy gray-green eyes looked at Stubbins. Wilhelm gave a smile, but it was more amused than friendly. The poor wretch was so obviously hungry for a bit of tobacco...

"Evening" he said in a slow voice. He had a light accent and spoke with a little more air than necessary, so he always sounded searing like the wind on a summer night. It was a strange contrast with his cold look and manner.

Why make it easy for him? Let the guy work for it a bit.

Between the steady gaze and the laconic response, Stubbins got the distinct impression that his intrusion was unwelcome. And why would it be anything else? A lowly trooper, daring to approach an officer from another regiment... what had he been thinking?

"Fine night of it, sir," he ventured. "Even for a retreat."

"So it would seem" he answered, taking another sniff. It always calmed him down.

He hated retreat. He was always taught death was better than surrender, and retreat was almost surrendering. It was not the first nor would be the last in this war, and Wilhelm had some common sense that told him dying in battle is not always the best choice, but his pride was still hurt. Will they ever be able to defeat Bonaparte on dry land?

Anyway, tactics and chances were not something to discuss with a common soldier.

Perhaps Boney will be foolish enough to attack Russia. Wilhelm knew history and remembered how the Teutonic Knights failed at that. And what was this Corsican compared to them?

He looked at the soldier with a little mocking smile. A good man no doubt... and all he wanted was a fine cigar. Well, he might get one, Wilhelm thought... if he proves worthy.

This officer was obviously not an amiable sort. His tone didn't seem to allow much room for responses. Still... Stubbins found himself wondering where the German cavalry had been while the 15th had been getting torn to shreds.

"See much action yesterday, sir?"

"Not as much as I wanted. Got a few cuts... but it only made appetite for a good killing. The fun was stopped way too early. Only six Frogs to carve on my rifle."

Their colonel ordered them to retreat with the others, and Wilhelm thought not too nice things about the old man's mother.

Stubbins very nearly snorted. He couldn't recall seeing the Germans engaged, not where the French cavalry had been. Unless those devious bastards had employed dragoons on the right of the line as well.

"Maybe, sir," the trooper said with a slight shrug. In his opinion, the 'fun' had stopped just in time. The infantry had taken a bad battering before the 15th had finally been allowed to advance. They'd taken a beating of their own by the time the whole mess had finally ended.

"Should've been on the left, sir. There was plenty of Frogs there."

"That's up to our leaders, sadly."

He wasn't too satisfied with the placing of his men, and even less with how the battle went.

The colonel still thinks this war can be won if we fight the old-fashioned, gentlemanly way. Bullshit.

He looked over the man again.

Wasn't everything. That was far from a suitable answer. Officers were supposed to know things, or at least tell convincing lies. Fobbing off responsibility like that just didn't seem like good enough to Stubbins.

"Ain't known Old Nosey to make bad mistakes, sir," he observed. "Not like that. It ain't his way!"

"We should've been placed to the left as you say, and we weren't."

He continued to smoke.

It was one thing what he thought about the leaders, especially about his old colonel, but that didn't mean he'd tolerate a Brit call his men more or less openly cowards, just because they weren't allowed to the place they would be needed most.

Stubbins couldn't help but lift an eyebrow in surprise. Was this officer admitting doubt? Disagreement with the judgment of his betters? It was hard to tell, but it was interesting all the same.

"Maybe you oughta take it up with the Staff, sir," the trooper remarked, being unusually bold. He couldn't quite resist it. This officer had provided him the opening, after all.

"I tried a few times. Our good colonel say usually said:" he imitated the old man's accent perfectly: " 'Sehl gute Idee, Hell von Blandt' which roughly means he likes it... but he'll stop at liking."

He gave a sarcastic little smile.

The... colonel? Stubbins didn't understand the heavy smatter of German but he hardly needed to. The broader meaning was clear.

"Colonel, sir?" He asked, affecting a lack of understanding.

"The German Legion's leader. Count von Ortisburg."

Of course it was possible Stubbins didn't meet their colonel as Ortisburg didn't like to mix with "commoners" but surely he had seen him in battles before.

Whoever that was.

"Ah. He's on the Staff, sir?" Stubbins was no slouch as an actor. Pretending to be clueless was not at all difficult. It helped that most officers considered their men to be less than intelligent.

"Yes, he is."

Unfortunately. The colonel was a good man, but not really talented. He wanted to fight nicely and gentlemanly and it was just ridiculous in a war like this.

The trooper blinked, then schooled his face into impassivity. "I see, sir," he said. Even though he didn't. Not really. "Who's your regiment's colonel, sir?"

"Colonel von Ortisburg. Hard to miss if you see him... he wears our uniform and he often runs around in those old-fashioned wigs."

From the sound of it, this fellow had little enough love for his regiment's chief.

"Must be somebody brilliant, sir, if he's colonel of your regiment an' on the Staff. If you don't mind me sayin', sir."

Actually, the colonel was just a fool but from the right family and with money. Wilhelm knew that. He didn't fight too many actual wars and was nto the best tactician.

"Of course... he has a lot of experience."

He did... but never learned from it, actually.

Undoubtedly he did. "Does he spent a lot of time with Old Nosey's lot, then, sir?"

"Yes... although he doesn't speak English so well. It's hard to learn a new language in old age."

Ah.

"Reckon it must be nice, bein' part of that lot up there," Stubbins mused. "Have you met the general, sir?"

William was tired and couldn't sleep he wasn't used to battle and even less defeat, the images of death and blood and the smell of gunpowder along with the sound of guns fireing was still in his head so he had trouble sleeping although he knew he needed it but he wanted to be tired enough to avoid any nightmares aswell as laying there thinking of the fight he needed to get his mind of stuff so he had taken a walk.

He had taken a walk around the camp not walking to far from the tent or the horse he had walken over and layed down on the ground looking at the sky relaxing while trying not to think of anything which was easier said then done but he got along while just starring into the air while not thinking atleast not about war although it was hard when you covered the retreat.

After maybe half an hour William heard talking, he hadn't expected to hear talking at this moment but non the less he did, he stood up and walked towards where he had heard the talking and saw stubbins talking to an officer of kind he wasn't all to sure on the uniform but it didn't look like a common mans uniform.

Will approched and bowed his head to Wilhelm with the words "Evening, sir" before nodding to stubbins and saying with a lower voice "stubbins"