A tavern somewhere in Lisbon

Hagman didn't mind him asking at all. He liked to have some company and the brandy made him talkative.
"Na, that's all right, lad. Ya see, being from the ranks he understands us lads allright, knowing how it is, being the scum of the earth. But dealin' with other officers, propper officers that is, is a damn hell. They look at him with scorn down their snobby noses."
He made a face at that and helped himself to more brandy.

Cotton realised suddenly that there was only one officer of the 95th hanging around Lisbon at the moment, and he'd been there when he, Cotton, had sent the other officer flying.

"I think I've seen him," he said slowly. "Don't he carry a long straight sword? 'Cause he were there when I ran into Captain Padstowe. He seemed all right. Leastways, I thought so."

Hagman nodded.
"Aye, straight sword, dirty blonde hair an' looking a bit out'a place, that'd be him. And he's damn all right, let me tell ya. Knows how to get himself inta trouble but also to get himself out'a it."

He paused, thinking for a moment. "Who's that Captain Padstowe then?"

Cotton had another mouthful of brandy. Hagman was right; it was better than the wine the landlord had offered him before.

"Not sure. Like I say, he's an officer in the 50th. He looked like he was quite friendly with your Mister Sharpe." He paused thoughtfully. "Only it was an officer in the Royal Engineers what sent me to find him."

Hagman grinned as he noticed Cotton quite taking to the brandy and wondering how used the lad was to trinking stronger liqueurs.

He was sure now that he didn't know that Captaine Padstowe. But at Cotton saying something of an Royal Engineer officer he snapped to full attention.
"Royal Engineers..." He knew only one bugger of the lot and this one always ment trouble, be it in the positive or negative sense.
"Would that be a certain Major Hogan that sent you?"

Cotton noticed Hagman's look of wariness and shrugged. "He didn't interduce himself to me, as you c'n imagine. Just grabbed me as I was passin' an' gives me a note and the order to find Captain Padstowe to give it to. Though I did hear someone else call him Major Hogan, so yeah."

Hagman didn't quite know how the information should affect him that Hogan was around. But one never knew what that old hag was up to.

"That might just be the man!"

He was not able to suppress the urge to question Cotton a bit more about the whole matter. He leaned back again and drained the rest of his brandy. "Did ya happen ta hear anything of their conversation, boy? Just accidentally I mean, 'course."

Cotton bristled at the use of the word 'boy', but let it pass. The other Rifleman must have been near twice his age, after all.

"He wanted me to let Captain Padstowe know that the General was goin' to arrive shortly." He took another pull at his mug. "He's been in England long enough, after all." He sighed. Nobody could accuse Cotton of being slow to pick up on things that might mean trouble for him and his mates. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to catch much of the conversation, that Hogan (whoever he was) was a fly bastard. For an officer.

"I know he wanted your Lieutenant Sharpe to be there as well, like, though he didn't say as much. Just gave me a note for Captain Padstowe, who said it was for your officer as well."

Hagman turned the information over in his head for a moment.
"So, Nosey's back then, finally... Not a bad thing at all."

He was pleased at Cotton's quickwittedness. The lad really seemed to be a good chap.
"Hogan never says what he really wants. That's always the way with him. Thing is, the old bugger only shows up when he wants Lieutenant Sharpe to go either on a bloody dangerous mission or to do the dirty work. Which is mostly the same thing. I'm wondering what he has in store for us this time..."

He grabed his rifle that stood against the table and layed it across his lap.
"As I said, me and the lass could do with a bit o' work."

Cotton raised his mug. "Here's to the bloody, fighting, 95th, the first into the field and the last out of it," he said, before growing serious. "That's what us Riflemen are there for, to run errands for Generals and such-like. Is that what you meant when you said having an officer from the ranks was easier and worse?"

Hagman grinned at Cotton's toast and the way the young man was getting drunk by the minute.
"Aye that's what I meant. Us getting even into deeper shit 'cause our damn officer isn't a propper officer, not in them 'real' officers's oppinion anyways. But I wouldn't want Sharpe change one bit for them. He's a damn fine man."

He took up his mug as to trink to that but realised that it was empty.
"More brandy, Cotton? This one's on you."

"So it is," Cotton replied, wondering just how drunk he was going to get. He made his way to the bar and got another two mugs of brandy.

"I don't suppose it helps that the rest of the 95th are still in England," he said, not wishing to sound critical. "And what with your officer only being a Lieutenant, not that I'm sure he isn't good at it, but it must make it easier for other officers to dump stuff on you."

He looked into his mug. "I ought not drink much more," he said, looking back p at his companion.

Hagman looked after Cotton who made his way to the bar quite steadily despite the brandy he'd been drinking. 'Decent chap. We could do with one or two like him in the 95th' he thought to himself.

He took the mug from Cotton and thanked him with a nod.
"That's what we're there for, officers, be them Lieutenants or others dumping fools' missions on us. But I wouldn't mind the 95th coming back here soon."

He grinned when Cotton looked into his mug and stated he shouldn't drink so much. He felt the brandy getting to his head himself a bit already.
"Why's that? Having a nice Lisbon girl waiting fa ya somewhere tonight, eh Cotton?" He looked at him with a twinkle in his eye.

He tried to imagine being away from his company with just few others and an officer, and decided he was glad he was in the 60th.

"Soldiers shouldn't be away from their own regiments for too long, stands to reason."

"I ain't got a girl, no. I have got some mates who'll start wonderin' a sight too much if I get back to me billet half-cut, though."

"Me and the lads keep to ourselves most o' the time anyways, even when being with the 95th. But you're right, one always should be in the company of others during war."

On Cotton mentioning his mates Hagman thought of the other Chosen Men and wondered what they where up to at that moment.
"You could tell ya mates that you flattened an officer this afternoon and had to make up to him by drinkin' with him. No need to mention an ol' dog like me to them though."

He looked at the young rifleman with an earnest expression on his face and offering his hand.
"You're a fine chap, Mr. Cotton."

He added a bit more cheerfully. "Now, we shouldn't forget our little shooting contest. But better leave that to the morning. It's better done with a clear head. And finish our brandy first. Too us riflemen!"

He raised his mug and took a deep gulp.

"I'll drink to that!"

No, Cotton would mention Dan Hagman to his mates. A man could always use more friends and you never knew what might happen in the future.

But the future could take care of itself. And he found himself looking forward to their shooting competition.

"You're a grand man yourself, Mr Hagman. I'm sure your mates are proud of you."

Hagman studdied Cotton's face. He would give his last penny to know what was going on in the head of the lad at that moment. It was quite a sight to see the emotions flicker over the young features.

He found himself feeling a little embaressed because of the lad's kind words. He was getting old and drunk, not a all too good mixture, as it always made him a bit sentimental.

"Ah, me mates and me know what to expect of oneanother. Good shots and a fair amount of foolhardiness. We're Chosen Men allright."

"You have to know you can trust your mates, and they have to know they can trust you," he said, wondering if he'd ever meet Hagman and the other Chosen Men.

He was getting drunk, he knew he was, but he didn't really care.

The other man looked a little embarrassed, and Cotton wondered if it was something he'd said.

He thought of his own mates and decided he agreed with Hagman's assessment. "Having a good officer helps as well, of course. And I know you've got a good officer in your Mister Sharpe."

Hagman had to agree with Cotton.
"Aye, a good officer an' his mates, that's what a soldier needs"

He looked around the tavern and thought it wouldn't do any harm if he'd sing a tune. He was quite drunk and in the mood for one. So he sat up straight and took a sip of his brandy. He thought of a song.

It was not exactly anything to do with a good officer or loyal mates, but he always liked it. So he sang in a soft low voice.

Here I sit on Buttermilk Hill
Who can blame me, cryin' my fill
And ev'ry tear would turn a mill,
Johnny has gone for a soldier.

Me, oh my, I loved him so,
Broke my heart to see him go,
And only time will heal my woe,
Johnny has gone for a soldier.

I'll sell my rod, I'll sell my reel,
Likewise I'll sell my spinning wheel,
And buy my love a sword of steel,
Johnny has gone for a soldier.

I'll dye my dress, I'll dye it red,
And through the streets I'll beg for bread,
For the lad that I love from me has fled,
Johnny has gone for a soldier.

Cotton sat back and listened. The older man had a pleasant singing voice, and Johnny has gone for a soldier was a favourite among some of the other British members of the 60th.

When he had ended the song Hagman leaned forward and took his mug. He drank the last of the brandy. No wonder he felt a bit dizzy, the mug already being empty again.

He looked up, first at Cotton then around the tavern. He hoped the sad song hadn't affected the lazy but cheerful atmosphere too much.
He wondered what to do next. Drink some more or get a move on?

"So, Cotton. What are your plans for the rest o' the day? Do ya have ta be on duty tonight?" He rather hoped he didn't considering the state the young man was in now.

"No, but I'm supposed to be doin' dinner for my squad this evenin'." He had a sudden thought. "If you're plannin' on goin' anywhere, keep away from the harbour for a bit; there's too many officers down there for the likes of us."

A grin spread across his face at Cotton's advice.
"I'll keep that in mind, lad. Had no intention of going to the harbour anyways. Not only too many officers but too many rogues aswell."

He chuckled at his own words. "But then again that's almost the same, ain't it."

"Where are the 60th stationed?"

"We're all over the place. Me, I'm billeted just up the road on the left. There's a butcher's opposite, you can't miss it."

"Then, when shall I have the honour to meet you for the shooting, Cotton?"
He hoped that that damn bugger Hogan wouldn't take this pleasuer from him by sending Sharpe and the rest away too soon.