1 June; Rifles on Retreat

There were shouts from men and screams from horses, amid the ringing clash of rifle shots. The hot wash of breath from a horse streamed over Mayden's face as he flinched, unable to help it, as a Frenchman kicked his mount mercilessly to force it over the hedge of steel.

Somebody behind Mayden howled. The anguished bellow distracted him further. It was a mistake. An instant later, he was struck by what felt like hammer blows and was knocked off-balance. Dammit but he'd just been ridden over! Recovering was pure reflex. Mayden jabbed his fixed sword upward and was immediately rewarded with an equine shriek of pain. His blade had pierced the horse through the belly.

Damn, damn, damn!! The French had broken the line somehow!

There was a horse above him and the rider was slicing down with his sabre. Vickery parried the blow, desperately. Somehow he deflected the blow, but not completely, and as he twisted away, he felt a flare of pain along his side. He was aware that next to him, Cavender had let out a howl of anger.

The line had nearly collapsed now and Vickery couldn't spare a moment to tell them to head up into the hills, where the horses couldn't pursue them. He just hoped that they would have enough sense to do so without having to be told. They were Riflemen, though - and that meant they could think for themselves.

Something caught him on the side of the head, and he saw stars.

"Fire! Fire into 'em, for God's sake!" Sergeant Talbot levelled his rifle and tugged at the trigger, managing to knock down the Frenchman who'd struck at a 60th man. "Mind your backs!"

This was going to be a rout very quickly, if they couldn't rally and close the gaps through which the French were pressing.

Cotton scowled and hastily shifted right, trying to move a little closer to where the horse had got through. If they couldn't close up, the consequences didn't bear thinking about. He hated firing and loading with swords fixed, but there was no other option with the horses so close.

Though if they got any closer, he was going to damn unfix his sword. It'd be more use in his hand than on the muzzle of his rifle.

The horse he'd skewered was flailing as it fell, knocking men about in their heads and shoulders as it went down. Mayden spat and shuddered, feeling hideously tainted as the animal's blood soaked into his jacket. Yuck yuck yuck.

"They broken through!" Somebody bellowed, sounding terrified. "Run, lads!"

No, Mayden thought fiercely. Run? What the hell was the use in that? There was no running. Not here! He twisted and managed to get up to his knees again. There was a line to hold here, dammit!

The line had erupted into chaos around them, and Burke frowned at the panic. They were soldiers, damn them! And Riflemen at that.

There was no order to fall back from the officers, and they were all that was between the French and the baggage train. He grabbed the jacket of a younger man that went to dart past him, pulling the boy back into line.

"Oh, no y'don't, me lad," he said. "We ain't broke yet, and I'll wager ye've still got plenty o' shot for them Frogs."

Burke turned back to the loading of his own weapon, ignoring the stinging, burning pain in his left arm. He'd been grazed mostly, but it still hurt and there was blood soaking into the sleeve of his jacket. Unless it started damaging his ability to fire, there was no time to worry about it just yet.

Ben was trying to make sense in the melee. He was certainly not going to run and had made an attempt to keep one other from doing so. Only, he was not strong enough and the panick in the one was, indeed stronger. He looked to Mayden for guidance, barely able to catch a good glimpse of him too.

He felt some relief seeing another of the riflemen, Burke was the name , he thought, halt one more of the lads and got some sense into him. Only, he did not have any more time to look around, his hands tight on his rifle, his sword bayonet fixed. Officer down? Maybe, who knew, Sharpe was still up, would be. He was after all..well.. Sharpe.

Captain Vickery had gone down, felled by a sabre-stroke. Sharpe had no idea whether the officer was dead or alive, but it didn't matter right now. Command devolved to him, as the senior Lieutenant. The fighting was as fierce as ever, maybe more so now, and their small line was perilously close to breaking.

And if that happened, Sharpe had only one thought: Get the riflemen, as many as he could, away, into the hills and circle around to reach the column from one flank or the other. But that was for later. Right now, it was time to fight and his blood was up.

He had his sword out now - the heavy cavalry sword gifted to him by Captain Murray in those other hills only a few short months ago. And it was suited to his height and strength, and he wielded it efficiently, using its weight.

"Close up!" he bellowed. They could not let the horses through - could not afford to let the horses through, to split the line and separate one half of the mixed company from the other.

The shouted order brought several of the panicked men back under control. It was one thing to run when no officers were in sight - a completely other one to do so against orders. Burke found himself breathing an almost sigh of relief as the line formed up more solidly once more. They were not beat yet, and with Sharpe there he felt far more confident in their chances.

Something made Sharpe glance at the felled Captain. He was still clutching his sword, and the hand holding the hilt feebly opened and closed a couple of times.

He looked for Vickery's bugler. "Lad, get him back - he needs a surgeon," he said, wishing he could remember the boy's name. Hopefully they could get back far enough to be safe before the cavalry got through the weakening line.

"Hold it, lads - keep closed up there!" he shouted, turning back to the fight, as he saw the boy stoop to try to pull Vickery away.

The line stood firmer, shielded at the sides by the uneven terrain. The cavalry would come around again. And then Ben wondered if behind the cavalry there was a line of footsoldiers hiding as well. But they did not yet hear drums, so there was still hope they were only facing the horses.

Only, the cavalry had appeared to set forth the next part of their plan. They had broke through the line in part, succeeding in harming and trampling some, and injuring an officer. But the line regained its strength now. There was Sharpe shouting to keep them steady. And it appeared to work. The orders were translated in German which steadied even more lads.

He observed as carbines came into view. Each of the men, following the first line of attack, held one in hand, and the reins of the horse in the other. They would open their sides dangerously to the enemy, but when they did so, the men closest to the Rifle's line fired, This was quickly followed by the ones that had ridden in stride with them, but for the last turn, where they stalled. Stalled with the purpose to have a clear shot by crossing near the same spot a moment after their fellow rider.

It sounded like continuous ripple of shots, that followed the equine snake at the moment that it had to turn infront of the line of the riflemen. The smoke that this caused, concealed some of the riders as they came behind their surviving counterparts. They threaded careful enough to avoid their dead on the ground, their horses relatively steady.

Following them, without apparent reason or indication, the next collection of men attempted to break the line again, spurring their horses through the thick smoke.

"Clear those saddles!" Talbot snarled, dragging the ramrod out from the rifle barrel. He had, at most, only four more shots before the barrel was too fouled to load. The long sword-bayonet would be his sole weapon once that point was reached.

They would hold. They had to. If the line was broken again, chances were they'd be finished.