Dinner at Vickery's

[OOC: Have a nice time! And I hope you'll have something better than stew.]

Padstowe's face took on a thoughtful expression.

"I suppose," he said, taking up his glass. "That he wants to even things out throughout the army a little. The 95th, as you know, are still in England and probably won't be back out until later this year - and for Rifles the 60th is all he's got. I think what he's doing is seeing if it will be practical to disribute you amongst the regular line regiments so that there ill be Rifles free to engage the enemy in more places than had you still been part of one Batallion. Un-lumping the Rifles, if that makes any sense."

(OOC - Nothing wrong with stew. We had pizza, though.)

It made sense.

"I hope the redcoats don't think we can't do the job we're supposed to because we wear green and have a different approach to things. I don't suppose by any means that all redcoats are as open-minded as you, Sir Arthur and my Lord Edrington."

Open-minded was the last description Padstowe wouldhave chosen for Lord Edrington, but perhaps Vickery had made a better impression on the man.

"Not all, I grant you," he said in between mouthfuls. "Many are still too used to the idea of toy soldiers; neat lines of bright uniforms and banners that won't show the blood too much when they're torn down. It's possible that they view the tactics of firing and loading in cover as dishonourable and dangerous, and I do admit that I can see where they're coming from. You've been in the Line yourself, and you know how dangerous it usually is to let men get into cover during a fight - there's always the possibility they won't come out again. Not that I believe your men would do such a thing, but I can appreciate where those officers' fear springs from."

Vickery had been eating his own food while Padstowe was talking and there was a bit of a pause as he finished his own mouthful before speaking. "That's why we work differently to the Line regiments; we have to be able to trust the men to fight, so we demonstrate that trust off the field as well. Some people would call our discipline 'lax', but I think it's stricter than they realise, though a lot of it has to come from the men themselves."

He paused to have some wine. "Discipline imposed by others, by the officers, is more visible and appears to be harsher, whereas the punishments and discipline in the Rifles are felt more keenly because they demonstrate a loss of that trust we have in each other."

"In that case you must be lucky with your men," Padstowe said. "The call for intelligence means that you are unlikely to get the hard cases. There are some men whose skin is so thick that only a lash will go through it. I don't like to see a man flogged, would rather see extra guard duty or drill or stopping his spirits; but there are some men who are a lost cause, beyond trust, and it is only fear of a flogging or worse that keeps them in order."

"We are lucky that we can choose who we want, whereas other regiments are more limited in the recruits they can get. That is not to say that we wouldn't flog if we needed to, but with us, it is a last resort and we will try other methods first. Like the time I had two men absent themselves from the fighting, so I made them stand outside the privies for a couple of hours, each one wearing a woman's cap. I didn't have any more trouble with them after that."

Padstowe wondered which bitwould have been worse; the humiliation of the caps or the smell of the privies?

"Have you ever had any serious cases of breaches of discipline?"

[OOC: Am being kicked off the computer to go to bed. No fair. ]

"Only once since arriving in Lisbon. I caught a Rifleman sleeping on guard, and he was brought to a court-martial and flogged. He could have been shot, of course, but he had a good record up to that point. He transferred to another Company soon after he came out of hospital. I think that's the worst case in this Company. But you saw the Punishment Book, didn't you?"

(OOC - Awww. No fair! See you tomorrow?)

"I did."

He had, and it spoke for itself - by the simple fact that it had remarkably little in it.

Vickery himself hadn't seen a Punishment Book with so few incidents in it, over the same space of time, in a redcoat company.

"I hope that Colonel Edrington will agree that we have very few disciplinary incidents, and will not need to worry about how we maintain discipline."

That was one of the things that worried Vickery slightly, even after the conversation he had had with Edrington.

"I'm sure he will; he strikes me as a reasonable sort of fellow."

Once you got past the prickly bit if him. Like a hedgehog, probably.

Though why he was suddenly thinking of the Earl of Edrington as a hedgehog he had no idea... He took another gulp of wine to supress the feeling of increduality.

"I hope so. I think I persuaded him of our record, though he may take a bit more persuading should anything actually happen. He didn't ask to see any papers, strangely, so I don't know."

And Cotton had been looking a little uneasy throughout the whole conversation. It couldn't have been easy to listen to, as a private soldier, of course.

"He only arrived here a couple of days ago," Padstowe said. "I suspect he's still catching up on his own battalion's paperwork."

Vickery nodded. "There's always a pile of paperwork to be caught up on when you've been away, even for a couple of days."

There was a lapse in conversation as both men took the opportunity to eat more from their plates. Padstowe was a little self-conscious of eating with a spoon in public, but that Vickery was using one as well made things a little better. Though still being in the knowledge that Cotton had seen him hopelessly drunk on only two bottles of wine and not only had to help him home but undress and put him to bed was enough to make a tad uncomfortable. He doubted the young man would say anything, but it was still somewhat embarrassing.

There was an uneasy lull in the conversation, and Vickery cast about for something interesting to say.

"Have you known Lieutenant Sharpe for long?" he said in the end, and could have kicked himself. What an inane question to ask!

"About a month," he said. A small smile came to his lips. "Feels a lot longer, though. I believe I could go so far as to call him my friend, and that I have to honour to be his as well."

From what little Vickery had seen of Sharpe, he did not offer his friendship lightly.

"I don't think there are many men who could call themselves his friends," he said. "He is an unusual man, from what little I have seen of him. Unusual, but good at what he does."

"You should wait to see him in action, which you doubtless will," Padstowe said, his smile widening. "You will be in for a rare spectacle."

"Oh?" That sounded intriguing. "A good fighter, is he?"

Padstowe wagged his head in mock consideration.

"More or less. He has a few tricks of the trade which tend to surprise even the most seasoned veteran. Crafty as a fox and viscious as an alley cat."

"I take it you've seen him in action, then?" This was getting more and more interesting. Vickery leaned forward, forgetting his dinner and almost put his elbow in his plate, Cotton let out a startled squeak and whipped the plate away in the nick of time.

Padstowe could not help it and laughed at Cotton's reaction.

"Careful, John; it would be a shame to waste your dinner."

Cotton was left standing there, Captain Vickery's dinner in his hand and an embarrassed look on his face.

"Beg pardon, sir," he said, putting it back down. "Only you nearly had your arm in that."

Vickery looked a little rueful. "So I did. It would have been a waste, too. Thank you, Cotton."

He ate another mouthful before speaking again. "So what is Lieutenant Sharpe like in action, then?"