Last Night in Lisbon

"To marching back," said Harris, draining the glass. "When are you expecting the rest of your lot to march back? Because we could do with some old hands. We'll try to wait for you."

"Dunno, really. Hopef'lly soon. I miss the lads."

Davenport took a healthy swallow from his mug and shrugged. "Whenever they come's when they come. We'll have a march-out of our'n own once they do though!"

Harris nodded. He couldn't say that he missed the rest of the Regiment, but Sharpe had turned his collection of men into a fighting unit worth belonging to. To be out on your own, with just an officer, and to see everyone else march off to fight - that would make you long for the others to catch up, so that you could be part of anything that happened.

"We'll leave some work for your lot to do then," he said. "Much as we'd like to finish the Frogs off next week, and all go home."

Davenport grinned. "Glad fer it, m'lad. Shouldn't be too long 'fore the Cornwalls finally float theirselves in anyway."

He looked around for the barmaid. The two green jackets had to leave in the morning and he wanted to give them a proper send-off, since he knew he wouldn't make it to the formal marching out. " 'Nother bottle, barmaid!"