10 June; Formalities

Blackwood grinned. "Quite understandably, of course. Likewise my own experienced fellows will take a particular pleasure in showing off their own skills."

"I am sure they will relish the opportunity," Vickery replied. "A little competition is very healthy, after all. I fear that you and I will have our work cut out to ensure that it does not get too competitive, however."

"Undoubtedly," Blackwood agreed. "Though I should not like to be any of my lads who let themselves get too carried away."

That made Vickery chuckle. He wondered if the Light Company officers would appreciate a private target-shooting session, hosted by the officers of the 60th. It would be impolitic to ask in the presence of a Sergeant, however, and he made a mental note to send an invitation privately later on.

"Would any of your lads like the chance to try firing a rifle, do you think?" he asked instead, preparing to add time for that if Blackwood thought they would.

He considered that for a moment before nodding. "A few may," he replied. The thought drew a chuckle from him. "Though perhaps I should be afraid you may end up with one or two converts from it."

"Allow me to reassure you that I have no intention of recruiting any of your men, Captain," Vickery said hastily.

"I don't imagine you do," Blackwood replied with a grin. "But I shouldn't be surprised if there was even one volunteer."

Vickery wondered if Blackwood would try to prevent anyone from joining. He was not of a mind to deliberately try recruiting men from other regiments; he preferred gaining recruits from outside the serving army, if he could, if only because it would give him a bad name among the Line regiments, and he could ill afford that.

"Are you considering putting on a green jacket yourself, then?" he asked lightly.

The Guards captain shook his head. "Were I junior, I might say yes. But I find I rather like this little niche I have scraped out for myself."

Never mind that there would be nowhere to put him even if he was of a mind to move regiments.

"Your niche does come with a very smart uniform, admittedly." Vickery grinned, looking down at his own green jacket and comfortable leather-reinforced overalls and boots. "I think it would take a deal too much polish for me to be comfortable as a Guardsman."

"It is no place for some, whatever the reason," Blackwood acknowledged with a glance at his own uniform. Spotless white trousers and tailored red jacket. "But I submit that even we are not always so favoured in Society as a dashing fellow in green."

"Even us fellow in green may be edged out by the Sweeps," Vickery replied, flicking a piece of lint from the red cuff of his jacket. "But really, what can you expect of fellows such as them? Those of us in green are quite dull in comparison to the scarlet and gold lace favoured by those in the Line."

Here, Blackwood grinned. "If I am honest, I find it somewhat difficult to envy those who wear more gold than red. I did not enter the army to be a staff officer, after all."

"Yes. I would find it quite restricting, being a Staff officer." He indicated the riflemen going about their business in the bivouac. "It is quite refreshing to be a Company officer, especially on detached service."

It was also quite challenging, for a fairly junior officer to have no regular contact with his seniors and to be trusted to do outpost duty without a Major breathing down his neck at frequent intervals.

"Indeed. This is perhaps as high as I have ambition to go," Blackwood admitted.

It was higher than his father had predicted he would make it, anyway. But of course his father had heartily disapproved of the move when Blackwood had announced it. Old regimental pride had been wounded, after all. That was leaving out the matter of funds, as Blackwood had essentially exhausted his own in obtaining his present commission.

"Is it so very different, being separate from your regiment?"

"It is different, admittedly. There is more independence than there is when the regiment is together, although certain things are admittedly more difficult, like forming a regimental court martial."

Court-martial. There had been one of those unpleasant proceedings not too long ago.

"The latter aside, such an arrangement does sound rather ideal."

"One does find that senior officers do tend to pay more attention when one has an independent command. Well, to some extent they do, anyway." It was a freedom that he was still getting used to; he had only been promoted Captain just before Christmas, and the 60th had been all together in Lisbon, which meant that he had been pretty much under Major Davy's eye for the past four or five months.

Hm. Admittedly, Blackwood was no stranger to supervision, but he had long put that down to the nature of the regiment he was in.

"Perhaps. Though, like anything, one simply adjusts." He sipped his tea thoughtfully. "It is easier being Lights, I believe."

"Maybe. I have had my share of being in the Line and I do not believe I would choose to return to it," he said. His mother would probably have a fit if she heard him say that, of course, but then she had fits over the most innocuous of things. "Being a Light bob does require some nerve, of course," he added, draining the dregs of his tea onto the grass by his feet.

"As have I," Blackwood remarked. "Nerve and, ideally, some measure of sense as well."

No infantryman was any use if he had no grasp of good sense to balance out his nerve.

"Yes, that does help," Vickery answered. "I am not entirely sure how much of either I managed to display last week. Being faced with a battalion of cavalry is enough to try anyone."

Cavalry. Yes. Blackwood had suffered humiliation of his own recently as well, because of French dragoons. It was not a memory he cherished.

"I rather think we have all been somewhat surprised at our enemy having found some pluck," he commented.

"Yes. It does not do to underestimate the enemy, something I think I had forgotten. Or overlooked." Vickery shrugged. "To err is human, as they say. Although the man who does not learn from his mistakes is either dead or a fool, however."

"Quite."

In Blackwood's estimation, it was only sheer luck that he had not ended up both. A dead fool. It was a miracle he had retained his company, in fact.

"In future I suspect we both will be more cautious when there is cavalry about."