July 18th, 1809: Reporting in

The day was a warm one. It was the kind of day William liked: Warm, but not too warm, with a soft breeze, just hard enough to make the flags ripple over camp. It made him think of the slow days in Egypt, with the Coldstream Guards. Today, though, he was a Lieutenant, and he had just been ordered to report to his new regiment: The 60th Rifles. He had heard a few things about them, and had decided that it was a good regiment to serve with. Furthermore, a few fellow officers had told him that it's commander was a fair man, who, like William was the second son of a Viscount.

William dismounted his horse, and walked to the Captain's tent. After opening the tent flaps, he saluted and said "Leftenant William Weir, reporting in, sir"

Vickery looked up from his latest report. "Ah. Good morning, Lieutenant," he said, standing up and offering his hand to the new subaltern to shake. "You found us all right, then? he added, knowing that it wasn't necessarily easy to find one Division somewhere in the wilds of Spain, and definitely wasn't easy to find a single Company in a Division of soldiers.

William took the Captain's hand, and shook it. "I did, sir... I do wonder, though, why the camps are so far apart?" He replied to the Captain's question of whether or not he found the camp alright. It wasn't all that hard to find, really, after taking the wrong road a few times. Luckily, his horse, Thunderer, was a fast one, and thus he made it in time anyway. He was uncomfortable with a rather obvious fact, though: William was dressed in his red coat, whereas everyone else here seemed to be wearing green coats.

"Sir... I was unaware of the regiment's colours, since I still have my red coat from the Coldstreamers, while everyone here is wearing green."