On Picquet Duty (6th Night)

It was a dark, moonless night. Cloudless, and away from the cooking fires, the stars were scattered across the sky. They were close enough to the mountains to feel the cold, that seemed to roll down once the sun had set. Williams stamped his feet. Last time, it had all seemed rather pointless - the only French in the vicinity were likely to have been the dead ones the Riflemen had found and buried. Now they knew there was a company of Grenadiers, if not a whole regiment - possibly even cavalry. They'd picked up that Hussar who had tangled with a troop of French cavalry. Joe Gordon, who was on picquet with him, was on edge, and constantly checking his musket, his cartridges, the hang of his bayonet... And muttering all the time under his breath. Williams, trying to be more relaxed, found that his own nerves were becoming frayed. For the fourth time he whispered: "Stop it, Joe. I can't hear anything for you fidgetting."

Major Winwood scrambled back to the piquet line. He prayed that he was not recognised by anyone during his altercation with Captain Hunter. However, he knew that should Hunter get into trouble with Wellesley he would own to being the guilty party. Suddenly he sensed the nervousness of the soldiers around him.
'Report', he hissed to someone.

Once the stray troopers had found a roadmarker that said 'Pombal 4mls' they had their bearings and turned south, where they expected the 2nd divisions camp to be.
They were back on the main road from Leiria to Coimbra and it was wide enough to ride four abrest. Sergeant Grey was in the first file and relieved that they were finally on their way back. He wondered if the division had already knowledge of the french troops so close to them and if there had been any skirmishes.

They were eager to return to their comrades and did not spare a thought about what they would look like, a cavalry troop approaching camp from the wrong direction.


[RL intrudes, I am off for tonight. Edrington and Sir Arthur have Grey's report]

Major Winwood froze when someone said that there might be French beyond the piquets. The worst thing was that there was a possibility of French cavalry being here. Suddenly he remembered being a Lieutenant in 34th Foot, alongside Hunter, an ensign at the time. He was a skinny youth, always cheerful and ready with a smile, if a little prone to getting lost in his own head. But in the battle everything changed: he didn't become battlecrased like a lot of men did, rather he became cold and calculating, killing the enemy with lighting quick movements. Major Winwood wished that Hunter was with him: he himself never learnt to keep a cool head in a fight.

It was nice, Grogan reflected absently, to know that there hadn't been any losses during the Rifles' brief skirmish earlier in the day. Of course, the fact that there had been a skirmish at all wasn't exactly a good thing itself. But still, no losses was a preferable outcome.

He stepped carefully along, mindful of how easy it might be to lose his footing in the dark. The picquets were placed around the camp and didn't require changing for a while yet. Yet, he was walking along the line anyway. Grogan supposed he was a little restless after hearing that there were French soldiers close by.

"Evenin' fellows," the corporal greeted the next pair of 27th men he came up on, taking care to remain at their backs. It wasn't lost on him that many of them were jittery and to accidentally approach from the front was to ask for trouble. "Quiet spot, this?"

Major Winwood saw the confident Corporal approach. That's who he needed.
'Corporal, stay with the men, will you? I'll go report to the Colonel'.

Williams cast a glance after the Major - he seemed almost as nervous as Private Gordon. "Deep quiet - just like Sunday evening ought to be. French there might be, but they aren't going to come up against an entire Division, now, are they?"

Grogan blinked in surprise. What was there an officer doing skulking around out here? "Yes sir," he said reflexively and shook his head once the officer was gone. Sometimes you just couldn't tell with officers.

"I'd sure hope that's so," Grogan replied, grinning. "We'd get firs' crack attem if they does, though. Them Rifles had they chance."

Williams smiled. Grogan's presence had even calmed Gordon - at least he had stopped fiddling with his gear, although his rapt attention on the road ahead was almost as worrying. "If looking could bring trouble, we'd have them on top of us," he said with a jerk of his head. But he himself kept his eyes forward, not wanting to rely on the other man.

"Could jes', that. Not tonight though, God willin'." For himself, Grogan thought the Frogs had long since left the immediate area, and the only true danger to the Division would probably come from getting lost.

"Ye two all right out here anyways?"

"Fine, Corporal," Williams said, and Gordon muttered his agreement. "It's a fine night, if rather dark. But we'll shout - or shoot - if we see anything. Don't leave us out here all night, mind."

Major Winwood came back. He looked steady on his feet but in fact he was getting progressively drunker that night and having realised that, was too scared to report about the French presence to anyone. The army slept peacefully, Wellesley and other senior officers unaware of the threat.

Grogan peered out into the night, nodding almost absently at Williams' affirmation that they were all right. He liked to hear that his men were doing well, but he also liked to know if they were so he might set things to rights.

"I knows ye will. Can't leave a pair o' fine lads like yerselves out here all a-night, neither." Grogan nodded again and started to turn away to carry on with his walk, but stopped abruptly. Was it just his bored imagination or had he just heard something jingle out there?

"Lissen," he hissed at the two privates, not daring to move lest he make noise himself.

Major crouched by the Corporal and drew his sword out carefully. Listening to the darkness.

[OOC: how many of us are there actually?]

It was in the middle of the night by now and their horses were walking along the road wearily. The men were tired as well. It had been a long day for all of them.

Sergeant Grey scanned the hills again. Where was their division? Surely they would see the welcome light of many fires soon. There, he thought he smelled smoke. That had to be their camp.

Grinning, he turned in the saddle to urge the troopers on.

It was clearer now, the sound of horses on the road, and possibly shapes. Gordon had seen them too, and was scrabbling with his musket, as Williams flickered a glance towards the Corporal and then to Major Winwood, whose presence here meant that he was in command.

Williams could not make out how many horses there were, but in the very faint light, they were dark against the light dusty road, a moving mass approaching them. And, from the sounds, they had begun to move faster.

[I must go out now! Sorry!]

Grogan scowled into the darkness. There was cavalry coming and quickly. He looked at the major with them and wondered how useful the man would be. If he was sharp, he'd have the picquet challenge the approaching cavalry. If not... Grogan loosened his bayonet in its scabbard. Better not to think about the if not.


OOC - Work today, but I'll try to sneak on at various points throughout the day. Later!

Major Winwood saw the cavalry and shuddered inwardly. Damn the bastards! Could not they have chosen another night to attack?!
'I believe we should engage them, Corporal. Give the order, will you?'

[OOC: I hope this is ok. Major is supposed to be a bit dim]

He might've known. Grogan shook his head and turned toward the two privates.

"Give 'em a challenge, lads."


OOC - It's fine.

Williams took his eyes off the approaching dark mass to glance at the Corporal, while he brought his musket up. Gordon was already pointing his weapon at them, and muttering: "Engage them? Engage ... Oh, God!"

"Halt! Who goes there?" Williams gave the challenge clearly, unwilling to reinforce it by firing over their heads. If he had to fire, he would prefer it to go into one of them, not into the air.

Winwood stepped out seeing that the cavalry men did not respond to the challenge, he swayed slightly as he stepped beyond the piquet, his drink finally catching up with him.

Williams was watching the approaching horsemen - there was the occasional glitter, as faint as starlight, from the dark mass. They had taken no notice of his challenge, and he levelled his musket, focusing on the outline of the foremost darkest shadow against the sky. Next to him, Gordon had been shaking since the first sound was heard and now he swung round. "There's one," he cried out, and fired. Williams fired too, into the oncoming horsemen, and started to reload. There was, he noted a degree of confusion, as if the troop had been quite unprepared for resistance.

As he rapidly reloaded, he glanced right to see what Gordon had shot at - a tree moving in the breeze, an oddly shaped bush? "Oh, bugger," he said, seeing their own major.

Winwood cried out as the bullet hit him just below the left shoulder. He did not realise that it came from behind and feeling his temper rise, brandishing the sword, he disappeared into the dark looking for the cavalrymen.

Bugger all! Grogan lifted his own musket, ready to fire at the unheeding cavalrymen. The shots had alerted the other picquets and the alarm was being raised.

It was just after Grogan had fired too that he noticed the staggering shadow just out ahead of them. He paused while reloading to stare. Oh for - that idiot major was out there. Was he wanting to get cut down? The cavalrymen were breaking, scattering some in preparation to attack.

"Hold the road!" Grogan snapped, as other men came up to join them.

Major Winwwood ran for a few moments, until his head started spinning. The pain, alcohol and blood loss proved too much, and groaning softly he fainted, falling onto the dark ground.