On Picquet Duty (6th Night)

Musket reloaded, Williams brought up the gun and tried to ignore the staggering figure of the Major just ahead of them. He had only recently joined them, and so far, the opinion of the Young Inniskillings was not favourable. A man so incompetent that he walks in front of a nervous picquet was not the sort of officer they wanted. It was tempting, with him out there between the cavalry and them. At least Grogan - equally new, but far more well-regarded - was here to take command.

The men spread out across the road, as the cavalry regrouped. They would perhaps get in only one shot before the horses were on top of them. Like the others, Williams fastened his bayonet onto the musket, and prepared to stand his ground. Major Winwood had collapsed, and would get trampled if they charged now.

[OOC: Am I right - we do have ring bayonets by now, not plug ones?]

OOC - That's right. Plug bayonets went out of use in the later 1600s, if I remember right.

IC -

The newly-arrived soldiers were in two ranks, their bayonets fixed. Grogan wondered for a moment about the wisdom of ordering another volley, but realised that the distance would be covered too quickly by those horses.

Out in the darkness, somebody shouted "Greys! Forward, Greys!"

Greys? The devil? Grogan frowned. "Stand fast, boys," he barked, not trusting that the cavalrymen could truly be Greys.

"It's the Scots Greys," Gordon yelled into Williams' ear. The Welshman did not quite believe it, but the accent was ... Could a Frenchman sound like that?

"Who goes there?" Williams shouted again in challenge, and in the hope that he would be answered by the correct password - if anyone had told the Greys the password for the night!

[OOC - I am out for the next three hours of so. Please have Williams (and Gordon) do whatever seems appropriate]

A sergeant from one of the neighbouring picquets saw the Major go down and crouching low, wary of the the cavalrymen who were to answer the challenge slapped the man back into consciousness.
'Come on, sir, we'd better get you out of here', He helped the man up and led him as quickly as possible back to the piquet line. 'You'd better go see the surgeon, sir'. Major Winwood nodded absent-mindedly, his mind fuzzy, and wandered off. The sergeant having already turned to watch the cavalrymen did not see the Major walk in a completely wrong direction.

[OOC: hope this makes sense]

"Hold your fire, for God's sake! We're Scots Greys!"

A big shadow came toward them, though this time it was not a man and horse. Grogan lifted his musket and heard rather than saw the others around him do likewise.

"Forrard an' be recognised," Grogan barked, wishing he'd taken the extra seconds to reload his musket. In a more moderated voice, he added to his men, "Give 'em a volley if they does anthin' stoopit."

"Corporal." Williams kept his musket pointed at the man. "He sounds like a Scots Grey to me," he muttered. Could it get any worse? Gordon had shot their damned stupid Major, and they had all fired on their own cavalry. Well, he supposed it could, if they let French cavalry pass them unimpeded. What the hell were the Scots Greys doing out at this time of night.

The big shadow was close enough now that Grogan could see details on the man's uniform. True enough, it was a cavalryman of the Greys. Irritated as much by the mistake as by the Greys' stupidity in approaching so boldly, Grogan lowered his musket.

"Stan' down, lads," he said curtly. There'd be all sorts of trouble after this, he knew it.

Williams lowered his musket. It was a mess, but they had challenged the men, hadn't they? And at least they had not fired on them after they declared themselves. That was at least something in their favour.

Gordon was still muttering. "Oh God, the Major." He would be in trouble for sure, but Williams gave him a quick shake and said: "He walked off on his own, didn't he then. It was probably too much to drink, from the smell of it, and the shock that made him fall down. Never fear, he'll wake up with a headache in the morning and have forgotten about it." Damn drunken officers. Without him wandering about, and Gordon taking him for a flank attack, they might even have avoided the initial shots.

*insert strong scottish accent*
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING? We are on your own bloody side!"
The large and solidly built sergeant loomed over the redcoat.
"YOU SHOT MY BLOODY HORSE! WHICH DAMN IDIOT IS IN CHARGE HERE?"
Behind him his vedette was still milling around in confusion. The 3 rear ranks had drawn aside onto the opposite bank of the road, but his own horse was down and didn't know what happened to the cornet.

Williams kept a tight hold on his loaded musket. He didn't want to shoot him, but if the man - who was enormous - shouted at him anymore he might change his mind.

"The Major gave the order, Sergeant. But don't worry, we shot him too!"

Grey had been ready to tear the privat a new one, but at his woefull expression and the sheepish admission his rage turned to amusement.

"You what?"

Back on the road he heard a horse flailing its legs in agony, hooves thumping the dusty road.

"Look, just don't shoot any more of us. I have to take care of my troop."

Williams flickered a glance at the still praying Gordon. "He thought the major was a flank attack, or a diversion... Did we - I mean, I hope we didn't hit anyone. Even the horses, it's a damned shame that is, shooting a horse! I did shout a challenge, mind, before we fired..."

He glanced sideways. Everyone else was standing easy as the Corporal had ordered. "I think we know who you are now, Sergeant. Bring them in." It was not Williams' place to ask what the Hell they were doing out of camp at night.

Mumbling, Grey turned and went back to the road. "How anyone can mistake red coats and huge grey horses for french I don't know... at least they shot their bloody fool of a major... whats a major doing on piquett anyway... should leave that to people who know their job... never heard any challenge... mumbling incompetent fools the lot of them... damn footsoldiers..."
His own horse was dead alredy. Shot in the head. If Baldr hadn't thrown up his head when he did... Grey heaved a heavy sigh. He went to look at the other dying horse. It was the cornet's mare, hit in the neck and chest. Blood spurted in great gusts onto the road, leaving the mare lying in a pool of black in the uncertain light. Grey loaded his pistol.

Williams followed the Sergeant, aware of his mumbled criticism and of the justice of it - well, it wasn't completely justified, was it? But the sight of the man preparing to shoot one of the horses, with the other lying there dead, made him feel ashamed. Could they have acted differently?

He pushed his shako back and tried again to apologize and to explain. "I can't say how sorry I am. Not that I'm taking the blame for the whole thing, you understand. But there's been talk of cavalry in the area, and since the Rifles had that run in with a company of Grenadiers this afternoon, you can understand why we were more ready for a troop of French cavalry than you? And it was too damned dark even to see the colour of your horses..."

Grogan felt a bit ashamed that Williams was taking responsibility for the incident when he hadn't been the one in charge. He dismissed the other picquets and the later-arriving reinforcements, knowing there'd be an officer along to demand explanations and whatever else soon enough. Then, once the crowd of soldiers began dispersing, Grogan followed after Williams.

"Major tol' me to engage, Sarn't. So I tol' the boys to give the challenge first. We fired when there weren't a reply," Grogan said, looking sympathetically down at the dead horse. There was another about to share that same fate. "Damned shame 'bout yer horses, Sarn't. Wouldn't've fired if we'd known ye weren't Frogs."

Grey was only half listening to the redcoat. Where was everyone? Especially cornet Westley. By rights it was his bitter duty to end his mares suffering.
Loaded pistol in hand, he looked around.
Most of his troopers were still mounted and starting to assemble on the road next to him, but the other two troopers who had been in front with him and Westley were dismounted and holding the cornet up between them. One saw Grey's searching look and gave the youth a gentle shove in his direction. Westley walked up to his horse as if he was sleepwalking.
"She fell. And she threw me. And I was rolling and rolling... who did this? Who fired on us?" It came out as a sob.

Sergeant Grey gently pulled the cornet closer. "Look, sir, there's nothing we can do. She is dying slowly and painfully. Won't you end her suffering?" He offered the pistol.
Westley nodded and gripped the gun firmly. "Where?"
"Imagine She has crossbelts on her brow, going from the ears to the inside angle of her eyes. Shoot where the cross is."
With a grim and determined expression, Westley took aim.
"No, don't put the muzzle on the skin. That'll rupture the barrel. Yes, just like that."

BANG

Williams flinched. That was a damned good horse, to kill like that. On the other hand - they had brought down two horses with one - one and a half - volleys. If they'd fired again they might have managed to bring down enough of the front rank to slow the charge...

Corporal Grogan had followed him and Williams glanced at him with a worried frown. This damned mess was not going to be forgotten, not with two valuable beasts down - one of them an officer's.

The mercy shot was fired and Grogan looked away briefly. He was fond of horses, despite being an infantryman.

"Mebbe wise ta get yer boys inta camp Sarn't," he said stiffly, ignoring Williams' frown. He didn't want any more confusion or mistakes to happen if he could help it.

As the Scots Greys passed Williams and the rest of the picquets fell back. The big Sergeant and the Cornet led them, the youngster with a set face, but still not certain of what had happened. That, Williams thought, will strike home later, and ... It was disturbing to be looked down on by so many justifiably angry men. Williams kept his eyes to the front, and did not respond to any of the muttered comments. Not until they had all gone, into the darkness between the picquet line and the camp, did he look at Corporal Grogan.

His scowl defied restraint. Grogan watched the cavalrymen file past, sullenly silent as if he had been the one who'd shot both of those horses and had just been scolded for it. He was responsible for ordering the picquets to challenge the Greys, naturally, but... ah hell. He shook his head angrily.

"Back t'yer posts, boys," Grogan said wearily, once the last of the Greys had passed. There was nothing more to do tonight, except explain the entire incident over again once the staff officers got around to showing up. Here came an officer now, though it was one of their own from the 27th. Grogan sighed and went to meet the man. No time like the present for getting at least part of this over with.

Captain Henderson had been checking on the picquets around the camping ground when he heard the firing from the north. As he arrived he saw the Scots Greys, led by an unhorsed cornet and sergeant, and had sworn quietly to himself. The picquets were resuming their posts flanking the road to Coimbra, and the Corporal - Grogan, who had joined the 3rd batallion only recently - was coming towards him. On the road b eyond he could see a dark shape, maybe two - probably two, he realized.

He saluted, and asked, without more preamble: "How did this happen, Corporal?"

Grogan saluted and tried not to groan. "The Greys came up on the road, sir, an' din't answer the picquets' challenge. So we gave 'em a few shots 'fore they answered us. Not in th' proper way still, but least it were an answer." The Irishman bit his lip. "Kilt two of they horses, but no other casualties, sir."

Then he frowned. "There were a major here at the start, sir, but I dunno where he's got to now."

"A major? One of ours? Probably Major Winwood." Henderson sighed, and then brightened up. "You did give the challenge then, before firing. That's good. They like everything done by the book." He looked up the road, at the dead horses, and shook his head. "Keep the men on the alert, Corporal. We don't want them firing at shadows, but we don't want them being scared to fire at all."

"I think that were him, sir," Grogan answered. "But by the book, aye sir, we does our best."

Inwardly, he felt a sneer rising. What else was he supposed to have done? Offered the then-unknown horsemen flowers and cake?

With a curt nod, Grogan added, "Yessir. The boys know what they're 'bout."

"Good. Of course they do. Not our fault if the damned cavalry can't respond properly to challenges." There would have to be a report, but he would need to speak to the Major, who had been here... Henderson frowned. "I suppose the Major went to report it... I'll speak to him first, then. Well, carry on, Corporal." He saluted, and took a final look up the road.