Pombal

"That's all of it?"

The horse was once again free of her burden, and flicked her tail impatiently as she watched the French plunder disappear inside.

"Yes. Of this horse.." Willoughby nodded and turned Bella around. He had taken the shabraque off of her, for it would've been too easily stained and dirtied and there was little need for it to carry the dead, nor the loot. Having it remain beside the church and the guard it would atleast be safe, till he had need of it again.

And they parted ways again, the Hussar leading his horse from the church, the sword clanking at his side, and the musket neatly stored at the saddle.

There was not much for George to do except give and relay orders and in any case there were enough experienced soldiers to make their grisly task rather effecient. He watched as the inhabitants started appearing in the streets trying to bring their town to a resemblance of normality. As the George led his horse through a small town square, after shooting the dying animal, there was a young man washing blood off a small girl's face in a fountain. George could not understand the words over the surrounding noise, but judging by the tears and girl's gesturing towards a tear in the skirt of her dress, it seemed that she was lamenting the spoiling of her dress: it was strange how human's mind could latch to the smallest of misfortune's to protect itself from greater horror.
'It is a beautiful dress', he addressed the pair in Spanish. The girl ovbiously did not understand him, but the man looked up at him and nodding, translated the words to the girl, who started to cry harder.
'Her mother gave it to her. She was killed by the French, when they occupied Pombal'.
'Ah', so the girl was not lamenting the dress because it indeed must have been pretty and of good quality before all the dirt got on it, but rather because it was a memory of her mother's.
'Well, shall we see if I can help?', he smiled at the girl and started searching through the saddlebag as the man translated. They both stared at him in astonishment as he produced what he was looking for with a flourish. Kneeling by the girl on the dirty cobblestones, wincing at the momentary pain in the bruised leg, he set to task.

Turning the edges of the tear in, he applied the needle to them, making sure that the differently coloured thread would not show. As he was busy with stitching, the kitten poked out from his hair, curious. George looked up to see the girl smiling through her tears at the small animal.
'I did not know English officers were taught this', said the man observing George's work.
'Didn't learn it in the English army. Where I served before, every man had to learn it or trade with a friend to do it for him: we were often on the march and we didn't have camp followers. There all done', he secured the thread and cutting the extra length off, showed his handiwork to the girl. She studied it carefully.
'Yes, yes, I know, not perfect', sighed George, smiling ruefully. 'Here', he fished out a sovereign coin from his pocket. 'you give it to a tailor, she'll make it perfect'. The man translated to the girl and then tried to refuse the money, but George got up waving the protests away. 'I'm not giving it to you, but to the girl so she can look like a princess again', he said bowing with flourish to the girl, who understood the word 'princess' and gave a wobbly smile.

Putting the things back into the saddlebag, he remounted and pretending to sweep a hat off his head, bowed to the girl again, and made his way back to Colonel Edrington.

[OOC: Hunter is acquiring my father's qualities (he can saw extremely well). Weird ].

Upon entering the streets again, he saw an officer on foot. A young face with a slightly pained gait an a serious yet proud look on his face. His uniform was stained with blood, rather unsurprisingly and just a moment ago a scowl appeared on his face, its reason not the bodies on the ground, but what they were, the Hussar couldn't guess.

He approached the man, Lieutenant Waldegrave, for his line of work lead him in just the street from which the lieutenant was coming, and with one hand on the reins of his horse, he saluted the man, before looking to continue on his way. So many more bodies to carry, and more plunder to bring to the church.

Geroge saw a villager attacking French wounded: one victim of his already lay dead, fresh blood staining the ground. The second one was still putting up a fight. George walked over quickly but without attracting the attention of the attacker. Swiftly, he stepped behind him and got his neck into a armlock, squeezing a little to make him gasp and leave off struggling.
'Stop', he growled into the man's ear and keeping his hold on him, called over a few soldiers to take the wounded man away.

The villager stopped struggling, Hunter let him go and the man scrambled away.

The prisoners and what valuables were left in the town secured, order restored and the men formed out in column again outside the village, the British set off once more for Coimbra. They had buried far more French than British, though they had not be entirely devoid of casualties.

At the given order, they marched off. At the present rate they would reach Coimbra a couple of hours after darkness fell.

With the burials completed, the plunder returned and men placed back in line without a single one hung, it was time. Coimbra , their next destination would not be far, but with men tired, the distance crossed, would most probably be a blessing, when done.

As they left Pombal for Coimbra, Hunter made sure Fernao was following close by and rode some a few yards behind the staff group. As the excitement of action subsided his mind returned onto unplesant topic of Henry's death.

It had taken some time to double back to the main road throught he trackless hills, but once on even ground they reached the vanguard of heavy cavalry quickly.
'Heavy cavalry? What were those english thinking?' v. Lossow was taken aback. Once the KGL Hussars had been recognised and had traded a few words with the Dragoons, they went to find the staff officers.

No-one had been hanged, at least, although there were a handful of men on report, who had failed to take advantage of the opportunity to hand in 'stuff they had found' to the priest in the church. More from the 27th, to be sure: they did not give up their plunder so easily. But at least there had been no long debauch. The French had drunk the place dry already. It had been relatively easy to reform the battalion on the road outside the town, and to re-animate the column, with the Scots Greys in the lead.

Not long to Coimbra, Edrington thought, and then had to make way for a group of Hussars to pass down the road. Not just any Hussars, he thought with a grin, and pulled Bauer out into the path of them, with a raised hand. "Lossow!"

The KGL Hussars were passing some redcoats as a familiar voice hailed v. Lossow. He looked around, spotted a familiar face in a Lieutenant Colonel's uniform and spurred his horse over to him.

"Edrington! It is good to see you! I vas vorried vhen ve lost contact on the retreat in January. How do you do?"

Before v. Lossow turned his attention completely to the colonel he ordered his troop to halt, dismount and march with the soldiers. One never knew what news they could pick up that way.

"I am well - and back with my regiment - not that I minded Alten, but ... I see you could not wait to get back." Edrington was smiling. V Lossow had gone with Moore to Corunna, a rather nastier business even than he had had with the Light Divisions, but now he was with the 1st Hussars, who had not been in Spain then. "I did not expect to see you here. How is it in Coimbra?"

v. Lossow shuddered. "Ah, Coimbra. Pretty on the outside, but dirty and crowded once you enter the streets. Vell, not as pretty any more; someone blew the stone bridge before the English arrived, ve have to do vith a ponton bridge now. I think it vas the french regiment you ran into this morning. Ve had been looking for them."

He laughed and gestured at the surrounding hills. "I had a grand fiew of your little engagement! Didn't give you much trouble, did they?"

Edrington laughed. "Not much, once we set the big horses onto them, but quite a few got away, and we have rather a lot of prisoners, including wounded" He looked back down the column and said: "Which reminds me: we found some of your lads, with British marines and sailors. Have you lost any?"

"Hah! I did! Ve thought they ran, actually. Vas there a little, eager cornet vith them?"

"No, just two troopers. He was taken north - special officer treatment, they thought. Wining and dining in Oporto, girls flocking to him... We'll get him back, don't worry. We've got enough in hand to exchange for a dozen cornets."

v. Lossow mumbles under his breath 'Not sure I vant him back...' and then, louder, for Edringtons ears:
"That's interesting news, for sure. Headquarters in Coimbra had reports of activity by a lone french regiment, the blown bridge, the french taking prisoners and bringing them north as well as south... I vonder vhat surprise they are brewing up for us?"

He shifted uneasily in the saddle and looked seriously at Edrington.
"I am glad to know you are vith the infantry. I... I trust your military sense and judgement. Some of the officers I met in Coimbra..."

Edrington bowed in proper fashion in acknowledgement, and then smiled reassuringly. "We have Wellesley - Sir Arthur - with us to take command of the Grand Army. He is good. All will be well." He hesitated. "Although I expect a few days of rapid reorganisation, with sulks and tantrums."

"Sulks and tantrums! Too right! And yes, I have a high regard for Vellesley. I vas at Copenhagen, as vell. I am sure he vill clear up the mess at Coimbra." He laughed. "The officers mess that is. English is a funny language, sometimes."

Still grinning, Lossow saluted the colonel. "Vell, I must be off to seek the staff. I vill see you in Coimbra, ja?"

"I will look out for you. Does your regiment still give the best food to its horses, and keep the rest for the officer's mess? I may risk it - if I am invited. You won't miss the staff. Lots of gold rope and silver lace." He saluted "Auf weidersehen, Rittmeister!"

v. Lossow cuckled: "Of course you are invited! And ve still have the best beer! Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Oberstleutnant!"

Grinning, he turned his horse and set out along the colum, looking for gold rope and silver lace.

Edrington watched v Lossow and his men ride away, the smile remaining on his face. Something to look forward to, an evening with beer, and friends he may or may know yet, since the 1st had not been in Spain. Finding out who had and who had not survived that winter retreat had been difficult enough without people changing regiments...

Back on the march again. Newbury hadn't bothered the surgeons, as busy as they were, and had bound up his side on his own. It wasn't much but it would hold until they stopped for the night. It still hurt, of course, and made keeping in step with the rest of the company difficult, but he was determined to manage.

"Nice bit of action, that was," Newbury observed to nobody in particular, as Pombal slipped into the distance behind the steadily-marching column.

Wellesley did not say much as the column limped along. The going was slow, and he wished more that they would reach Coimbra with no further delay. They were going to arrive there well after nightfall anyway; but there would be much for him to do, starting almost immediately from his arrival. It was more than likely that he would not see his bed tonight, and certainly no chance of dinner. He would perhaps snatch a couple of hours sleep; though it was unlikely he could afford any more...

Reports came down the column of a troop of KGL Hussars from the 1st Division were heading this way. Doubtless the commanding officers at Coimbra wanted a head start on the organisation front.

'Ah, there.'
A plain blue coat surrounded by red, gold and silver. v. Lossow hid his grin and approached the staff officers.

Bullen rode forward to intercept him.

"Good day, captain," he said, amiably enough. "What may we do for you?"