Training Day - afternoon, 16th May

Wellesley looked up at Prestwich steadily. Day by day he was besieged by requests such as these; more men, more powder, more boots, more horse shoes, more nails, better tools, food, uniforms - and every day he wrote requesting these things from the authority responsible. Most of the time he received letters back saying 'not at the moment', or affirmations which took longer than desirable to produce anything.

"I shall request on your behalf, Colonel Prestwich, for more sappers to be sent with the next draft in to Lisbon; yet I need not remind you that they are in short supply, and I must convince Horse Guards to send them to us instead of anyone else. In the meantime I suggest you continue to borrow men from the infantry and train them up to do what work they can for you."

Prestwich looked away for a moment: something in the General's voice told him that he'd better take himself away with his stupid and fanciful requests, even though the man agreed to help him. Train infantry indeed! The most he got from the commanding officers were men who could not even fight, forget being trained! How was he make a carpenter out of a drunkard on a march?

He knew that the General had plenty of things on his plate, but he kept asking himself why did they bother having engineers attached to the army, when in present condition they would have to be damn miracle workers to achieve anything! It felt like he was fighting on two fronts: against the French and against the bureaucracy of his own army. God, he had to fight to keep his own powder store away from the Artillery!

He clamped down on his disappointment that threatened to turn into genuine sadness, and managed a smile, that probably did not look convincing at all.
'Very well, sir. Thank you, sir,' he said quietly and waited to be dismissed.

"I am sorry, Prestwich," Wellesley said, and his expression did match his words. "It is all I can do for now. I realise that not much at all can be accomplished without sappers and engineers, yet it seems that neither the Board of Ordnance or Horse Guards seem to have realised this. I am short of men on all fronts; infantry, cavalry, artillery, engineers... and wars cannot be won without men. I shall present my requests in the strongest terms, as I always do - but for now we must do with what we have, impossible sometimes that may seem."

Prestwich felt not a little stunned and embarrassed by the General's words, a blush starting to spread on his cheeks. The General was right! What right did he have to mope about? Everyone had problems, he just had to find a different way to solve his. He smiled at the General.
'Thank you, sir. I am sorry. I know how much you must have on your plate'. The smile grew more genuine. 'At least I have kept my powder'

A smile quirked at the corners of Wellesley's mouth.

"Ah yes, I had a rather irate Colonel Starley complaning to me this morning that you had 'squirrelled away' your powder. At least he did until he was reminded that it was the Engineering corps' powder."

Prestwich grinned.
'I still owe one of your ADCs a thank you for not ratting us out. I believe he was rather, er, surprised to see us relocating powder stores at night. He rather thought we were stealing it'.

"Buy him a drink and a meal whoever he is by way of an apology," Wellesley said, picking his pen up again. "It is a sorry state of affairs when an army starts squabbling over powder supplies. Was that all, Prestwich?"

Prestwich stopped smiling, straightening.
'Yes, sir. May I be dismissed?'

"If you wish. I shall see what I can do about your sappers. Good day, Prestwich."

'Good day, sir'. Prestwich saluted and turning smartly, left the office. The interview left him in mixed feelings: Wellesley seemed like a good man, but Prestwich could not help but feel somewhat sneered at.

'Oh, well, aristocracy never did like anyone, who made their fortune from trading, especially if they did not manage to buy themselves a title afterwards', he thought to himself.

Fandorin returned to their lodgings briefly to find a note from Hunter letting him know that the letter has been delivered, but the General has not decided upon a meeting as yet. It annoyed Fandorin a little, but his occupation has tought him patience. After a short rest he went out again, briefly wondering where Widmayer got himself to.

A little while after Prestwich had left Wellesley stretched and got up from the desk. He walked over to the window and glanced in the direction of the paddock where the Rifles were. There was less of a crowd now - the more exciting exercises being over - yet from what he could make out there was still a decent mix of redcoats amongst the riflemen.

Perhaps now he should go down and take a look? He had not committed himself to an appearance - time may not have permitted it - but he was sure to have finished the books by this evening when they could be returned to the commanding officers. A walk down to the paddock and back again would not hurt; would probably be good, as he could get a chance to exchange a few words with Edrington. Wellesley had been thinking recently, reflecting that there were many senior officers that he had not yet made a good acquaintance with, or knew that much about personally - which was not a good thing, considering that he was heading straight for a battle and would soon need to rely on those men. Pombal, a mere scrap, did not really count.

And he should start by paying a visit to Edrington.

Plus, he thought to himself as he picked up his hat, if Hunter were still there he would be able to questiuon him more thoroughly as to what he knew of the letter from the mysterious banker, or the banker himself. The General got the distinct impression that he did not know enough, and was determined to try and rectify this.