Training Day - the Girandoni

v Lossow had waited at a respectful distance from the two men. There seemed to be some history between the Colonel and the Rifleman, and he did not want to intrude. The young rifle officer was still standing there, too. Lossow had to grin at the expression on his face: his eyes were glued to the rifle, and he followed every movement with wistful longing. Boys and their toys!
He loosend his sabre in the scabbard. On horeseback, all these toys were nearly useless. No, he preferred a sword to a gun any day.

Edrington nodded to the Rifleman: "As you wish, Cotton. And again. Well done today."

He returned to v Lossow. "Do you want to try the thing?" he asked. "Or do you feel, like me, that after such excellent shots, our own efforts would be too amateur for words? I thought I might find some quiet spot and try it out away from critical spectators..."

"Well, I can shoot our carbines. But you are right, I should wait with making a fool of myself till the men need cheering. In a quiet spot you say? Have you someplace in mind?"

"You have been here some time - do you have any ideas. Not today - I ought to stay to the end. And ... damn, tomorrow is the Grand Review, isn't it? Unless Wellesley gets us moving north immediately after that - either tomorrow afternoon, or Thursday." Edrington grinned. "We can sneak off to play with my new toy - it will be good, after being on parade."

"Hmm. I know a good place. A bit west of here, with a good view of the city. Tomorrow afternoon? We could even go swimming before or after, there is a trail to the waterfront and the river is wide and slow there..."

That was a splendid idea. After a dusty parade a nice, cool swim and then trying the air gun.

"The horses will love it!"

Edrington chuckled. "For the sake of the horses, then, we must do it. Do they swim with us?" He would need to find someone to charge a couple of the reservoirs - or recharge them.

He looked round to see if anyone else wanted to shoot the rifle. It would not do to look as if he had finished. One of the staff might feel less inhibited at the idea of trying the Girandoni in public, or either of his rifles officers.

No one tried to catch his eye, or stepped forward, so he turned back to v Lossow. "I think I deserve it - and you, for gracing us with your presence. Do you like our Riflemen?" He must find Sharpe, and introduce them...

(From here.)

Most of the spectators were distracted, yet Wellesley did not arrive completely unnoticed. Murray had insisted on coming with him, and unfortunately the amount of lace of the man's coat turned a few more heads than was desirable. The General searched the crowd for Edrington, and was relieved to see he was still where he was last and would not have to go hunting for him.

It seemed that the demonstration of the Girandoni had just ended. Wellesley remembered Edrington's description of the gun and internally grimaced - such a murderous weapon to his mind had no place in war; yet it had proved an interesting novelty. He was about to approach Edrington when he noticed Captain Sanders hovering half-hopefully off to his right. It seemed that he had been about to volunteer himself for a go at the air gun, but the appearance of his chief had held him back.

Wellesley first raised an eyebrow, then smiled and nodded.

Sanders, his face breaking into a grin, nodded back and approached Edrington.

"Your pardon, Colonel; yet I was wondering whether I might possibly try a shot with your rifle?"

The voice attracted Edrington's attention, and he turned to see Captain Sanders, and behind him Sir Arthur Wellesley. He nodded to the General and smiled at the Captain. "Of course you can. Did you see our Riflemen with it." His smile widened. "We have demolished it as a practical weapon, but it is an interesting curiosity."

Wellelsey returned the nod with a friendly smile, then watched as Sanders took hold of the rifle carefully. Sanders always had a fascination for devices and new technologies, and probably by rights should have joined in the Engineers had he not liked the idea of running around in red on a battlefield better as a youth.

"Yes, most interesting indeed," the captain said, studying the weapon and feeling the weight in his hands. "Am I correct in thinking it has no half cock?"

"That's right - it's not necessary. Just slide the ball into the breach, pull back the cock, aim and fire, then do the same thing for the next shot. The force will be less with each shot, but - for our current purpose - it should be enough for you to get a feel for it." Edrington watched carefully as Sanders examined the gun.

Needham caught Hunter just at the edge of the group that was watching the Girandoni demostration. Quietly he told George what he'd overheard about the supposed assault by Willoughby. George's frown deepened as he listened to the Enginering officer. In the end he sighed, running a head through his hair. He did not know how to even start approaching this problem. An idea flashed through his mind.

'I wonder where his horse is, as far as I know every hussar takes care of his mount himself, and the boy did not even report to his troop if I understood his explanations correctly'.

'She is probably with the 62nd's horses' answered Needham.
'Why would she be?' George was a little puzzled.
'The boy said his horse was killed and then he was picked up by the riflemen. Riflemen are attached to the 62nd, therefore it is reasonable to conclude that his mount was lent to him by the 62nd'.
George looked at the man disgustedly.

'You really are a mathematician, Needham.' The Engineer chuckled, as Hunter remembered how the boy was attached to that horse. What was her name? Bella. Yes, Bella. A sudden idea seized him: he'll buy the horse from the regiment!

Suddenly Needham, elbowed him. 'Look, who's here'. George looked in the direction Needham was indicating and cursed inwardly: there was Wellesley watching as Sanders went off to try the gun.

'I think I'd better make my escape before I'm noticed,' murmured Hunter. 'I have matters to attend to. Thank you for the information, Needham,' Hunter extended a hand to the man, who shook it firmly and added with a grin. 'Want to exchange jackets? You'll be less noticeable: all that gold lace gives you away'. Hunter gave him a withering glance and began to move off.

And now there was a gathering of officers clustered around the Colonel. Cotton saluted, picked up his own rifle and slipped away. They didn't need him hanging around looking lost, after all. He had a lot to think about and didn't notice the solitary figure in the blue coat until it was too late for him to alter course.

Sanders nodded and fingered the doghead - or what at least resembled a doghead. It was certainly a strange-looking though admittedly quite beautiful gun. Selecting a target, he pulled back the slide as Edrington had said, thumbed back the doghead (how strange to feel no resistance before full cock), lifted the rifle to his shoulder, aimed and pulled the trigger.

No smoke, not so hard a recoil, and only the slightest sound from the ball. For a moment the Captain stared puzzled at the target - yet there was the new mark made by his ball.

Wellesley smiled at the look of confusion on Sanders' face. He had spotted Hunter conversing with Needham of the Engineers and resolved to have a word with him before he disappeared... until out of the crowd emerged a figure in green which stopped quite suddenly only a few paces away from him. He turned his head and saw a rifleman of the 60th standing there, gaping at him like a frightened rabbit. The smile dropped from his face and he internally sighed. How he wished the rank and file would not do that!

"It was you that won the shooting competition, was it not?" he questioned, thinking that he recognised the man.

It was only the General. And... he'd seen him. Not only that, but he'd asked a question. Something about winning the shooting competition, he thought.

"Yes, sir," he managed, surprised he hadn't stuttered the words. Those eyes did not look at all friendly. The picture that came to Cotton's mind was that of a hawk in the split-second before it folded its wings to dive on a helpless rabbit.

Not a very comforting thought, that.

Wellesley gave a nod. The man looked ready to run from him, and for all the rifleman's shooting skills it gave a rather pathetic impression.

"An impressive display; my congratulations. What is your name?"

Calm down, Cotton, he's not going to bite you... It really was the most ridiculous thing, to be scared stiff of someone just because of who he was. All you had to do was be polite, after all. It couldn't be any worse than talking with the Squire - or even Colonel Edrington, could it?

'An impressive display; my congratulations.' He was pleased with him? For just doing his best?

Well, that wasn't too bad, really. He took a breath and calmed down - and realised he'd been asked his name.

"Cotton, sir. Rifleman, 60th Rifles. Sir."

And dammit, that sounded like he was panicking, didn't it.

"Cotton."

Now where had he heard that name mentioned before? Wellesley resisted the temptation to point out that he had never been in doubt of the man's regiment - hence the bright red patches about his neck and cuffs.

"Fine shooting, Cotton. Captain Vickery must be pleased."

He turned his gaze back to Sanders who was now lining up his third shot, having got into the rhythm of things. Hunter though, possibly as testament to his restless character, was no longer with Needham. Where had he gone now?

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Could he go? Best not to assume he could, just yet.

The General had turned to watch someone else try with Colonel Edrington's rifle, and Cotton turned to look too. It looked as though the officer firing was one of the General's aides, judging by all the lace and everything on the jacket.

Hunter circled the group, not wanting to push his way through the throng of people gathered to watch the Girandoni. He did not particularly wish to be stopped by anyone, but he doubted that anyone would, so he did not make an attempt to hide himself from view.

The rifleman was still there. Probably waiting for a dismissal, alkthough he really did not need one. Either he would have to dismiss him or walk away himself - and he was not going to do that until he had spotted Hunter.

"Be sure to pass my compliments on to Captain Vickery," he said coldly, not looking at Cotton. Surely the man must get the hint from that.

Then there was Hunter - only a few paces away.

"Hunter, there you are. Might I have a word?"

George groaned inwardly. His gaze darted over to Sanders with the Girandoni: why, oh, why could not the General pick on him? George just hoped it was some legitimate business, not writing out more lines about kittens. Approaching the General, he saluted, keeping his face straight.
'Yes, sir.'

"Yes, sir," Cotton said.

And it seemed that the General had spotted whoever it was that he was looking for.

Cotton could take a hint. He saluted again and headed away from the small field to find someone from his own Company. He really needed to clean his rifle out soon; it wouldn't do it any good to be left for too much longer.

"I wanted to ask you something," Wellesley said, drawing Hunter away from the crowd, Murray and Bullen making it possible for them tgo be separated and out of earshot. He lowered his voice slightly. "That letter you gave me last night; what do you know of it and it's sender? And why did he - I am assuming it is a 'he' - give it to you and not anyone more senior?"

For a moment George just stared at the General: with all that was going on in his head, he'd totally forgotten about the letter. Then he frowned, as if displeased with his own lack of knowledge.
'Not much, sir. He told me his name is Cornelius von Dorn and he is a Prussian banker, that is practically all the information he did agree to give me.' George paused for a breath.

'He does seem to think that whatever he has to say to you, sir, is very important. He rode out to Pombal to meet the army and that's how I met him, sir. When he became covinced that it was really a bad time for whatever his business was, he gave me his address and begged me to look in on him in Coimbra. I did that, when you were at the dinner last night, sir, that's when he gave me the letter. He also came this morning, while you were still asleep, sir. Really impatient to have a reply.'

George fell silent. Everything he said was truthful: he did not know von Dorn's real name and he did visit him to pick up the letter. He was not about to say that von Dorn was neither a banker nor a Prussian.

Edrington waited until Sanders had fired his fifth ball before approaching him. "As I said, an interesting curiosity. What did you make of it?"