Training Day - Meeting Riflemen

George was quite ready for this. 'If this is what is stopping you, sir, would you agree to sell her to me, if I found a suitable enough replacement for her?'

"No - as I thought I had said, I would be increasing the number of horses we have, not reducing them. And, to be honest, Hunter, I doubt if you could find a decent horse here - everyone is trying to replace those lost, and the best were bought up before we came. I say again - we need the horses to take to war, not to provide a spoiled boy with a pet." Edrington hesitated then added a warning. "The trooper is not worth your interest, Hunter. He has no appetite for war - he had to be escorted back to his own regiment, because he failed to report to them on his return to Coimbra."

'The trooper is my friend, sir' said Hunter firmly. 'And I shall find you a horse, sir, you may depend on it', he continued in the same tone. He was really starting to hate this bargaining. 'And if that is not enough, then I will bring you two horses, sir'. George looked Edrington in the eyes, trying to make the man understand that he had to have that horse.

Edrington stared at Hunter, coldly. "I advise you not to waste your time," he said. "I am not a horse trader." Nor did he like to do any sort of business with a man - an officer, no less - who tried to mislead him with a story so stupid that he must have taken Edrington for a fool - a trooper buying his own mounts because his regiment did not have any to spare! Whatever lay behind the request, Edrington did not intend to give in.

"Good day, Captain."

[OOC - and I must get and eat dinner... back at 8.30 to 9 ish]

'Sir, I did not think you were a horse trader, I was only trying to find an acceptable comprise that would convince you to allow to let me have Bella'. said George. 'I am sorry for my lie, but I did not wish to bring Willoughby's name up initially, considering what charge was brought against him'.

George took a deep breath. 'He is my friend sir, my only friend in this army, and I wish to repay him for his acceptance and for his kindness to me.'

Edrington raised his eyebrows at that admission of a outright lie - Hunter seemed to be without shame. "You propose to saddle Willoughby with a horse he can neither use nor support, as a declaration of a friendship which will make him the butt of gossip throughout his regiment and the whole army. I am not responsible for either of you, thank God, but you need to think rather carefully about how best to serve your friend."

George could feel the start of the 'need' gnawing at him. There was too much happening today that awakened his anger, anger that he would later let out by slitting someone's throat. The 'need' was just reawakening, so it was easy to hide for now, but he knew that he would have to satisfy it soon.

'Butt of gossip, sir? I do not propose to make it known how Willoughby got that horse. And I personally see nothing shameful in our friendship: after all he is not in my chain of command'. He paused a little. 'Besides, sir, Bella is of the breed used for bull-fighting, she might be bad tempered, but she is just what a man needs in the midst of the battlefield. Though, sir, if she is such a 'useless' mount, would you not rather get rid of it for the sake of having a better one?' All of this came out rather quietly, almost timidly, but George achieved that by way of clenching his fist behind his back.

Edrington thought of the trouble Willoughby faced, and the difficulties any educated man had making a place for himself in the ranks. He said, patiently: "If Willoughby is going to continue to be a common trooper, he would be advised not be known to have a friend who is a Captain on the General's staff. A common trooper would also not own a horse. All this will be noted by those who serve alongside him, and who must also find him an oddity."

Hunter too did not fit in, but two days after arrival seemed rather too soon to decide that there was no other possible friend than a trooper. Edrington continued: "For him, the mare would be useless; she is not trained as a cavalry mount, so he could not ride her into battle. He would have to look after not only his mount, but also this useless horse, which will be foraged - at your expense, you say: how will you arrange that with the Quartermaster? As his friend, you would be better advising him to give up this foolishness of serving in the ranks, and having his situation regularised."

George felt like someone slapped him. 'His foolishness? But where else can he serve?' And yet, he felt he knew the answer to that.

Edrington quirked an eyebrow. "Ask him. But - whatever he decides, I will not sell you or him any of our horses. He needs to be made to grow up."

George looked away for a moment, then back at Edrington.
'He will tell me if he chooses, sir. However, you are right, it was irresponsible of him not to have told me'. George inclined his head a little. 'I shall not bother you anymore, sir, and I shall, of course, abide by your decision not to sell her to me'. George smiled timidly, while in his mind he knew, that a problem had always had more than one solution.

"Thank you. And good luck with getting some sense into Willoughby's head." Edrington nodded dismissal. He was still unsure about Hunter, but he was Wellesley's problem, not his.

George saluted and turned to walk away, only then allowing his emotions to surface. He felt on fire from the joint humiliation of Edrington's words and Timothy's silence, and yet, where he could forgive the trooper, he did not think he was going to forgive the Colonel.

He'd practically brought himself down to haggling, but no, nothing was good enough for him. He did not particularly care for the rest of the words either, even if he saw some truth in them. He pushed down on the 'need' that was trying to seize at his being: tonight was not the night for this, tonight was the night for remembering his rusty skills as a horse thief.

[to Waldegrave]

"A bit of both. And my father knew someone who knew someone who wrote a letter of recommendation for me. But when I arrived, they took one look at my pedigree, or rather my lack of one, and wanted to send me back again. Luckily someone figured my fronier experience and shooting skills might be usefull, and so I was pushed off into the 5/60th."
He broke into a delighted smile and beamed at Waldegrave: "Best thing that ever happened to me!"

"They don't mind who they have in the Rifles," Waldegrave said, then blushed. "I mean - whether you are English, or German, or even American. The 60th was formed in America, while it was still our colony. And there are lots of Germans - even in the company we have."

He thought that was reasonable - no need to mention Sharpe, who was nothing but a jumped-up ranker, after all. "You are a good shot," he admitted. "We don't have the same use for marksmanship in the 62nd."

"Oh, we do mind, we do! We pick the smart ones, the men that can think for themselves. The ones that can work independently of officers."
Heaving a sigh he expressed all the wearyness of his 18 years. "That's why the redcoats don't like us. They are used to herding sheep into lines. We are more like wolves, hunting in a pack..."

He fell silent and rather thought he had said too much.

"They are not sheep," protested Waldegrave. "You couldn't get sheep to do drill, and to stand under fire. You don't want independent action when you're in line. That's why they have to learn to obey orders, first." He scowled at the Rifles officer.

"Exactly! And that's the difference! You get the ones that can stand, we get the ones that can sneak around in the bushes. And we do insist on obedience, you know. But I suppose it doesn't always look like it from the outside..."

He directed a disarming smile at the other officer. Those redcoats. Always mindless drill. Again he blessed his fate that had brought him into the rifles and not a line regiment.

"It is important to stand, and wait, even under fire," Waldegrave said seriously, without responding to the grin. "Sneaking around is ... it's just a side show, like the Colonel and his air-rifle. It won't win the war for us."

He hesitated for a second and then asked: "Was Pombal your first? I mean, have you been in a real battle?"

Carty continued looking for the tell-tale flash of yellow hair - that Colonel was awfully nice, smiling back like that; and all that gold! Gold for the whole 95th! Jesus. Carty had never held real gold before - he'd ask Harris what girls liked when they went out to spend the gold.

Nearby there was a peal of laughter like merry bells ringing.

Aha! Carty ran, then paused for a second, and brushed the worse of the mud away from his uniform, particularly the knees and elbows, then ran again, spinning around a corner to see Jenny talking to another of the 60th's women between two tents.

Jenny looked up with amusement still flickering in her eyes from the joke she was sharing with her friend. She raised an eyebrow when she saw Carty standing there, the smile still lingering but not for him.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, she was beautiful. "Um, hello, Jenny..." Carty's face went scarlet, and his tongue tripped over the English words. "I can talk you?"

In spite of herself, Jenny smiled at his awkwardness, poor boy. "Of course you can talk to me, Mícheál. Goodbye, Mary," she said, nodding at the other girl who took herself away. "What do you want to talk about?"