Outside 95th's billet

Standing in the doorway, hearing the sounds of a dozen or more men above, calling and shouting, Cadoux waited for either of the young riflemen to return with an officer, or someone of sense. There was a lot of movement on the streets - redcoats and cavalry, hurrying back to their billets, or being marched by section or company to their collection points, where they would stand in the rain, until provisioned and marched out after Soult. Turn-about is quite fair, Cadoux thought, provided they started soon enough to catch up with the fleeing French.

The Riflemen seemed to be more sensible, staying indoors until the last minute.

Carty was running ahead of Sergeant Harper; he thought it would make it seem as though it was taking less time if one of them at least arrived back. He slid on the rain-wet cobblestones but kept his balance, and sighed audibly in relief when he saw that Mister Sharpe's horse was still safely tied up. He knocked on the billet door and poked his head around it, not seeing the water that dripped from his shako. "S-Sergeant Harper here in minute, sir, sir."

2nd Lt. Jaeger sniffed at another canteen. He was making sure that none of his men left the 3/5/60th's billet with anything other than water to drink today. Judging by the state of some of the riflemen, they had had enough spirits the night before.

Another dead end with no officer to speak of, and an end of a street.

"..Of course!" The boy exclaimed, thinking there was a solution to the search, at last.

He ran till his chest felt like it were burning inside and his throat felt raspy, feeling little cold even with the soaked coat that he was wearing.

There he was. An officer!

"Sir!" He called as he approached him hastly. It was the lieutenant checking a canteen of each man so that none might smuggle in it a bit of alcohol for the way.

Startled, Jaeger looked up as a wet and mudsplattered rifleman barged into the room. "Pye! Why aren't you with your section? And how did you get so dirty? For shame!"

"Sir." He was trying to catch his breath, water dripping from his shako. "There's ah new cap'n of t' nineteethfif' needin' ter see us officer n' he isn't cap'hn Sharpe sir."

He breathed in, having bawled that out all too quickly, trying to say it all at once.

"Captain Cad'oss." He looked at Jaeger, his cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. There were lovely muddy feet going all the way up to where he was standing. "Wos' looking fer Captain Vickery, sir. Sorry, sir." He stood as stiff to attention as he possibly could, his chest rising and falling heavily as it was attempted to be forced into a subdued sort of motion.

Lt. Jaeger tried to make sense of Pye's babble. He hazarded a guess: "Sharpe is the new Captain of the 95th?"

Why the little detachment of 95th riflemen needed a captain was unclear to him, but he supposed stranger things had happened.

He shook his head. "No, no, no." Drop by drop the water was making their way on the floor but it left the rifleman no cooler.

"There's a.. a man, officer, captain Cad'oss come n' he wants ter talk t' captain Vickery n' Sharpe , or an officer from 60th n' 95th! Is.. " He took a breath. "Is important! Sir. He's got a big horse n'..N'..I don't know where captain Vickery is. But t' officer, he's waiting now. At t' 95th billet!" He looked hopefully at the lieutenant. He could have a solution ready, couldn't he? He was an officer, and they were smart that way.

"Oh that is good news! Captain Sharpe! I will congratulate him when I see him. And an officer is waiting for Captain Vickery at the 95th's billet? Well, when I last saw Captain Vickery was on his way to HQ, so I better go and see if I can help the new arrival. Lead the way!"

After getting a good view of Pye's backside, he added: "And stay on the roads, please."

He gestured to Pye to precede him, and followed the rifleman outside.

It was still raining. The little Rifleman was dripping water from the peak of his shako, but seemed unwilling to move into the house, out of the rain. And there was still no Sergeant or officer. Captain Cadoux studied the wet, worried face. "You are a rifleman, aren't you?" he asked after a long pause, unable to contain his curiosity.

Carty anxiously shifted his weight from one foot to the other; what was taking Sergeant Harper so long? "I am, sir, yis," he said with a shy but proud smile, before fear overtook it again. "Rifleman Carty, sir."

"No, no, Mister Sharpe.. Mister Sharpe, officer." He had mixed that up. Mister Sharpe wasn't a lieutenant, was he? Or maybe he was. Then he wasn't captain and only Vickery was Captain! " He was jus' needed too, sir."

"Yes sir!" His face brightened. The lieutenant was coming!

He was more than happy to turn quiet and lead the rifleman officer out of the room and onto the road. He nodded quickly to Jaeger's remark, careful as he was threading down the street. He kept to the road only and even there he took the direction which was shortest but not muddier in favour of that.

Cadoux looked out into the rainwashed street. A company of redcoats was passing - not quite in marching order yet, and some still stumbling with the effects of their previous night's entertainment. They were being herded by a sallow-faced sergeant, looking as if he too was suffering from a hangover.

From the left, however, he could see the other young rifleman returning, followed by a thin young man, trim and upright, with the badges of a second lieutenant in the 5/60th battalion. He turned his attention back to young Carty. "Has Mr Sharpe, or your Sergeant, seen to collecting your provisions yet?"

"Sergeant Harper, other riflemans, they being taking rations, sir," said Carty, wearing an anguished expression. "I am not knowing Mister Sharpe is being, sir, sorry, sir."

With their quick riflemen's pace they arrived at the 95th billet in no time. Outside of the building stood two horses, and nervously shifting in place between them was the youngest of the 95th riflemen.

Jaeger thought back to the training day they had held in Coimbra. Carty, that was the boys name.

But a more pressing problem was the immaculately groomed officer waiting in the doorway. He cut a dashing figure, and Jaeger breathed a sigh of relief. One mystery solved. Captain Cadoux. Who had been in the same Brigade as them last year. Pye had not been saying Captain Carthorse, but trying for Captain Cadoux.

He straightened his Jacket and came to attention.

"Sir!"

Pye looked relieved when he found both horses still there. It assured him that so was the captain.

He stood back, and at attention, careless of the rain that was doing a poor job at removing what the puddles have splattered on the fabric. He heard a few groans as men passed. Drinking themselves silly the other day, they were now paying the price. Weary, and hung over, tired and unwilling but they would return to the ranks in due time.

The young lieutenant came smartly to attention, and Cadoux stepped back into the entrance hall. "Come in out of the rain, Lieutenant...." He let his voice trail off as an invitation. The officers of the 5/60th could all speak English, couldn't they?

"2nd Lieutenant Jaeger, 3/5/60th, sir."

Quickly he told Pye: "Wait here."

And followed the 95th Captain inside. On the one hand, he felt inadequate in front of Captain Cadoux. With the greaming buttons, brushed fur and the uniform fitting like a glove, Cadoux was everything he was not, and Jaeger felt very shabby in the uniform he had been wearing since he first set foot on the Peninsula. But he had seen Captain Cadoux in action, at Rolica and Vimiero, and when they were marching into Spain last year, and he knew that they were both the right kind of officers.

Gathering his courage he added: "We were both in Fane's brigade last year."

There was a door opening off the hall, and Cadoux opened it. A small parlour, for the reception of visitors, with armchairs rigidly placed facing each other, and a table with a wilted pot plant. He stepped in and looked back at Jaeger. "Ah, you've been out here since last year. And already seen action again, I hear. I've come from Colonel Edrington, who wants confirmation that your riflemen will be ready to move shortly - I believe they are being provisioned ..."

Captain Vickery needed to learn of it still, but the lieutenant would be sure to report to him once he was done with the meeting. He was told to stay there and wait and so he did, rubbing a hem of his trousers, till he saw that the mud remained stubbornly on it. A good wash would make amends with that. He gazed at the sky. It didn't look like it would stop raining any time soon.

Why did the Germans speak such things about the British in the 60th rifles? He thought it was a fine group of men but now it looked as if they were being separated into two. The German and the English. And while he heard no ill word about their foreign language counterparts, the German riflemen had much to say in turn. He sighed. He was torn between telling and keeping it to himself, just as he had been when Newbury thought of attacking Hakeswill along with the lass. It wasn't right, not what they were trained atleast, nor told or taught.

Perhaps he should've forgotten about it. There was also word about him. He made a face at the thought. He was glad to serve under Vickery and yet they thought he were .. well he didn't know. Thinking about those things only confused a man more, all that really mattered was his rifle, his uniform and fighting. When the later was over, he could rest, eat, and fight again. If he died, well then nobody would really care much, which wasn't a big deal. He had friends and he thought he had a family in the rifles. Or the closest thereof.

But now even that felt to be slipping away. Dessert he would not. Atleast Hakeswill was gone.

Walking back from the Colonel's palacio, Sharpe was surprised to see Carty standing in the rain, holding the reins of a very beautiful horse. "Mister Sharpe!" he said, waving with his free hand. "Your horse, Mister Sharpe." He held out the reins.

"How did you get this, Carty?" Sharpe asked, putting his hands on his hips and staring down at the boy, praying to God that Carty had not taken it into his head to steal a horse from him - the Irish were always telling stories about some cow somebody nicked and fought a war over.

"Sailing man come here and say is Mister Sharpe's horse!" Carty said, shrinking back a little. "Your horse, sir, sir."

"I don't have a horse, Carty." He rolled his eyes to heaven - there must be some other officer wondering where his animal was. He looked down to see Carty trying to gently slip the reins into his hand; he growled and the boy stepped back. "What in the bloody hell do you expect me to do with a bloody horse?" asked Sharpe. This day was getting stranger and stranger - but the horse was somehow familiar...

"May I suggest riding it, sir?" said Harper, jogging up to them, huffing and puffing. "What's all this about a new officer?"

"We'll see," said Sharpe darkly, and opened the door.

"I shall have a word with Captain Vickery," Cadoux was saying, as he and Jaeger came out of the dim sitting room. There was another Rifleman in the hall - tall, fair, and with a worn and rather scruffy uniform ... With the markings that showed that here was Lieutenant Sharpe ....

Cadoux held his own shako under his arm. It was a new one, replacing the one with the salt-water and snow-melt stains, the powder burns and the sweaty hand prints. "Mr Sharpe?" he enquired sweetly. "I was hoping to see you."

"Captain Cadoo, I presume?" asked Sharpe. The man was shorter and younger than Sharpe, with a face so feminine it was pretty, and his uniform had obviously only just been taken out of the box.

"Yes," the Captain confirmed. There was the slightest trace of a lisp - the very least hint of it, Cadoux knew, as he took in the effect of his appearance on the other man. It was going to be amusing - there were always these terribly enthusiastic officers in the Rifles, and Richard Sharpe, according to the Colonel, was a positive fire-eater. "I've just come out from England. Colonel Wade sent me to make sure everyone here was in good shape."

"They are, Captain," said Sharpe with a grimace - he could not bring himself to call this pretty lisping young thing 'sir'. 'Captain' was somehow easier - it was a fact, not a sign of respect. "A bit savage to you, I suspect, but they're all good fighters."