29th May, night; Patrolling

"I am sure that there will be enough cavalry for you to claim at least one of them for yourself. I fear that some of my men will have to go without, though." It seemed that Blackwood was not the sort of man who stayed out of the fray, urging others on in his stead. He appeared to be, like Vickery himself, one who led from the front.

"I shall hope for that," Blackwood remarked lightly. "Perhaps we will all get our own cavalryman tonight."

The handpicked group of Riflemen slipped over the hilly ground with lethal silence, following the stench bore toward them on the light night breeze. It was not easy going, considering the terrain.

"C'mon, Ben," Mayden whispered, reaching out to tug at Perkins' sleeve. "You lookin' to get left behind?"

Perkins was quiet. He'd been thinking on something when his step slowed and he could have felt grateful that Mayden noticed it. He looked timid and flustered at him, shaking his head subtly. "No. Coming." He quickened his pace to make his words true.

"Sorry." He whispered after a good few moments passed.

In the dark, it was difficult to see Mayden's smirk. "C'mon then," he prompted, his voice a nearly inaudible rasp. It couldn't be too much farther to where the French cavalrymen were camped. At least not judging by the increasingly-strong reek of saddle sores.

"We'll crack 'em open nicely, we will."

Perkins nodded clutching his rifle tight. The smell of horses and the rotting smell of their sores, the poor horses did deserve to be pitied. Did all horses get treated in that way or just some? Didn't matter, the cavalry would be sent running thanks to the 95th. That he knew. He ducked a branch and hoped over a few uneven boulders, careful not to slip up and make a sound that could alert.

"Like ..eggs." He added lamely. "Crack 'em like eggs."

"Like eggs," Mayden agreed, his response barely a whisper. He inched over the ground, rifle at the trail, and listened for any sign that the Frog cavalry suspected they were shortly to receive visitors. It was not as easy for him, though. He was not a tracker like old Hagman. His experience with hunting anything was limited to chasing his mates around Covent Garden. He'd learned a lot since joining the Rifles, of course, but his skills were not yet instinctive or steady.

Something up ahead squeaked and a man close by offered a curse. A French voice called out into the darkness. It was a challenge. Mayden knew little enough of the French language, but the tone of the unseen Frog's voice gave away his meaning. Was this the point where they announced their presence with a volley of rifle fire? He lifted his Baker slowly toward his shoulder in silent anticipation. Maybe it was for the best that somebody had trod on a mouse like this...

Perkins glanced at Mayden. The silence was disturbed by a rustle of leaves, a hoot of an owl at a distance, and then barely a buzz of an insect that came to swoop rather close to the young rifleman's ear. He slipped his hand silently to it and swatted the persistent insect away. It did not seem to want to seize rumbling though, and instead had a flight about his head to the other side.

Perkins kept his hand on his rifle rather this time. adjusting his grip on it. His breaths were easy and very light. More, and they could've heard. But there was something the French were expecting. Wasn't it? A response. Well, he didn't know any French, nor could he have said anything back as he did. He stared into the darkness, trying to make out the shapes of men closest, yet perhaps more importantly so, those which might offer a clear, quick shot of a rifle.

There was a sound of a horse, snorting, and if there had been more light, the mist rising from his nostrils might've even been seen.

It was Harris who offered a reply to the sentry's challenge, since he was the only one amongst them who knew any French. There was another silence and Mayden eased his finger toward the rifle's trigger. He knew enough to be as ready as he could, in the event of an unpleasant surprise.

The sentry called out again, his tone sounding curious now. Great. Mayden let out a slow, quiet breath and aimed for the semi-distant dark blot that was the Frog. He could make the shot, he knew it, and was itching for the chance to pull the trigger. Couldn't they open fire yet? That Frog knew somebody was out there, after all...

Perkins tensed. The French might have been onto something, the challenge was perhaps not answered correctly, or was it formed of more than one challenge. Who knew how the French worked, and he had no idea what Harris had said anyway, or what the Frenchman followed up with. He sighed, and tightened his grip on his rifle.

He strained to see the shapes that were other than that of trees , leaves and bushes, to make out the familiar uniform and perhaps a shape of the enemy's head gear, even their heads. It wouldn't matter. If Mayden fired, the alarm would be sounded. If the Frenchman was disatisfied with the answer, it would all be the same too. Unless they thought not to inquire further.

He heard Harris call out again and wondered what he was saying. It seemed to amuse the French sentry anyway, for the man let out a braying laugh and followed this up with a stream of French.

The grass rustled faintly as the Riflemen inched closer toward their prey. Harris was doing well to distract the sentry. Mayden eased forward, keeping his rifle trained on the Frog's outline. Any second now...

A horse nickered softly, then stamped its hooves and let out a snuffling snort. Somebody off to Mayden's right sucked in a quick breath and the loose half-ring of Riflemen stopped instinctively. There was another Frog on their right, previously unnoticed. He had been lying down, or something else daft, but was now on his feet.

The first sentry answered the second Frog's sleepy-voiced query cheerfully enough, but then something changed. The night air drew in upon itself, tensing up as if before a rainstorm. Mayden kept his aim on the first sentry, knowing somebody else would take care of the second man.

A French voice called out something that was probably the alarm. Mayden couldn't be sure who had shouted but it was enough for him. He steadied his breathing and slipped his finger around the trigger. That was one less Frog they had to deal with, he thought as his rifle cracked.

They'd managed to get close, damn close - closer than Sharpe would have thought possible, even with Harris' knowledge of French.

And then a rifle cracked.

The air was suddenly full of a babble of confused voices, neighing horses and futile musket shots.

Sharpe would have wanted this done quietly, but no matter. What was done, was done. He brought his rifle into his shoulder and fired, adding to the confusion.

Hurry up and reload. He didn't want to miss out on any of the action. Mayden glanced up when he heard the dull thump of hooves, barely audible over the fire being exchanged. Some of the French had gotten to their horses.

He scrabbled for his sword-bayonet. Getting trampled by some foul-smelling cavalry horse didn't rate on his list of things to do before he died. The light click as he fixed the sword-bayonet was lost amid all the other noise around him. Mayden lifted his rifle and fired again, aiming for the hulking shadow of a Frog who'd managed somehow to pull himself up onto his horse.

Had he hit the bastard? There was no way to tell.

Perkins put the rifle to his shoulder. He steadied himself and then fired, sending a ball right at one of the men climbing to their horses. It was a target too big to miss. He lowered the rifle quickly then. It was all he could do with his rifle, and shifted his hold , similarly to Mayden, to his sword bayonet. He scrambled for it a bit, and then finally had a good strong grip on it.

There was quite a commotion, the French and their horses, the firing from the riflemen, it rose smoke, and made some of the animals panic.

A huge dark shadow loomed too close by. Mayden stabbed at it with his sword-bayonet and quickly ducked away. There were too many horses scattering about. Most had no riders, but those that did were twice as dangerous.

If he could have managed it, he would have reloaded. He was running straight into the thick of the Frogs' camp, however, and thought only of knocking down as many of the jabbering buggers as he could.

The ringing echo of rifle fire in the near-distance had every man's attention. Clearly the cavalrymen were being engaged and quite hotly as well, by the sound of it. Blackwood moved quickly along the line, taking care to keep low as he went. "Sergeant Northcut," he hissed, pausing briefly by the man's side. "Draw the lads back in. We'll close up and prepare to receive cavalry."

He didn't wait to hear Northcut's acknowledgment. Instead, he was off again, making his way to the rightmost end of the line. A supporting force of two dozen men should be sufficient to send in assistance. "Sergeant Burr, take two sections up to reinforce the Riflemen. Be mindful what you fire at."

It would be difficult to tell friend from foe in the dark, after all, with the Riflemen wearing such dark-coloured jackets.

Hagman had been approaching with the other lads just as silently, glad to be rid of his pack as it made moving in the dark much easier. Actions like that always remindet him of his days back home, roaming the woods in search of deer. In the end it didn't matter what he was hunting, a stag or a Frog, he thought. Though with deer you had to be five times as cautious not to give your whereabouts away. Frogs did not have a hightened sense of smell it seemed.

When the first shot rang Dan had his rifle at his shoulder, ready to fire any moment should there be a reasonable aim. He saw a Frenchman trying to get onto his horse but before the unhappy chap had his foot in the stirrup he had a bullett in his back.

Too far - he'd gone too far. His headlong rush had carried him straight into the heart of the chaotic, panicking band of Frogs. And he had not yet reloaded his rifle, either. Mayden cursed himself, sparing a word or two for the French, and laid about him blindly with sword-bayonet and rifle butt. At this moment, he did not even have to aim. Anywhere he turned, he was likely to strike an enemy. It would be an extraordinarily lucky thing if they did not manage to cut him down too.

Dan reloaded quickly. He tried not to get swept away with the rush of commotion their assault had caused, though it was though and happened easily enough. He focused on his aims, one after the other, plucking Frenchmen from their horses or stopping them in their approach. When there was no more time to reload he reached for his knife. The darkness still providing fairly enough cover - the dark green of their uniforms helping aswell - Dan advanced cautiously forward. He felt the presence of a Frog - or at least he hoped it was a Frenchman. He waited till he was close, his poacher's instincts guiding him now, then pounced on the figure and slit his throat. Casting the squirming body aside he continued on.
He couldn't see most of his fellow riflemen, only assuming their whereabouts by the noises around him. He tried to make out some of the figures, subconciously looking for Perkins and the other younger lad, Sam.

Sam disappeared out of his view. The man had been rather fast in his advance. Perkins tried to keep up, but had to give the chase up, when there were more Frenchmen in his way than he could struggle to push by. Mayden gone, he could only guess of the direction the man went, and already became more and more aware that the number of riflemen had diminished and instead what he found ahead of him were plenty of Frogs.

With a heave he managed to bring one to stumble, though his intention was to make him fall backwards. Before he could aim the butt of his rifle at him, a Frenchman came from the side, and the lad just managed to parry with the length of his weapon instead. He stumbled back this time. Tripped over a dead man, cut down by Mayden most probaly. He rolled to the side, just as a bayonet sunk into the ground and made a spark against a rock. He brought his leg upwards and showed the man back. To the side the Frenchman went, and a sword bayonet sunk into his cut. Perkins pulled it free. And pushed forward again. He deflected a blow, had one tear into his coat, but miss his side by mere inches. His shako was knocked of his head and the lad stumbled again.

He scrambled to the left, as a large Frenchman took him on as a target and swung his weapon at the lad's had. Again the boy twisted around, and as the man came down, so his sword bayonet came up. They met half way. The attacker expired, yet not before placing much of his weight against the smaller, younger lad. Perkins's coat had been drenched in mud, dirt and blood as he began to pull himself from under the heavy body.

Mayden succeeded in knocking one last Frog down before he was, in turn, knocked aside by a panicked, riderless horse. He remained sprawled on the ground a moment, letting the remaining handful of Frogs begin to organise themselves, then he heaved himself up with a sharp bellow and sank his sword-bayonet into the nearest Frog.

That'd learn the bastards! He wrenched his rifle free and kicked at a second Frenchman who whirled around to face him. It was time, Mayden thought, to rejoin his mates. If he could find them in the dark!

"Mind your fire," Sergeant Burr hissed to his men, before giving the orders that spread the twenty-four redcoats out into line. The grasshoppers had stirred up some cavalry, had they? Good. It had been awhile since Burr was afforded the chance to take a crack or two at cavalry.

There was a boiling, busy-sounding fight going on ahead of them. Burr moved his men forward at a fast walk, mindful of the uneven terrain. There was a slight hill between them and the scrap, and he knew they would stand out like beacons even in the dark, once they were over it. Their white trousers and crossbelts would make very inviting targets.

"Fix bayonets!" Burr already had his own bayonet fixed. They would need the long blades to adequately defend themselves against mounted troopers. "Over the top, steadily."

The battle, such as it was, appeared before them suddenly as the small line crested the hill. It was a chaos of shadows, illuminated occasionally by a musket or rifle firing. Burr gripped his musket and moved down the slope with a determinedly casual stride. No sense in rushing into anything. There was likely to be enough cavalry to go around, after all!

Hagman made his way through the dark and the chaos, taking down Frenchmen in the process with either his knife or rifle butt. It was getting harder by the minute to tell friend from foe.
Someone bumped into him from the left and turning he saw it was a Frog who had been stabbed with a bayonett and pushed off it sideways. Trying to avoid the falling body, Dan stepped sideways himself, stepping onto someone lying on the ground. He looked down and saw something move under a corpse. Realising that it was a man and a man not wearing the blue of the French at that, he grabbed the man's jacket collar and dragged him up.
It took him a moment to figure out it was Perkins he had at arm's reach. "Ben... what ya think ya doing down there?" was all he could come up with. With the battle raging around them he took the lads arm and dragged him along. "Ya going ta stay with me now."

He was about to strike at the hand helping him up, thinking it was instead a hand bringing about his end, but then he heard Dan Hagman speak, and he felt relief flood into him. His face was in part covered with mud, streaks of it coming from nose to one cheek, and across the side of his face.

"Dan!" He flashed him a broad smile. As brief as their conversation. There was no time to explain or answer just: "Sam's gone up over there. We need to find him!" But having the finest shot and friend on his side, sure felt as if the chaos had gotten just a bit less chaotic.

Behind them the flashy redcoats would soon play a useful part. Once they reached the battle though, with their more reserved pace than that of the riflemen.

The short line of redcoats came within striking distance of the scattered, mounted Frogs. Burr glanced along the rank of white-trousered shadows and almost smiled.

"Lights!" He said, raising his voice just a little. "Clear some saddles."

To follow his own order, the Scotsman lifted his musket to his shoulder and settled his aim on a particularly bold Frog who had taken notice of the new arrivals. The trooper's calls to his comrades would only mean more targets for the redcoats.

Burr fired.