29th May, night; Patrolling

Burke heard the shouted order, and immediately responded by shifting his aim downwards. The rifle recoiled sharply as he fired, and he moved quickly to reload even as he heard a shrill whinny of pain. Around him, other soldiers were doing the same, and he hoped that it would be enough. Where in God's name had they all come from?

He had lost sight of his mates in the chaos, and had to simply hope they'd made it to the square. Burke fired again, and once again reached for fresh shot. Little time to worry about it now.

What a bleeding mess this all was! Sharpe hated night fighting - it always led to mass confusion, and that could lead to disaster. Ever since the first time he'd fought at night, out in India, he'd hated even the thought of fighting in the dark. Which was rather ironic, seeing as he'd been on the other side in that particular incident.

He forced the lead ball down the rifle barrel, knowing by the feel of it that the rifle was getting fouled with powder residue.

The sounds of firing and the panicked whinnying of the horses was making it hard to think. Thankfully he didn't need to think, just to keep firing.