With the Chosen Men

(OOC - as some people playing Chosen Men are a little nervous, and we haven't yet had all the Chosen Men in a thread together, shock, horror!, I decided to start this thread. It is primarily for the Chosen Men to hold campfire discussions and the like, though if anyone else is in the vicinity of our fire, you may be offered tea. As with the 62nd's thread, wherever the Chosen Men are, this thread will follow them.)

IC -

Sharpe had been dismissed by Colonel Edrington and found himself back in the billet he shared with Harper and the other Chosen Men. They had to pack and be at the square tomorrow morning to meet up with Vickery's Company of the 60th, and Edrington's 62nd Regiment.

He was glad to see the fire going and a kettle on the boil. He could just murder a cup of tea.

"Tea, sir? We've a pot that's well brewed - or you can wait for the kettle." Harris tested the pot. "There's enough here for one - if you're desperate." He did not ask. If Sharpe wanted them to know what had happened, he would tell them.

"Thanks, Harris. I'll take the strong stuff." He took the mug held out.

"We are being attached to a company of the 60th, who are in turn being attached to the 62nd, who are forming part of the 2nd Division under General Picton."

So, it was a bombshell. So he should've given them some warning. Oops.

Harris hesitated with the pot held over the mug, and then poured the tea. "That might be better than our last excursion. The 60th we know, but I don't know the 62nd." General Picton he had heard of - well, who had not. "Do we know the rest of the Division?"

"And then what sir?"

Harper eyed the bottom of his cup suspiciously, as if willing it to be full would make the tea appear.

"The others in it are the 27th, and the 33rd. And I advise you to keep away from the 33rd, if you can. As for what happens after that, we're with the 2nd Division for the campaign, or until General Wellesley decides we'd be better making ourselves useful somewhere else." He grinned. "Pat, wishful thinking won't fill your mug up."

With the kettle about to boil, and his Sergeant sitting impatiently with an empty mug, Harris sighed and prepared another pot. "We will need the resources of a regiment to keep ourselves in tea!"

"You could scuff up a cup of tea in the middle of the desert, Harris," Sharpe said, savouring the strong, hot flavour of his own cup of tea.

"I'd try. Provided that there is camel dung for the fire." He set the pot down. "When do we march?"

"Tomorrow. We parade in the main square with Captain Vickery of the 60th." He looked around at the men - his men. "And you won't cause him or his men any trouble. Will you?"

"Of course not." Although he could not speak for all the others. There would be Germans, too, although at least the officer was British. Tea for the Sergeant. "Noix de Mai will come in useful, if we're to parade."

"Cheers Harris."

Harper held the mug between his hands, savouring the heat.

"Us sir? We'll be on our best behaviour as always."

Sharpe looked at Harris. "I'd prefer marchin' on me own two feet to ridin' and looking like a sack of potatoes. More comfortable, too." He sat back and looked at Harper. "I know you will, Pat, I know. You always are."

"And what about the redcoats? How will that work?"

"We work with them, Harris. Skirmishing out front, which is something they can't do, and relying on their rate of fire when the Frog column gets too close. But you're still my men, under my command. If you've got any problems, you come to me and I'll deal with them. And no, the redcoat Colonel can't flog you."

"Did you tell him that?" Some ordered the lash for the smallest thing. Sharpe would do his best for them, no doubt about that. But if a Colonel wanted a man flogged, then Harris wondered how a Lieutenant would prevent it.

"We're attached to them, not part of them, so you're still under my orders. And the Colonel will allow us to keep our own way of doing things just as long as we can show him that our way works and we're not gettin' away wi' things the redcoats wouldn't."

He blew the steam off his tea and took a sip. "But as soon as they think we're getting away with murder, all bets are off, and I wouldn't like to say what'll happen, then."

"I do not intend to commit murder - but it is fortunate that it's not the 33rd we're attached to." He knew about Sergeant Hakeswill, of course. "We'll be too close to them anyway, if they're in the same division."

[OOC: there is a word 'brigaded' as in 'the 27th were brigaded with us under Picton' but can you say 'divisioned'?]

"Glad to hear you ain't plannin' on committing murder any time soon, Harris," Sharpe said. "Good brew, you make an' all."

(OOC: Brigaded is a term, divisioned isn't. They are being brigaded with the 27th, 33rd and 62nd to form a division. Weird military terms..)

Perkins was already mentally preparing his kit, hoping his boots would be in marching order by the morning. "Oh sir! I've still got the doctor's shoes!"

He threw a dry smile at Sharpe before turning to the lad. "Wrap them up and send them to him care of the Medical Corps. That was where he told the Capitaine to contact him."

Sharpe pulled out his notebook and a pencil. He scratched a note, trying to write legibly for once, tore it out and gave it to the lad. "Before you give the Doctor his shoes back, take this along to the Quartermaster of the 62nd Regiment, who'll give you a new pair."

Perkins gave him an embarrassed grin. "Thankee, sir. I can't believe I forgot. I must've hit my head when I fell down those stairs or sommat."

"And what were you doin', fallin' downstairs, Perkins?" Sharpe said, looking at the lad.

"Oh. Well. It weren't on purpose, sir," Perkins answered, flushing.