Sharpe-Riley stuff
Mar. 6th, 2003 06:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
burntcopperGot part of the beginning scene done - V. boring, just set-up stuff, really. No reactions or anything, but it's a start. :sigh: At one point I will write more interesting scenes, dammit. And really not sure if it should Hogan as the Exploring Officer / Head of Intelligence in this. Maybe it'll be one of the others, like Nairn. Hrrm.
Mid morning finds the Chosen Men lounging by their tents, doing repairs and
cleaning their rifles. Harper's playing with his son, Perkins and Hagman are
doing repairs on their jackets, Harris has his nose in a book, alternating
between that and his boots, and Cooper's cleaning his rifle.
Soldiers, horses, women and carts rumble back and forth in front of them.
Harper whistles, low. "Now there's a sight you don't see every day." The
Chosen Men look up to see what the fuss is about, seeing two soldiers walk
past in Rifles green. Not 95th, but the novelty is that one of them's black. Not
too many of them in Wellington's army. Harper holds up his son to see. "Look,
Patrick, a black man. You normally have to go down to the docks in the big
cities to see those."
"Rifles?" Cooper says. "They're not 95th. Any others around?"
Sharpe shrugs. "Dunno. Must be new in. Heard there were some others
around the Peninsula."
Sharpe looks up as an ensign comes up and snaps to a salute in front of him.
Sharpe drags his eyes up lazily. "Yes, lad?"
"Major Hogan and Wellington want to see you, sir. Matter of some import."
The ensign flushes, looking at Sharpe's general state of disarray. "Wellington
requested that you be smart, sir."
"Right, lad, I'll try for your sake." Sharpe grins.
"Sir." The ensign walks away stiffly. Can't be more than sixteen, all told.
"What do you suppose it's for, sir?" Harris asks, looking up from his book.
"Dunno, Harris, but I'll be sure to tell you when I get back. Any of you lot
upset any officers lately?"
"Apart from the one whose uniform we stuffed with chicken feathers, sir?"
Harper asks, deadpan. "Not a one."
"Aye, well, if I come back tarred and feathered you'll know why." Sharpe says,
picking up his jacket and disappearing inside his tent to tidy himself up a bit.
When he gets to Wellington's tent, there's the usual guards, and a couple of
others hanging about. Two of them are the two privates they watched go
past earlier. They're passing a canteen between them. Must have an officer
somewhere nearby. He files it to the back of his mind and lifts the door of the
tent to go in.
Inside, Hogan and Wellington are discussing something. In the corner is a
young officer, all spick and span in Rifles green.
"You asked to see me, sir?"
"Ah. Yes. Sharpe. How are things?" Wellington asks.
"Not bad, sir. The usual."
"Good, good." Wellington flips over some papers, then nods at Hogan. "You're
the expert on this, Hogan, you tell him."
Hogan grins. "I'll try and keep it simple, sir. Sharpe, we've got a mission for
you."
"Another one?" A grin tugs at Sharpe's mouth. "I'll try and restrain me
excitement, Major."
"Try, Sharpe, do try." Wellington says dryly.
"It's a rescue mission. A certain group of people have been captured by forces
allied to the French. These people have an important mission, and it's fairly
vital that they be allowed to achieve it. They're also carrying papers of
import." He picks up a map, unrolls it on the table and points to a place near
the river. "They were last heard of here, but intelligence leads us to believe
that they've been taken here." His hand shifts to a spot further north, a small
village. "And are being held hostage. You'll be accompanying Captain Finn
and his men." Hogan gestures at the young man standing in the corner of the
tent.
Sharpe turns slightly to get a better measure of the man than the cursory
glance he gave him when he walked in. Young - about twenty-five or so,
which means there's a fair chance he's at least seen a bit of action, holds
himself like a fighter, which is good news. Spit and polish but at least it's
disciplined spit and polish, not vanity spit and polish. There's a difference. Ups
the chances of his having seen action.
Finn nods, extending a hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Captain Sharpe. I've
heard a lot about you." American.
"Finn captains a detachment of the 60th Royal Americans, Rifles like yourself."
Hogan continues.
"I know that, sir." Sharpe replies, grinning slightly.
Mid morning finds the Chosen Men lounging by their tents, doing repairs and
cleaning their rifles. Harper's playing with his son, Perkins and Hagman are
doing repairs on their jackets, Harris has his nose in a book, alternating
between that and his boots, and Cooper's cleaning his rifle.
Soldiers, horses, women and carts rumble back and forth in front of them.
Harper whistles, low. "Now there's a sight you don't see every day." The
Chosen Men look up to see what the fuss is about, seeing two soldiers walk
past in Rifles green. Not 95th, but the novelty is that one of them's black. Not
too many of them in Wellington's army. Harper holds up his son to see. "Look,
Patrick, a black man. You normally have to go down to the docks in the big
cities to see those."
"Rifles?" Cooper says. "They're not 95th. Any others around?"
Sharpe shrugs. "Dunno. Must be new in. Heard there were some others
around the Peninsula."
Sharpe looks up as an ensign comes up and snaps to a salute in front of him.
Sharpe drags his eyes up lazily. "Yes, lad?"
"Major Hogan and Wellington want to see you, sir. Matter of some import."
The ensign flushes, looking at Sharpe's general state of disarray. "Wellington
requested that you be smart, sir."
"Right, lad, I'll try for your sake." Sharpe grins.
"Sir." The ensign walks away stiffly. Can't be more than sixteen, all told.
"What do you suppose it's for, sir?" Harris asks, looking up from his book.
"Dunno, Harris, but I'll be sure to tell you when I get back. Any of you lot
upset any officers lately?"
"Apart from the one whose uniform we stuffed with chicken feathers, sir?"
Harper asks, deadpan. "Not a one."
"Aye, well, if I come back tarred and feathered you'll know why." Sharpe says,
picking up his jacket and disappearing inside his tent to tidy himself up a bit.
When he gets to Wellington's tent, there's the usual guards, and a couple of
others hanging about. Two of them are the two privates they watched go
past earlier. They're passing a canteen between them. Must have an officer
somewhere nearby. He files it to the back of his mind and lifts the door of the
tent to go in.
Inside, Hogan and Wellington are discussing something. In the corner is a
young officer, all spick and span in Rifles green.
"You asked to see me, sir?"
"Ah. Yes. Sharpe. How are things?" Wellington asks.
"Not bad, sir. The usual."
"Good, good." Wellington flips over some papers, then nods at Hogan. "You're
the expert on this, Hogan, you tell him."
Hogan grins. "I'll try and keep it simple, sir. Sharpe, we've got a mission for
you."
"Another one?" A grin tugs at Sharpe's mouth. "I'll try and restrain me
excitement, Major."
"Try, Sharpe, do try." Wellington says dryly.
"It's a rescue mission. A certain group of people have been captured by forces
allied to the French. These people have an important mission, and it's fairly
vital that they be allowed to achieve it. They're also carrying papers of
import." He picks up a map, unrolls it on the table and points to a place near
the river. "They were last heard of here, but intelligence leads us to believe
that they've been taken here." His hand shifts to a spot further north, a small
village. "And are being held hostage. You'll be accompanying Captain Finn
and his men." Hogan gestures at the young man standing in the corner of the
tent.
Sharpe turns slightly to get a better measure of the man than the cursory
glance he gave him when he walked in. Young - about twenty-five or so,
which means there's a fair chance he's at least seen a bit of action, holds
himself like a fighter, which is good news. Spit and polish but at least it's
disciplined spit and polish, not vanity spit and polish. There's a difference. Ups
the chances of his having seen action.
Finn nods, extending a hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Captain Sharpe. I've
heard a lot about you." American.
"Finn captains a detachment of the 60th Royal Americans, Rifles like yourself."
Hogan continues.
"I know that, sir." Sharpe replies, grinning slightly.
