True Soldier Gentlemen (Napoleonic War 1) Read Free Page A

left.’
    Hamish Williams hesitated, then he reached down and moved the blocks representing the Grenadier and Number One Company together to form a dense line four deep. The two ranks of grenadiers would be kneeling, bayonets fixed and the butts of their muskets braced against the ground so that the weapons pointed upwards. No horse would willingly commit suicide by charging a hedge of bayonet points. So as long as the redcoats remained steady – and Williams was utterly confident that they would – then they were safe against a charge from the front. The problem was the flanks, which were still wide open.
    ‘Thirty seconds. They are spurring into a gallop now. Their swords are about three feet long and they are all aiming at us, arm straight and wrist bent in the charge.’
    ‘Bloody grenadiers.’
    Es docompany was represented by a wooden block some three inches long. They were white, but painted on each side were seven miniature redcoats standing at the present, staring blankly forward as if they did not have a care in the world. They wore the old-fashioned cocked hats long since replaced by the shako, and there were plenty of chips on the paintwork as testimony to heavy usage. Someone had drawn in a pair of glasses on the centre grenadier to make him look like Lieutenant Pringle. The latter was stretched out on his bed, using Williams’ heavy brass telescope to peer out of the window. It was an immensely heavy piece, designed to be held on a stand, so Pringle was resting it on the headboard of the bed.
    Pringle looked up for a moment. ‘Am I about to be called upon to lay down my life for King and Country once again?’ he said wearily.
    Truscott ignored him. ‘Come on, man, what do you do?’ he demanded of Williams once again.
    ‘Only it will be the eighth time this afternoon,’ continued Pringle, who was now looking back through the telescope. His glasses were on the top of his head and he adjusted the brass eyepiece to sharpen the focus. ‘I only ask because if I’d known I would have got Jenkins to do a better job of polishing my boots. Seems a shame to die looking shabby.’
    ‘Why change the habit of a lifetime?’ chipped in Anstey, one of four officers playing cards at the other end of the long table from the wooden blocks representing the battalion. There were appreciative guffaws from his companions. The game was progressing slowly, but they were already well into the second bottle of claret so it was clear that their time had not been entirely wasted. Thin clouds of cigar smoke also attested to their comfortable leisure.
    Williams had a sudden revelation. He could do it if he broke each company into two platoons. Quarter-distance meant thatthere was room for the platoons to wheel outwards and form the sides of the square. They would be only two deep, which was very thin, but if they timed their volleys just right then they could stop a squadron in its tracks. Williams started to move the blocks, but each was a solid company piece so he was going to have to explain what he meant.
    ‘Time’s up,’ said Truscott. Derryck helpfully jabbed at the blocks with a toasting fork, scattering the painted battalion. Truscott leaned against the back of his chair and complacently crossed his legs. His lean, intelligent face showed little trace of amusement and considerable disappointment. ‘It seems that once again we all have an opportunity to find out the answer to the great question, courtesy of our young gentlemen. Well, I suppose some of the battalion might survive. Be hard for the French to kill everyone.’ He paused, frowning. ‘Their arms would get tired for a start. Anyway, they are usually pretty decent about taking prisoners.’
    ‘Bloody grenadiers.’ Williams glared at the young ensign, who grinned back cheerfully. Derryck’s own attempts at manoeuvring the blocks had produced an even more rapid and spectacular disaster. Neither of the other ensigns had managed much better.
    ‘Nobody