“Sir.”
Septimus noticed the absence of the word ‘yes’ and knew that Cooper would do whatever he felt was right in the circumstances. There was no gain in saying anything more – he would achieve nothing by it.
“Send Peter and Atkins with the baggage, in front of us. Tell them they are to be set up and ready for when we camp for the night.”
“Yes, sir. No point to having all of us hanging about, sir. Only needs the one to watch your back.”
“That’s what I thought. I am going to get my head down for a couple of hours until Major Paisley takes his people out. No point to trying to sleep after that!”
“No, sir. I’ll make sure the coffee pot’s on, sir.”
Septimus had the old soldier’s art of sleeping on demand and waking within the minute of his set time. He dropped down fully clothed and was snoring within seconds and stood alert from his cot at ten minutes to midnight.
“All ready, Major Paisley?”
“All correct, sir. Mr Ryan and his people are to lead us, on foot, and we have mules to come behind and, hopefully, be loaded. We think a little more than fifty minutes to reach the arsenal, kill the sentries and force a gate. Mr Ryan says that his people can get us inside silently. After that, it will be bayonet work. Four thin companies of Frogs – hardly more than our own numbers – should be easily despatched. Silently with any luck, sir.”
Septimus did not like the term ‘luck’; he much preferred careful planning.
“Important to be back before dawn, remember, Major Paisley. Pass your companies through when you return and head straight along the track and catch up to the baggage. They are moving already, as you know, and hopefully will have sat down at a usefully defensible place in the hills. Your people to sleep while the remainder of the battalion withdraws upon you.”
It was a repetition of his orders, but Septimus thought Paisley would befit from the reminder.
“What do you expect of Mr Ryan after this, sir?”
“Very little. If we have managed to lay hands on muskets, powder and ball for him after tonight’s little adventure, then I fully expect him to disappear into the Spanish hills, there to continue the guerrilla life. It is quite impossible for him to return to the Army now. He would certainly be taken up as a deserter, would be cashiered at minimum, shot quite probably. His future lies in Spain, if he has a future at all. He has a wife in Spain, I understand, indeed, I believe she is riding with the guerrilla band, so here he must stay.”
“Was I him, sir, I might well make for a port and head away to America. I doubt there is much else for him. Do you believe, sir, that there will be a place under a Spanish king for a foreign guerrilla when the French are finally defeated?”
Septimus shook his head.
“What do they call them, the displaced Irish? The Wild Geese, is it, sir?”
“I have heard the term, Mr Paisley. No home in Ireland, nor in England, and little enough elsewhere. I am glad I am not as they. Let us hope that Mr Ryan can fly, for he is a good man.”
The two companies filed out of the camp, almost silently, their equipment carefully muffled, wrapped tight with pieces of rag to stop any jingle as they marched. They saw Septimus stood to the side, knew he would be there to watch them back in again; the colonel cared and would much prefer to be with them, they knew.
Four hours to kill before they returned; there was paperwork to do, reports and returns to be signed off, tedious work, but it would pass the time, and he could not spend the whole of the night pacing the camp and fretting, and putting the men on edge as well.
He signed his name at least one hundred times in the space of two hours, noting that the Quartermaster had written off an average of one barrel in ten of beef as spoiled on opening, the Regimental Surgeon having counter-signed each one, the meat badly steeped and rotting.
“Bloody lies! They will have been sold off, exchanged for brandy or wine for the messes. Well done, Mr Black. Ten per centum is not too great a figure to get away with, but I do trust he will not get greedy and cause eyebrows to raise back in Lisbon, or even worse in London.”
A little later he noted that, once again, they had no boots to issue.
“Must remind the men to take the shoes off any Frogs we kill or capture. Even boots with holes in can be repaired or cut to bits to sew onto ours. Most of the locals go barefoot, so they are no use to us. Can’t buy from Morocco as they don’t wear boots like we do. Can’t let the men go without boots, not if we want fifteen miles a day from them… Another letter of complaint to Horse Guards, for all the good that may do!”
The middle of the night brought a howl of outrage from the tent.
“Goddam it to Hell, will you look at this? Cooper, another cup of bloody coffee!”
Major Perceval, also awake and making the rounds of the sentries, just to remind them that sleep was not a preferred option on duty, came running.
“Something wrong, sir?”
“Despatches from Horse Guards, just got around to opening them, stuff that was delivered as we marched out from Fuentes de Onoro. You would not believe it, Major Perceval!”
Septimus passed the offending instruction across.
“’It has come to the attention of the Archbishop of Canterbury that numbers of misguided soldiers have been holding prayer-meetings according to unorthodox rites. Officers are reminded that only services according to the rituals of the Established Church may be permitted in the Army. Furthermore, the practices particularly of Methodism and of the followers of Wesley are not conducive to the maintenance of a proper discipline and must be forbidden.’”
Major Perceval returned the sheet, shrugging his shoulders.
“What’s wrong with the donkey-wallopers, sir? Can’t say it’s ever appealed to me, but they seem pretty harmless sorts.”
“I believe the problem is that they appoint their own ministers, or whatever they are, and this smacks of Jacobinism, a denial of properly constituted authority. They should only pray by order of a Chaplain, who is an Army officer, of a sort.”
“They get more bloody daft every day, sir!”
“So they do. We are trying to fight a war and they are worried that the men are holding prayer-meetings! Unbelievable! What’s the time?”
“Close to three o’clock, sir.”
“Too soon for them to return yet. We would hear any outbreak of firing at this distance, do you not think?”
“We might miss a single musket shot at two miles, even on a quiet night, sir, but we would pick up volley fire for sure.”
“The French cavalry are at least as far distant as us, possibly more so, and horse are useless at night except they have made roads, so they will not move before first light. We had rather even so that they were not alerted for an hour or two, to give us marching time in daylight. First of their patrols should go out at dawn or soon after, and will discover something wrong at the arsenal within, say, half an hour, assuming that they are in the habit of dropping in to enquire if anything happened, any scouts were spotted, in the night. Report back and get a reaction from a senior officer, another hour. First regiment of cavalry to comb the edge of the woodland, an hour again, and they will look to the north first because they know that’s where we were coming from. Even a modicum of good fortune gives us three hours of daylight, which puts us, say eight miles along this track, which takes us well up into hill country. We might be able to avoid all contact with the cavalry, but I want the rearguard to bloody them because it’s too good an opportunity to miss out on. We can break a regiment of cavalry in the space of a morning of repeated ambushes out of the woods, Major Perceval.”
“Worthwhile, I must imagine, sir?”
“They must bring remounts and new men across the whole of Spain. They have stripped the land bare and so must depend on bases in France. Convoys across Spain must be heavily escorted, and will still often be attacked by the guerrillas. I am told that no party of less than a battalion in strength can expect to move at all, a
nd convoys often are escorted by a brigade. Wounded returning to France must also be protected. If we destroy a regiment, then the after- effects may cripple a whole division for a month.”
“I had not realised that, sir.”
“Important to a colonel, Mr Perceval. You are to succeed me if I go for any reason – a harder kick on the head a few months ago and you would be sat in this tent. I have had to learn that command of the battalion brings larger worries with it. Not to worry – you will do well when your time comes. Honesty and courage are first in importance to any soldier, and you lack neither quality, sir.”
“Thank you. I have learned much this last year or two, sir.”
“Good. Now, this morning, you will lead the battalion forward, picking out ambushes where you can set a company or two to wait. I shall hold the rear and will pass through with my people as soon as we have shaken off the first horse to penetrate the woodland. The French will be stupid if they continue a pursuit, but they are cavalry, which makes that a strong probability.”
Perceval laughed and agreed; in common with every other foot-soldier he knew that cavalry were good for looking pretty at reviews but had little other useful function.
A sentry called hoarsely to his sergeant in the darkness.
“Can see summat, sarge. Movement out in front.”
The sergeant sent a runner to Septimus while he moved across to the sentry post, set in the shadow of one of the big trees on the edge of the grassland of the valley.
“Where?”
The sentry pointed – a patch of darkness against the plain, vaguely shifting.
“Track takes a bend around the edge of the stream there, sarge. Crossin’ our front not comin’ straight on.”
“Got ‘em. How big, do you reckon, Bates?”
“Could be the mules what went out, sarge. I don’t reckon they’s more than ‘alf a furlong of ‘em in a column. Too ‘igh up just to be men. Might be ‘osses or could be them mules, like I said.”
“Right and tight, Bates. Good eyes you got on you, man. Corporal next time round, Bates – time you did something useful for a living!”
“Maybe, sarge. See ‘ow it goes, like.”
Private Bates was one of the more recent recruits, joined just before they had come out to Spain; he had very quickly learned the ropes, so rapidly that he was suspected to be a deserter from another regiment, returned to the Colours after finding civilian life not all he had hoped. Many deserters did the same – leaving their battalions having fallen out with an officer or sergeant, or been caught in crime, or even meeting up with a girl, and then discovering after a while that the Army was the life they were used to. It was all very bad, the officers agreed, but men were in short supply and they were not about to refuse a useful soldier.
Septimus came at the run, rousing the camp as he passed.
“Down the valley a way, sir. On this bit of a track, but it ain’t straight, sir.”
“God damn it, sergeant! I must be getting old – my eyes aren’t what they were! I think I see… yes, movement for sure. Well spotted that sentry! What’s your name, soldier?”
“Bates, sir.”
“You did well, Bates. I shall tell your captain to keep an eye on you. We always need good men to make up to corporal and then to sergeant.”
“Private Bates thinks it’s our mules, sir. Good eyes, he’s got.”
“A damned sight better than mine. Two platoons loaded and either side of the track here, just in case, sergeant.”
The men arrived and they waited on the slowly moving little column; definitely mules as they came closer and then stopped just a little short of the treeline.
“The Hampshires, ho!”
“Advance and be recognised, Mr Noakes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ensign Noakes made his way forward, wondering if all was exactly as it should be; he was quite certain that strangers in the night should not be addressed by name. He recognised his colonel and saluted.
“Sent forward with the mules, sir. All loaded, sir. The men got into the French all silently, sir. Cut their throats and stabbed them as they slept, mostly, sir. Not a shot fired and none of ours hurt, sir. Those guerrillas, sir, they grabbed a dozen of the Frogs all alive-oh, sir. They gagged them, sir, and then tied them up to stakes outside the wall where they could be seen by anyone coming, sir, and they cut them to bits, sir, left them to die slow. I spewed up, sir, and the captain sent me back with the animals.”
“How are they loaded, Mr Noakes?”
“All the Frog muskets, sir, and their cartridge, sir, and some spare powder and ball besides. Boots as well, sir. The captain had the men pull them off their feet, sir. Not much besides, sir, they didn’t have a lot by way of rations.”
“Bring the mules in. Send the ones with boots straight out. Unload the others. Then take all of the mules down the track until you meet up with our baggage. Well done, Mr Noakes, it was very important to bring this material in. Do not worry that you vomited, sir. I had rather have an officer who is sickened by such a sight than one who is unmoved by cruelty!”
Noakes slumped as he stood, his whole body saying he was defeated.
“I had thought I was a weakling, sir, for not liking it. Many of the men said the Frogs deserved all they got. They said a real soldier would have ignored it. I could hear the whispers, sir.”
Septimus showed his doubts on the matter, shrugging hopelessly.
“No man should be tortured to death, although, was I a Spaniard, I might well deal very harshly indeed with any Frog who fell into my hands. I do not know, Mr Noakes, but I shall be glad to leave this sorry, blood-soaked land behind. An officer of mine will have no part in the business of torture, that I firmly believe, and he will stop it if possible. But the guerrillas are allied to us, and we need them… and so we must ignore all they do. This is no war for a soldier!”
“I am not certain it is a war for me, sir. My inclination is to sell out, sir, and find an occupation to which I am more suited.”
Septimus was not deeply concerned by the boy’s dilemma.
“Sleep on it, Mr Noakes. If you are still of such a mind in a day or two, then be sure that I shall do all I can to assist you to return to Lisbon and then to England. There is no shame, sir, in realising that the soldier’s life is not for you, if that is your final decision; should you stay, then I doubt not you will be a better soldier for overcoming your doubts. Be very sure that you will receive no abuse from me, Mr Noakes.”
Reassuring the young was part of the colonel’s job, Septimus thought; not that he cared too much – an ensign or two, one way or the other, mattered very little to the battalion as a whole. Some of the boys made very good officers; some simply fell by the wayside; until they had grown up they were little more than supernumeraries, potential officers and no more.
“Thank you, sir. Be sure that I shall do my duty, sir.”
“Of course you will. But, you have a duty to yourself as well as to the regiment. If you feel that you may do better in another occupation, then you must go, Mr Noakes. If you wish to remain, then you are very welcome, for I have little doubt that you will become a very good officer.”
Lying was sometimes part of the colonel’s job, too.
“How far behind you is Major Paisley, Mr Noakes?”
“He expected to march within the hour, sir. There was some barrels of poor gunpowder to be disposed of, sir. It seems that the powder had been allowed to become wet, sir, and then had been dried again, spread out in the sun, and had caked, formed into lumps, sir.”
Septimus nodded; his Indian experience had included rain-damaged powder. The Monsoon often defeated the best of roofs and flooded powder stores.
“Best thing is to sell it to quarries for blasting, Mr Noakes. If that cannot be done, then it is a matter of grinding the lumps – using brass mortar and pestle – to produce a powder that will still be second-rate. The balance of the mix of charcoal, brimstone and saltpetre may be lost, it seems. W
hat has Major Paisley in mind?”
“He is burying it, sir, deep inside the warehouse that had been made into a redoubt, with a length of slow match tucked away out of sight. He said that it might do some good, blowing unexpectedly in two or three hours from now.”
“Clever! I might not have thought of that.”
Septimus had to applaud his junior’s action, though he thought it rather pointless in fact. It would amuse the men, however. Just as long as Paisley did not delay for too many minutes while he played.
“Off you go now, Mr Noakes. I want those mules on their way before first light.”
Noakes ran and Septimus forgot about him and his problems.
“An hour till dawn, sergeant?”
“About that, sir. Bit of cloud, might delay the light a few minutes, sir.”
“No rain, though. Dry at this time of year and for another couple of months yet. Give me the word as soon as you pick up movement.”
Private Bates was peering to the east, screwing his eyes up.
“Coming now, sir. Don’t look right for horses, so it must be ours, sir. Horses bounce, sir, but men don’t.”
“You have damned good night vision, Bates!”
“Goes with the trade, sir. My old dad took me out with him since I were a little boy, watching out, like.”
“Ah! Gamekeeper?”
“Not my old dad, sir. Best poacher in the whole county, so they reckoned!”
“Not a lot for a poacher in this countryside, I would have thought, Bates.”
“Hares, sir, a few. Not seen a deer and precious few of rabbits, what is surprising. Spotted one or two of gamebirds, sir, like to a fat partridge. Poor country, though – no living to be made hereabouts, sir.”
“Thin soil, as well, Bates. I would not wish to be a farmer in these parts.”
“Dunno why they Frogs wants it, sir. It ain’t much use to ‘em. It is ours, sir; I can see for sure, now.”
Septimus passed word for the battalion to ready itself to march, all except the rearguard.
Major Paisley brought his two companies in, formed up tidily with no wounded or bodies to incommode them.
Spanish Tricks (Man of Conflict Series, Book 5) Page 12