(Coat of Arms of Baron Seaton by Ricky)


Disclaimer 1: This is fanfic. That means I do not own any of it. I just borrow it to play with for a little while and let people see the pathetic results if they really want to.

Disclaimer 2: I'm not making any money from it. It's just for fun.

Disclaimer 3: What isn't borrowed is all made up. None of this is real or most likely at all realistic. Please don't trust any of the information in here. Most likely you know more about whatever I'm writing about than I do.

Disclaimer 4: Attitudes, views and opinions expressed by the characters or in the story are not necessarily those of the author. Even when writing Science Fiction or Fantasy I do not tend to attempt to create perfect/better worlds in which everybody gets a happy end ... or whatever is best for them. Please accept that some characters will have a bad ending or be unhappy.

Disclaimer 5: I intend no insult to anyone. If I offend anyone I'm very sorry. Please understand that it was an accident as I tend to be very clumsy in these things.

Disclaimer 6: If my characters' conversations seem odd or they appear to be talking past each other the latter might occasionally be intentional, but most likely it is an accident and I'm not aware that they are. It's just my bad communication skills.

AN: Sequel to my sounds like a plan submission. Colborne puts his plan into action. This time the scene is historical as well, though Harry’s autobiography didn’t say just how they came to have a race ...
Dramatis Personae (if anyone’s that interested):

The attack went much better than Harry had expected. Apparently the French had never practised shooting at enemies coming towards them uphill. Their aim was off. A lesson to keep in mind for the next time he got to drill soldiers. The 95th regiment were sharpshooters after all.

At the moment Harry had to deal with the here and now, though. He had been under fire too often before to be worried about his courage, or that he might get in over his head, but there was the additional challenge of keeping up with Colborne.

He’d known that the colonel led from the front when he’d accepted the challenge – He wouldn’t have thought it worth accepting, if he’d had reason to expect anything else. Harry didn’t waste his time and patience on the kind of officers that sent their men ahead into battle and watched from a safe distance. – but he hadn’t calculated on the difference in their background.

Harry had spent his entire career so far in the 95th regiment, he’d been drilled as a sharpshooter: take cover, aim, shoot, take cover ... Colborne had started out in a traditional infantry regiment before exchanging into the 52nd light infantry. If he’d been lucky enough to get any basic drill at all, taking cover hadn’t figured into it. He’d associated with the 95th enough to understand and appreciate the concept, but it wasn’t second nature to him.

Riding openly ahead of the equally openly attacking line of the 52nd made Harry’s instincts scream out that he was dangerously exposed, but he couldn’t back down from a challenge. He would not look like a coward, especially not in front of someone he respected as much as Colborne. He wanted the man to think well of him.

But he couldn’t stand the exposed feeling. So he raised the challenge. He urged Old Chap to go faster and with a challenging smile overtook Colborne. ‘I won’t just reach the top beside you, I’ll be there first.’

Colborne looked at him, echoed his smile and a moment later they were racing up the mountain at full gallop, the battle, the brigade and the whole war forgotten over their own friendly competition...

...until they pelted around an outcropping of rock and came to a sudden stop at the sight of an entire brigade of French soldiers marching towards them.

Oh God, how could they have been this stupid! Racing away from their men in mid-battle like a pair of mischievous boys skipping school!

Harry cast one panicked glance the way they’d come. There was a handful of panting soldiers that had somehow managed to keep up, but they were no match for 3oo not at all tired looking French. It was no use, they’d have to surrender or die.

to be continued (I hope)

back to the foxhole
back to the History index
last intersection onward