Red Coat (Work In Prog)

There was a fresh smell in the air. A semll Of grass and flower scent. The sky above was blue and without cloud cover, somewhere in the distance a horse whinied ,closer still was the sound of the colours, flying in the wind and even closer still a man coughed.

"Talion"! The infantry of the Royal Regiment of Inkingsal braced up. The order was repeated down the line by Lietenants. "By the Right, Advance" The young lieutenants shouted in unison the final word of command. The companys of the Battalion began to lurch forward. A drum beat, followed by another, as the sound of a 150 boots in unison struck the soft earth of another foregin field spread infront the tree line. As the Battalion advanced in line towards a small rise in the near distance, the Light Company ran forward in a skirmish order, each man with his buddy, the pairs spaced evenly apart. To go and engage the enmy skirmishers and try and snipe at officers in the ranks of infantry.

The flutes began to play and the drums began beating out a different tune. The infantry marched forward, knees lifting upwards deliberatly, placing the boot to the side in front of the other. The Junior officers marched infront of the Battalion, swords drawn, tails of their jackets gently moving in the wind. The Battalion Commander, Colonel Rawkins, was mounted with a number of his staff at the rear of the three deep line, and began to slowly move his horse forward.

The Light Company dissapeared over the grass verge eighty metres to the front. A second later there was sporadic musket fire. Loud cracks and shouts. Lieutenants blowing on whistles. The men would be firing, calling to eachother, giving targets and covering oen another as they reloaded. Constantly moving to give the enemy skirmishers, the Voltiguers a poor target to aim at.

The sound of equipment, black leather ball cases rocking against their belts, the muskets brass sling swivels rattled against their wooden furnitue. Slowly, but surely in perfect order the Battalion made its way forward to engage whatever was over that verge.

The shooting in the distance increased in severity. There was the sound of a volley and Corporal Hanson new that the skirmish line had began to fall back. Firing one last concentrated volley at the main line of infantry. There was few more sporadic shots and a whistle rang out. It's long shrill calling for them to fall back in pairs, covering eachother, keeping the enmy skirmishers from firing back.

A number of figures, about half that had set out to begin with began running over the verge towards the Battalion. Their faces covered in gunpowder. Some were shouting that there were enemy cavalry to the front. As the last of the Light Company fell back, the odd man turning around and kneeling for a moment, aiming at the lip of the verge before getting up running back again.

A single British skirmisher, in his red coat with white facings stumbled over the lip. There were a number of shots, all missed and he hobbled back as two of his comrades ran back to get him.

The Battalion let out a jeer, loud enough for the French to hear.

The Light Company formed up on the Left of the Battalion and began to reload.

"Talion!" "Talion!" The order echoed down the line.

"Halt" The battalion halted as one.

Once again the sound of the colours flapping in the wind. The Kings colour, the union flag with the XVI in the centre, the Regimental number, was surrounded by a golden lorral of victory. Another colour, was yellow, the regimental colour, with the union flag in the top left corner. The centre was adorned with the samea s the Kings colour, but with a few badges of honour down its right side. he colours were held by ensigns and protected by veteran sergeants with pikes.

If the colours were ever captured, it was seen as the gravest disnhonour. Men in the Regiment would die to save them in there hundreds. They were the rallying symbol, where in the chaos of battle men would look for leadership and their own men.

More silence now followed.

A number of Sergeants began steadying there men.

"Hold that weapon firmly Harris or I'll kick your front teeth in"

"Jenkins get behind him propperly, Frogs will tkae one look at you and think you were just dragged out the gutter!"

"Oi! Don't fucking move!"

Silence again. The Light Company steadied themselves and checked their uniforms.

"Wheres Major Forest?" An educated voice called out from behind the battlion.

"Dead sir!" Another.

"Very well Lieutenant Hawks, Senior Captain to take command"

"Sir!"

"Light Company under my command" A different voice called out.

Hanson looked forward, he was in the front rank. He could hear drums and the sounds of marching men in the distance, and then nothing. The grass swayed in the breeze in great waves as the wind cast over it.

A bugle.

Hanson swallowed hard.

"Shit" someone muttered.

"Damn that man! Sergeant take his name!"

One of the Companys Sergeants began speaking with whoever it was that had spoken behind Hanson. Lad would probably get three dozen lashings when they went back to camp, in front of the entire Regiment on parade.

The sound of hooves heavy in the dirt. The mid day sun was now beating down on the field, sweat began to gather under Hansons arm pits, a soft trickling itching down his back.

==

Then there they were. A Squadron of French Hussars in sky blue tunics and black trousers appeared on the verge of the hill. Hanson new that by the time they had formed Square the Hussars would be upon them, slashing with their curved blades that wounded more then they killed. Horriffic wounds and scarring. The Hussars were clean, clean shaven, their tunics looked rather new, if not but worn by the weather. The sun glinted along the fifty blades that were drawn.

"Talion!"

A number of "Company!" were shouted.

"Fix!"

Hands went for bayonets and Hanson grabbed the end of his bayonet.

"Bayonets!"

"Bayonets!"

"Bayonets!"

As one they were drawn, fitted and slid down over the first few inches of the musket. The blade was long and thin, likea giant needle. A bar at a right angle came from the fitter and held the blade itself. So it was off at aright angle from the musket as so not to interfere with firing and loading.

The Hussars would charge into a three deep row of bayonets, then would fall back and come again. But if they got behind the Battalion, they would no doubt kill the Senior staff or in deed break through the rear rank even if they were presented rearwards.

One course of action.

Hanson felt the grip on his musket soften as sweat began to drip from his hand and fall down his sleeve.

"Talion will fall back in order!, rearwards, March!"

The drummer boys beat out a tune, the flutes played a new melody and the entire Battalion, colours and all began to amrch clumsily rearwards towards the tree line.

The Hussars formed line accross the verge and began to trot forward. From behind them another squadron took their place.

Hanson guessed they had another one hundred metres to fall back to the relative safety of the tree line. Voltiguers, dressed in dark red with golded facings and tall pompus hats ran out on the flanks of the hussars and began to fire. Musket balls slammed into the ground in front but were concentrated around the Lieutenants stepping rearwards to Hnasons immediate front. One went down screaming, and then another as they picked them off one by one. A pair of drummer boys ran out to collect the screaming officer but were shot instantly.

A bugle called and the light trot of hooves became a canter as the hussars began to move forward at speed.

They began to close fast. The Voltigers fired another volley then fell back in skirmish order to allow the hussars to finish the job. A number of officers down, Sergeants began to give steadying commands and words of wisdom as a apir of Majors on horseback charged over to take command of Companys lacking on officers.

Eighty metres or so to go. The drum beet banging away, the flutes playing the fall back in order, the colours flying in the wind and still the rattle of equipment.

"Talion! Halt!"

"Compsny Halt!" A deeper voice then before, Major Darling has taken command.

"Present Arms!"

"Present!"

Hanson grabbed the stock of his musket near the pistol grip, liften the weapon upwards, took one step forward and brought the weapon into his shoulder.

"Make ready!"

"Make ready!"

Right hand up, pull back the hammer, check the pan, clear. Kneeling postion. The enitre front rank knelt down on one knee. The surviving Lieutenants fell back into the ranks of their respective Companys.

A bugle called and the last thirty metres began to close fast as the stampede of cavalry charged forward screaming. The other back on the verge began to canter.

"Aim low lads, aim low" One of the Sergeants.

"FIRE!"

"FIRE!"

A few shots were loosed a split second before the enitre front and rear ranks fired. The sound was a rivveting explosion of clear bangs as the butts of muskets cracked into shoulders. Horses screamed and fell, as the balls struck through their fronts, spalshing through them in sprays of blood. A horses head cracked up as a shot went through its throat. Riders fell forward into the ground, crushed by falling horses or stampeded by those behind. Riders in sky blue jackets were splashed in blood as they were struck. A moment passed as the surviving Hussars vaultedthe dead and dying and closed the last ten metres.

"Reload!"

"Centre Rank...FIRE!"

"FIRE!"

The centre rank fired and Hanson felt a ringing in his ears as the deafening volley shot out balls of lead, this time fewer in number towards the cavalry. A score were hit, the few horses that did make it to the line rose up as the wall of steel came forward at them. A few crashed into the line, crushing men with their bodies. But most has their soft bellys tore open by jabbing bayonets.

A number of dismounted Hussars began hacking at the barrels of the muskets, trying to break into the ranks. The majortiy of the survivors aiming for where the line had broken by horse.

Men jabbed and lunged as the Hussars were trying to break through on foot.

It was over, horses cried out and snorted blood as they lay broken. Men were been dragged from under the fallen horses by their comrades. No one had really relaoded save for the rear rank and as the second Squadron thundered around the broken first they hit afresh aprt of the line. They were met by a volley but only a small number fell.

The