Jeanette's Sword: Story of Napoleonic Wars (The Soldier and the Spy Chronicles, Tales of Historical Adventure and Romance - Book 1) by Alaric Longward

Author:Alaric Longward [Longward, Alaric]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Hardhill Productions
Published: 2015-10-10T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

Our company was the Fifth Company of the battalion. There were meant to be around eighty chasseurs, well-trained light infantrymen. The battalion was supposed to have five chasseur companies, and one of the companies was made up from heavier men: carabiniers, sharpshooters. In practice, the battalion missed one company, the second, and our company was perhaps sixty strong, and not all had weapons. Many used the 1777 Charleville type musket, some had Austrian weapons, and few had anything else. Most had at least one piece of colorful civilian equipment, as there was no real system for supplying the men. Yet, the bearded, dirty, and angry men were the best of soldiers. They excelled in going out before the troops to shoot at officers on horseback, tightly packed unlucky men in columns, and at the deadly artillery. They were used in missions requiring undaunted courage.

Mother told me we would go and live with other cantinière after the next day’s march, but for now, we would stay with Marcel and use our wagon for trade, though we had nothing to trade. There was nervous energy amok in the camp; many men were preparing to march. Some slept, others prayed. In the army, God was never forgotten, no matter what the revolution required, especially since God had different rules for the soldiers.

Many happy men had come forward to ask Marcel about his trip. A young man, a corporal with a fair complexion, Charles Monet, peered at us inquisitively, grinning like Bacchus, already friends with Laroche and the twins, Left and Right. Cleft stood apart, however, brooding at the dirty camp made up from boughs, fallen trees, and dirt. I sighed as I looked at him, hoping he would shed some of the gloom.

Laroche and the twins were busily discarding their excess gear from their backpacks, helped by the howling veterans who laughed with tears in their eyes at the pristine gear of the newcomers. An incredibly skinny man, hence called Skins, was laughing at the old newspapers in Laroche’s bag, taking some with him as he disappeared for filthy purposes. Marcel was chortling as he sucked at his pipe, though he monitored us nervously. Charles was nodding at something Marcel whispered, and when he looked at us, he made an imperceptible nod. Apparently, they were not going to give us up easily, should the Captain have a change of heart.

Soon, Marcel was joined by three other sergeants, two of whom were older, grizzled men. They smoked their pipe with Marcel as they sat by the fire. Thierry was there as well, hovering nearby, leering at us. I edged closer and listened in on their calm discussions.

Sergeants always had their own language. They could not complain to the men, nor to the officers, so listening in on sergeants speaking to each other was almost like sitting at a theater, viewing a terrible piece of drama unfolding. They looked desperate, hopeless beyond words. They spoke of the company, though we could see Marcel and Thierry were estimating each other, glowering under their eyebrows.

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