The Rag and Bone Boys: Quatre Bras and Waterloo (105th Wessex Foot. The Prince of Wales Own. Book 7) by Martin McDowell

Author:Martin McDowell [McDowell, Martin]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2023-09-28T00:00:00+00:00

oOo

Out before the 105th column, the Light Company advanced in their files of three. The light was fading and Miles, at the head of his file, pulled out a watch that he had looted from the body of a French Colonel, then he held it to his ear to smile at the delicate sound of the movement and finally study the hands which said 9 o'clock. With the watch now safely secured within his tunic, he walked on, his rifle pointing forward, merely only a few angles below ‘the present’. Much of the corn remained erect and he had not gone but a few more paces before he dropped to one knee and held up his fist. Davey came up to him.

“I heard Frog. Just up ahead.”

Davey listened and soon came to his own verdict.

“Them’s wounded. Two I’d say.”

“How’d you know?”

“They can hardly breathe. We push on.”

A few paces more and they came to the source, a Lancer and a Chasseur both with a blood-soaked trouser leg, supporting each other. With the arrival of Miles, both fell to their knees.

“Ne nous tuez pas! Ne nous tuez pas!”

Miles recognised the keywords from earlier and scowled as he passed them by.

“We aren’t going to kill you, you Frog buggers! Though you might deserve it!”

Byford was leading the next file over and added his own reassurance.

“Nous ne sommes pas Brunswick ou Hannover. Nous ne tuons pas les hommes blesses.”

The two, now realising that their lives would be spared clasped their hands before them.

“Merci! Merci Anglais. Merci beaucoup.”

Leaving the pair to limp slowly and painfully on, they continued forward. From over on their right they could hear cheering, which caused another comment from Miles.

“Seems like summat good’s happened over there. Me, I just wants to find a dry ditch and lie down in it.”

However, he, Davey and Byford soon had cause to rethink their earlier sentiment regarding the French under Napoleon, when they came across the casualties of the very first skirmisher engagement, these being Nassau Jaegers with their skulls flattened by several blows from musket butts. They continued on and both to their left and right they heard the crack of individual muskets, which Davey pronounced on.

“Taking pot-shots at the last Frogs to take off.”

However, not one of the 105th felt the need to fire once more as they advanced. They were crossing the Heights of Laraille where the dead were nowhere near as thickly spread as further North, only the dead of the morning’s skirmisher conflict and also those of the French who had only got back that far from the main conflict before expiring themselves from their wounds. They advanced on, aware that the main 105th line was not 100 yards behind when suddenly, for Drake, horses arrived at a canter and Drake found himself looking up at Wellington himself whilst Wellington glowered down at him. Drake sprang to the attention and saluted, but Wellington was already into his interrogation.

“What have you encountered?”

“Only wounded, Sir. And dead, of course.”

“What have you seen.

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