Read All in Scarlet Uniform (Napoleonic War 4) for Free Online

admired them and trusted them with an affection close to love.
    ‘We’re the boys who saved the day at Vimeiro – who kept them Frenchies at bay when led by that great hero Sir John Moore, even though they outnumbered us ten to one! But then, who here doesn’t know that one English lad is a match for ten Frenchies!’ Williams might have believed that once. Now he knew that the French were as brave as anyone, and some of the finest soldiers in the world. In truth the wars were going Bonaparte’s way. Austria had surrendered after renewing the struggle earlier in the year, and Spain was on her knees. Britain was running out of allies once again, and there were probably at least ten French soldiers for each redcoat.
    ‘Talavera, my boys, have you heard that glorious name?’ Williams had to admit that Dobson was good at this game, working the crowd. He idly wondered whether the veteran remembered listening to similar patter on the day he first joined the army. ‘Ah, I see you have. It made our bold commander a lord, and twisted the nose of Bonaparte’s brother, so that he ran off with his tail between his legs and a British boot kicking his arse!
    ‘We were there, lads, of course we were, showing the way and standing tall amid shot and shell until the Frogs gave in.’
    Williams remembered the French bombardment. Most of the battalion was in England, but three companies had been stranded in Spain and he and Dobson and the others found themselves fighting in a unit cobbled together from other detachments. They had not always stood tall, for orders had come to lie down in the long grass. Men had still died, smashed into bloody fragments by cannonballs, and when the French infantry came the redcoats had stood up to face them. Williams had never before seen so bitter a fight. Dobson and Hanley had fallen, fragments of a howitzer shell striking both men in the legs, and they were lucky to escape being burned alive by the grass fires that raged after the fighting was done. Many were not so fortunate, and Williams wished that he could forget the screams of wounded men being roasted to death. No one could tell whether they were British, French or Spanish.
    ‘Glory, and the path of honour! That’s what I’m offering to any lucky lad chosen to join the One Hundred and Sixth under Colonel FitzWilliam, the son of a lord and as brave and generous a gentleman as you could hope to meet.’
    Williams had not yet met his new commander, who had been away during his two brief visits to the battalion since they returned from Portugal. Major MacAndrews had led the 106th after Moss fell. The Scotsman was old for his rank, and had captained the Grenadier Company when Williams first joined. MacAndrews had proved himself a superb battalion commander, but he was not a rich man. FitzWilliam purchased command of the 106th and so the major was once again a subordinate. If it was not especially fair, it was simply the way of the army. In the summer Williams had found himself leading a company at Talavera. It would no doubt be years before he became a captain and won the right to do so. Even in his brief moment of wealth he had owned nothing like the £1,500 needed to buy a captaincy.
    ‘If that isn’t enough, then I’ll tell you about the rewards. Each man gets a uniform as smart as it is easy to clean.’ Dobson and the other two members of the recruiting party were resplendent in new red jackets and trousers, the buttons gleaming and belts whitened with pipe-clay. The spearhead on his half-pike was polished like a mirror, and a knot of tall red feathers was tucked into the cockade on the front of his shako and towered over the normal white plume of a grenadier, chosen from the biggest men in the battalion. The resplendent martial perfection of the recruiting party was the product of special issues of equipment and many hours of labour. On campaign clothes were faded, torn and patched, if not replaced altogether.
    ‘And apart from good