Here's forty shillings on the drum
XENA (to Gabrielle): "When you think of them, the dead can hear your
thoughts."
She had forced her body as far as the pain and blood loss would allow.
The bodies of her comrades would draw looters as surely as water drew animals
in the desert. The last thing she needed right now was to have to defend
herself against bandits. Immortality guaranteed she would live through the
savaging those French bastards had inflicted on her but it still hurt, damn it,
and it would for a long while.
A small hollow in the rocky hillside was the best shelter as she could
expect on such short notice. She collapsed into the rubble, wincing at the new
bruises her graceless action provoked. "How can I call myself a warrior... to
let this happen?"
She knew that cleaning and binding would help speed the healing her immortal
body was capable of but she had neither the energy nor the willpower to bother
right now.
"ALL DEAD!" Her mind screamed what she didn't dare wail aloud for fear of
attracting predators. "They were my friends." Centuries of constantly speaking
to her long dead, ever-present beloved had honed the clarity of her mental
voice. "Gods, but I'm tired of trying to fight fair. I'm tired of watching
everyone I dare to care about die." Her head lolled back. She tried to study
the clear blue of the sky, find her centre, wait for the enchanted ambrosia in
her body to begin the healing... but it wouldn't work. Right now what she
really wanted to do was hack a swath of savage destruction through the French
army with her sword. Although it was her own, the taste of blood was sharply
tempting on her tongue.
"They have no right to be here." She justified to her unspeaking conscience.
"Why should I restrain myself while they massacre my companions. They drove us
from our homes." The blaze of fire consuming the innards of the small house she
had been staying in with friends was bright in the back of her mind. Della's
youngest children had whimpered so quietly as they watched the only home they
had ever known go up in flame. Not so long after that she and Della had dug far
too many tiny graves.
"Oh my love. We saw backwoods warlords and barbarians that left less ruin in
their paths than these modern soldiers."
She slipped a hand across the wide, ragged tear across the belly of her
shirt. Easing sliced skin back into place sent a lance of pain through her
abdomen. Further inspection of her now crimson shirt showed a hole near her
left shoulder. That explained why her arm had refused to move properly. When
the worst of her gut wound healed she would have to use her belt knife to dig
out the thrice-damned musket ball. "May the inventor of gunpowder rot in the
deepest bowels of Tartarus." She hated guns and artillery with a passion. "It's
gotten so easy to kill, beloved. Even untrained children can manage destruction
with such simple tools in their hands." She struggled out of her sword harness
but kept it close. It was the only possession she had managed to keep when she
fled the scene of the battle. "At my worst I wasn't half as bad as these
butchers." Plans for revenge were already forming at the edges of her
monologue. "They deserve it." Cutting away her sodden shirt was more practical
than taking it off. "I could show them what real fear is... how a real warrior
deals with cowardly animals."
A snarl escaped as she peeled the fabric away from her wounds.
"I know you think there's other ways, beloved, but they've pushed me into a
corner. It's so hard to stay civilised when... " A stream of verbal curses
interrupted the internal stream of thought.
It was quite probably her imagination but the sky seemed to have turned a
bloody red over the last hour.
"I know you'll disapprove, beloved, but times have changed and the people of
this land... "
A more recent face washed across her rambling mind, momentarily pushing her
ancient lover to the sidelines. Teresa's fierce grin was always a sight to
behold. The Spanish woman had been such a vibrant soul and an apt pupil. "If
only I had taught Teresa more she might not be buried in the cold ground right
now. I shouldn't have held back, beloved. This is war, not a skirmish with
bandits." Another shudder of pain wracked the tall frame. "I wish I'd died with
you." It wasn't the first time, or even the one hundredth, that though had
surfaced. "I miss you so much, Gabrielle."
XENA: "I don't accept defeat. There are always choices."
Too far away to answer or touch, Gabrielle dropped down into the sweet
grass. The threat of wanton violence and desolation in her distant lover's
mindvoice caused an ache stronger than the belly wound she was sensing through
their connection.
Gabrielle closed her eyes to the peace of her afterlife and concentrated on
their inner bond. It wasn't hard to hear only her lover. Any people who might
have reason to think of Gabrielle were in their own version of eternity long
ago. Only Xena's thoughts pervaded her mind anymore.
She gave a sympathetic wince as her lover explored the scope of the injuries
the French soldiers had caused but Gabrielle saved her real concern for the
bloodthirsty designs whirling in her warrior's mind.
"Oh Xena." The bard whispered. "You've done so well for so long." Gabrielle
wanted to roundly curse whatever mystic force it was that allowed her to hear
Xena's thoughts but denied them the reverse. A soul bond shouldn't be simply
one way. That was the most monstrous cruelty to the living half of the pair.
The shadow of wanton violence on the former warlord's soul hadn't grown this
intense since the Crusades and, as fate would have it, most of Xena's earthly
support had died over the last year. All that remained were casual associates
who were more like to avidly feed the woman's bloodlust rather than try to curb
it. Today's ambush had consumed Migeal. He was a bright-eyed teen Gabrielle had
learned to love second hand through Xena's eyes and thoughts. He was the last
surviving member of the family she had been boarding with, on and off, for ten
years.
"... they've pushed me into a corner." Xena's voice came clear.
Gabrielle wrapped her fingers in the long, warm grass by her knees. "No, my
love! You're stronger than this." Sometimes she imagined some phantom of her
encouragement reached her lover, but not today. The spiral of anger and the
justifications for violence continued unabated.
"I know you'll disapprove... "
"Then don't do it." Gabrielle whispered. "You'll just hate yourself for it."
The Bard shook her head at the vision of Teresa, another cherished comrade
fallen to the tide of war. Sometimes Gabrielle mixed up her life with her
soulmate's. Her own was so placid that Xena's existence tended to trample over
top of it.
"... this is war."
"That's no excuse." Gabrielle's eyes were starting to sting with tears. She
dreaded where this line of though was leading. "It wasn't justification enough
then and it isn't enough now either."
"I wish I'd died with you."
Distant memories of wracking pain spasmed Gabrielle's arms and legs. Not
that, not now. The dead Bard slammed that remembrance back into the deepest
part of her brain.
"I miss you so much, Gabrielle." Then, weakly tacked on. "I need you."
"I'm coming." Gabrielle forced herself to muffle the sensation of Xena's
self-doctoring. Gabrielle opened her green eyes and pulled herself upright,
focusing on where she knelt. There had to be a way across the divide between
life and death, a way to respond to Xena's failing self-control. That Xena's
thoughts could travel to Gabrielle was proof there was some kind of passageway
between the worlds.
The Warlord in Xena's soul was seeping too close to the surface. Gabrielle
needed to reach her lover before it was too late.
GABRIELLE : "Most people think of death as the end, when in fact, death
can be the beginning."
The earth refused to remain still before her eyes. Delirium, Xena
decided, her wounds were causing a fever. She needed water, medicine, clean
bandages, better shelter and eventually... food. Otherwise her body might rot
around her, unable to die and taking months upon months to heal. Unfortunately,
acquiring all of those things would require that she drag herself across the
heaving landscape.
Xena didn't dare go to any of the nearby towns. The state her body was in
right now would have the locals measuring her for a shroud rather than
attempting treatment. Food and supplies were too precious due to the voracious
appetites of the two nearby armies. The townsfolk would hesitate to waste
anything on a stranger who looked to be dying soon anyway. That was assuming
they didn't simply turn her over to the French for fear of reprisals over
harbouring an obviously active member of the Spanish resistance.
Of course her own provisions had gone to her band's destroyers and the
nearest of her many caches of money and gear was three days ride from here.
Xena's head flopped to one side, thumping against the side of the narrow
crevasse that she lay in. "Dying has to be easier than having to wait for my
damned body to heal itself up with no medicine or aid, beloved." She mused. "It
would be over more quickly anyway."
Somewhere in the far distance Xena heard the thunder of horses galloping.
"They've got Hazard, beloved. I'm going to miss that horse." It had been a hot,
dusty day, much like this one, when Xena had acquired Hazard. She remembered
her mouth had tasted of sand and she was looking for a vendor who sold ale. Her
mind drifted in dislocated fits and starts. "This damned country never has
decent ale on hand, beloved. I should have gone back to Germany years ago. I'm
sick of the taste of wine and dust. I just got tired of all the stares my size
and colouring drew." Yes, she definitely fit in better here in Spain. "I even
passed for a Moreno cousin a few times, what a joke. The one time I had to call
the old man 'Uncle Cesar' I broke out laughing."
Oh yes, that's what she been thinking of. Teresa had been the one who had
chosen the two smoke-coloured mares from a long string of animals. The Spanish
woman had puffed up with pride when Xena had praised her for picking out the
best beasts there and getting such a good deal on them as well.
Teresa Moreno, what an incredible woman. "If she'd been inclined, I would
have taken her to bed." Xena was certain Gabrielle understood her physical
infidelities. Two thousand years was a long time to sleep alone. "None of them
have been a match for you, beloved. We're linked together for eternity, what
are a few years of casual affection compared against that."
Another thought string unravelled. "Teresa's man, Sharpe, is an officer in
the English army, beloved. I've been keeping tabs on him." Perhaps, Xena
considered, she could impose upon the connection. The English might be willing
to part with supplies if Sharpe vouched for her. Surely Teresa had told her
husband about her mentor and that Xena fought on the Spanish side. As a Spanish
partisan, Xena was one of their allies. They should be able to spare her some
help.
No, that wouldn't work. She couldn't. She refused to bargain with the
English from the weakened position she found herself in. "They'd most likely
pat me on the head and point me to where the camp followers plied their charms,
beloved. Men these days have no respect for what a properly trained and
experienced warrior can accomplish on the field of battle." Xena would have
spit but that was a waste of moisture. "What to do?"
The world did a few more spins across her vision. "If I just lay here its
going to get worse before it gets better." That statement was more a scolding
to herself than a message for Gabrielle but her thought processes were jumbled.
Xena caught hold of her scabbarded sword and using it as a cane pulled
herself upright. She had to have water. Starting simply seemed the way to go.
First water, then worry about medicine, shelter and food. Decorating the trees
with French entrails was a month or so down the list but thinking of it did
bring a grim smile to her face.
Take a step, picture breaking one of those wretched muskets over a soldier's
head. Another step and visualise a satisfying decapitation. The bloody images
were almost enough to distract her from the bolts of pain that every step
caused.
Xena continued the grisly game all the way down the steep hill and towards
the distant greenery.
XENA: "Always looking out for me?"
GABRIELLE: "Always."
Gabrielle tasted bile in the back of her throat. Long ago she had
progressed past hearing the thoughts Xena consciously aimed at her, past
receiving only those thoughts that contained herself. Gabrielle saw Xena's life
constantly, like a play being performed in the corner of her mind... unless she
concentrated on blocking the steady stream of pictures and sensations.
Today that wasn't a situation she was comfortable with.
The ambush and Xena's wounding had been hard to handle. Gabrielle had been
relieved when her immortal beloved had collapsed into sleep. Today however was
even worse. The purposeful visualising of the warlord's intended revenge was
brutal. The combination of Xena's own pain and that gruesome flow of planning
pushed Gabrielle's need to respond to a desperate level.
The Bard tried balancing out Xena's fury. She walked through the convoluted
village that made up the core of Gabrielle's afterlife. She paused to take in
the sight of her Amazon Regent, Ephiny, standing in a garden kissing her
centaur husband. The couple were content in the constant, peaceful NOW of the
afterlife. Gabrielle could call out and they would invite her to join them for
a picnic in a nearby meadow as they had thousands of times before. If she went
then Ephiny and Phantes would act as if it were the first time, as they did
every time. Trying to talk seriously about the living world was hard to do when
those you spoke to had absolutely no sense of passing time.
It branded Gabrielle as different, having her soulmate still alive. That
connection fed her knowledge of time and change. Unlike all her companions she
knew when day turned to night and another day came.
A brief walk took her to a shadow of her hometown of Potadeia. Mother and
father would be just around one corner. Gabrielle's sister, Lila, and the man
she married might be one street over... although sometimes Lila was just a kid
living with mother and father. Gabrielle's mood altered the reality she strode
through.
Over a rise, off to her right, she would be able to find Xena's brothers and
perhaps Solon, as well. He had a bit more understanding than most in regards to
Gabrielle's situation. Being Xena's son he drifted through the immortal
warrior's thoughts as well, linking him to the outside world, but the bonding
was no where near as strong as the tie Xena had with the Bard, the other half
of her soul.
A particularly disgusting image of vengeance from Xena's mind caused
Gabrielle's steps to falter. This was very bad. If she couldn't find some way
to keep her lover from falling into the darkness then both of them would spend
the next hundred years or more struggling with Xena's self-loathing at the
failing.
GABRIELLE (to Xena): "You promise, if anything happens to me you won't
become a monster."
The mud plastered over her face itched but Xena didn't dare scratch.
Considering the full brightness of the moon, if her dirt mask were to flake
away she would likely be seen. Although her wounds were mostly healed, the
ensuing fever and infection had left a legacy of weakness lingering in her
badly abused body. Xena didn't want an all out battle, at least not yet.
The warrior kept low to the ground and watched the activity across the
meadow. If she was going to steal from someone it might as well be from those
who had taken everything from her. The French army owed her a home, a mount,
her last years savings... everything but the sword on her back. "Stealing back
a few supplies is nothing by comparison, beloved." Xena mindspoke. "Nothing,
compared to what I'm going to do to them once I'm recovered." The woman tried
to ignore that these weren't in fact the exact same men. Their anonymous
uniforms made them painfully easy to meld together in her mind. "If they
weren't cut of the same cloth they'd be home with their families, where they
belonged." She argued.
"Smug bastards." The hidden woman belittled. "So secure that their brutality
has cowed the locals." Despite the proximity of a village, not two hours walk
away, the patrol's perimeter line was awkwardly designed and shoddily executed.
It was going to be easy slipping inside their defences. She intended to snatch
some gear and slit a few throats for fun and cover along the way. A bit of
medicine would be nice but highly unlikely. Ammunition, tea leaves, and
waybread were more probable.
Xena held tight to the pair of knives she had liberated on her last raid and
wiggled forward over the scrubby rise. Her less than optimal condition and the
stillness of the night forced her to move at a bare crawl.
Any thoughts of Gabrielle were banished. Her beloved didn't need to be privy
to what she was about to do. The truth was over the last fortnight Xena's
mental conversations with the dead bard had sharply declined in frequency and
depth. It was an unconscious defence against confronting how much her recent
actions would disappoint Gabrielle.
Three of the soldiers were separated from the other men by the campfire and
a slight mounding of the ground. Their ammo belts and packs were her current
objective.
It took what felt like an hour for her to reach the first snoring figure.
Now was not the time for hesitation or regret. Xena laid one knife down within
easy reach then edged in for the kill. One hand tight across the mouth as her
other blade sliced. That neatly did the job. The man bucked at the restraint
only a fraction of a second before going limp again. Xena pulled his blanket
higher to shroud the situation from a casual observer.
One of the men got out a short squeak of protest before dying but luckily it
was her third and last target.
Getting out with the three heavy ammo belts and a pair of bulky packs was
more challenging than sneaking up. She had to forsake the careful slither that
had brought her in. Xena waited for the sentries to get to the point on the far
side of the campfire where they paused almost every time to speak for a moment
before continuing on their paths.
Having saved her energy for this, Xena hoisted her burdens and ran back the
way she had come, bent slightly under the weight of her stolen supplies. She
didn't wait to listen for an uproar. All that mattered was getting back to her
picketed horse. Once mounted it wouldn't matter if her visit were discovered.
None of this patrol had horses.
Xena waited until she was back in the security of the cave she was using as
a hideout and settled in before examining her haul for the evening. When the
first pack produced a small sheath of letters tied with a blue ribbon. Xena
grimaced and quickly fed the bundle into her tiny fire. So what if the notes
were from a mother or a wife and children. It was too late for that man anyway.
There was no sense in beating herself up over a done deal. Her conscience,
which had begun using Gabrielle's voice within months of meeting the now dead
bard, whispered objections in the back of Xena's head. Those letters had
threatened to put a name and background to what the warrior needed to keep a
faceless body. "They were necessary casualties." The dark-haired woman snarled
down at the small, carved horse one of the sidepockets had produced. She closed
her hand on it a moment, cutting the shape into her palm before heaving the
thing into the consuming flames. It wouldn't do to think on the significance of
the wooden toy. "These men were soldiers. They knew the risks." Xena argued
against her guilt. Of course part of her realised that her statement skirted
the edge of a lie. There was no way the men expected to come up against an
immortal, someone with no care for her own life... who would just keep up the
battle despite everything.
Finally food. Her pleasure at finding a few hard buns, some wilted carrots,
and the bottle of dark broth quickly over-powered any other emotion. The
cook-pot she had taken from her last set of victims was actually going to get
use tonight.
SCULLY: "Mulder where are you? The drunk tank!!!!!?"
Withdrawing to the back corner of the crowded cell wasn't much help in
escaping from the heavy smells of urine, vomit, and alcohol but it did put two
walls behind his back. The sniggers and taunts of his cellmates at the contrast
between his arrogant bearing and his shoddy appearance were too much to handle
after what he'd been through.
He should have stayed at the party his sensible side insisted. Pretty
Spanish noblewomen had been flirting with him. Visiting English beauties had
flocked around him. Even the men had gathered about, wanting to hear stories of
the Canadian wilderness and his skirmishes with the Americans.
Lieutenant-Colonel William "Fox" Mulder had been the toast of the ball, and
bored out of his skull. So the Canadian had pleaded weariness and slipped out
and away from the glittering reception.
Right now that hot, perfume-heavy ballroom would be a welcome alternative.
Instead he was in a dirty cell with the dregs of the city, having been mistaken
for a thieving, double-dealing deadbeat. The hotel owner and the city guard had
ignored his claims of being robbed. Mulder was the one sleeping off a binge in
the unpaid room without a cent on him or even a scrap of clothing. Maybe if he
could have argued in Spanish they might have taken him more seriously or at
least called his friends. Instead he was dressed in prickly rags, hunched up in
the city jail.
One of Mulder's cellmates took a step in his direction. Fox glowered, trying
to project more energy than he possessed right now. The interloper laughed at
his display but he did retreat.
His stomach pitched and ached from something he had ingested the night
before. The tiny, but deep cut at the side of his throat itched, as did the
bites Alex had inflicted on his neck and chest. Oddly, Fox hadn't noticed how
severe they were when the younger man was inflicting them. Much to Mulder's
delight the provoking demeanour Alex had displayed down in the tavern had
persisted right through the actual encounter. The younger man had been both a
task and a pleasure.
Alex 'son of a rabid whore' Krycek was going to pay if Fox ever laid eyes on
that rat-bastard again. He'd carve something more into Krycek's letter scarred
shoulder besides initials... and then leave the knife embedded a few inches
when he was finished. There was no way Mulder had drunk enough to justify the
kind of stupor he had fallen into after Alex left. The little weasel must have
spiked the farewell drink he insisted Fox have before leaving for his own room.
"It's your own damned fault. Idiot." Not so strangely, whenever William berated
himself, the internal abuse sounded just like his father, William Senior.
"Pretty girls were hanging on your every word but NO, you had to find someone
'interesting'. Damned fool." Mulder scowled. What was he thinking, taking
someone he'd barely known for two hours up to his room. He'd lost everything,
his money, his orders, his clothes and a good chunk of his self-respect because
those dangerous green eyes, and the attitude behind them, had seemed an
intriguing challenge.
Now Mulder was going to be late reporting to Lord Wellington... assuming he
could even convince someone to contact the English military and confirm his
story. The worst part was that on one level Fox didn't completely regret his
decisions. Even now, all those vacant-eyed bits of parlour decoration put
together didn't attract him as much as the lowlife sneak who had robbed him.
"Stump brained idiot." One of Father's knife sharp rants slashed into William's
mind. "What kind of sick pup prefers half-breed Indian sluts to a properly
raised lady?" Never mind trying to argue that Eyota wasn't a slut but a warrior
as skilled as Fox himself and twice as courageous. Mulder had teased the Indian
woman, suggesting she was an Amazon in another life. He then had to explain
exactly what he meant by the word. Eyota had laughed in his face, finding the
concept of an all-female tribe quite ridiculous. "Silly Fox, where would the
children come from?" The Indian woman had pushed him backwards into the stream
they were sitting beside and accused him of making the whole idea up. Christ!
He missed her and the other Rangers.
And if Father ever found out about the men... now there was a fear that made
Mulder's blood run cold. Fox would be both castrated and disowned or dead
within minutes of the old man discovering the complete extent of his son's
depravity.
Now he had to worry about the army discovering his somewhat indecent
predilection thanks to this fiasco with Alex. If the soldiers Fox had
encountered back home were any indication this could ruin his career before it
even started. "Bloody hell." Mulder scraped a hand back through his hair and
snarled at another prisoner who ventured too close.
A 'properly raised lady' was waiting on him. Father and a few of his cronies
had arranged a deal with a cash strapped Irish Earl. The Earl was giving Mulder
Junior his eldest daughter's hand in marriage in exchange for enough money to
keep the man's family and estates afloat. True to form and confident he was
doing the right thing... William's father had eagerly bought his son a military
commission, a bride, and an impending noble title to further his own dreams of
joining the old world gentry. The announcement of the commission in
Wellington's army and his betrothal had almost sent Fox running into the
western wilderness with his coureur du bois friends. Skinner and the men would
have welcomed another strong back to help on the voyage. Mulder had shown
himself as a useful addition to their company in the past.
Mulder's little sister Samantha was the only thing that kept him from
fleeing. Father had snarled about duty and honour. Mother had simpered about
how Samantha could only benefit if William could take his sister out of Canada
and introduce her to decent society. Sam herself had coaxed, wheedled, and
reminded her big brother that the change would put an ocean between him and
father, for a while at least. The lure of that kind of independence and his
dread of what father would force Sam into if William refused proved his
undoing.
The metal door clanged, rousing Mulder out of his internal musings.
The guard pompously announced something in Spanish. His finger stabbed out,
choosing a small lot of men and motioning them to the exit.
Fox climbed to his feet and strode over, only to have an open palm shoved in
his face. Everything about the guard's tone of voice and his body language
denied Mulder.
"I'm a Lieutenant-Colonel in the British army. Lord Wellington himself is
waiting for me to report in." Mulder willed those words or at least
Wellington's name to penetrate the language barrier.
The sentence did draw an examining look, but then it got a laugh and another
burst of unrecognisable Spanish.
"He says you wait some longer, English." One of the men lined up to leave
translated. "That he not be caring if that King from English be your best
friend. You wait."
"But I... " Mulder's protest was cut off by a hard shove from the jailer and
a warning shake of a fist. "Fine... I'll wait." Fox backed away, holding his
hands up in surrender. "But you're going to be sorry later for how you're
treating me." The Canadian warned. He returned to his spot, roundly cursing the
guard, Spain, intoxicating green eyes, his father, and himself for being such a
fool that he had let this happen.
MULDER: "I would never lie; I willfully participate in a campaign of
misinformation."
Aleksandr Krycek kept himself quietly off to the side of the main group
of men. He had discovered that as long as he stayed near the sunlit fabric of
the tent and didn't draw attention to himself it was unlikely that he would be
sent away from the command centre. He needed to gather as much intelligence as
he could in the shortest time possible. Alek cursed himself for the unexpected
spark of reluctance that had stopped his knife at the last possible moment. He
really should have slit William Mulder's throat back in Madrid. What was one
more death on his conscience at this point in his life? As it was the threat of
Mulder showing up to expose Aleksandr as an impostor hung over his head.
Luckily, his victim was not likely to show up too quickly. Leaving the man
naked and without possessions, in an unpaid room seriously cut into the
possibility of Mulder's tracking him down promptly.
Three different conversations carried on around him. Leaning over a map,
Lord Wellington and one of the higher-ranking officers were debating the merits
of two different approaches to a nearby castle. In a back corner of the tent a
supply officer and a clerk were discussing how low the provisions of meat and
cheese had grown over the last fortnight. Nearest to Aleksandr was Wellington's
spymaster, Hogan, telling the tale of a particularly nasty Spanish partisan who
was hacking and slashing her way through French patrols. It seemed 'La Princesa
Guerrera' was single-handedly taking a healthy chunk out of Napoleon's nearby
forces. Hogan seemed undecided whether he should send out a small force to
offer the woman aid and direction or simply let her ravage undisturbed.
Aleksandr shifted slightly to see past a shoulder. The many maps spread over
Wellington's desk were all marked with arrows and lines. He set to imprinting
the information on his remarkable memory.
"What's your take on armed civilians, Colonel Mulder?"
Hogan's question came at the moment Aleksandr least expected it. Alek
couldn't help but wonder if the timing of the query had been chosen
purposefully. "They've proved invaluable back home." Aleksandr responded. "The
Indians, I mean." He clarified trying to recall everything he had ever heard of
North America. "They don't have to be properly supplied or paid on a regular
basis... and officially we aren't responsible for damage that they may cause."
This was more familiar territory. "It's a convenient way to inflict losses on
the enemy." Aleksandr was pleased that response seemed intelligent enough.
Still, he was constantly regretting he hadn't spent more time pumping Mulder
for information on his recent career.
"I should think 'the Fox' had more than his share of backwoods allies over
in the Canadas." A young Major chuckled. "That's what they called you over
there, wasn't it Colonel?"
"Yes, it was." Mulder's brandy rough voice saying 'my friends call me Fox'
was quite firmly embedded in Alek's mind. Aleksandr shrugged. "But that was
there. I expect I need to prove myself all over again." He needed to turn the
topic of the conversation. His alcohol encouraged interrogation of the real
William Mulder hadn't been nearly extensive enough for his stolen persona to
stand up to intense questioning. "Has this 'La Princesa Guerrera' done any harm
to the English cause, Sir?"
"Not yet, no." Hogan seemed to be studying the new Lieutenant Colonel rather
more closely than the situation warranted.
"Well, you would know best how to handle this situation, Sir." Aleksandr
attempted to convey admiration in both his tone and expression. "You are the
expert."
The tent flaps flicked open and "It's Major Sharpe, my Lord." was announced
gravely by a teenage Lieutenant.
"He's back, good." Wellington looked up from his work. "Send him in." The
Commander of the Army glanced over at the newcomer to their midst. "Step up
here Colonel Mulder. Major Sharpe will be your guide from now until you settle
in. He'll be taking you out to see the lay of the land."
So he was finally going to meet the man Ducos had ordered him to kill if the
opportunity ever arose. The French spymaster had an absolute hatred for Sharpe.
The rumours Aleksandr had heard told of the English Officer making a fool of
Ducos and causing him to lose favour with Napoleon and the General staff.
Alek tugged his stolen green jacket straight and put on his most earnest
expression. During the last two days he had maintained his pretence of being
Lieutenant-Colonel Mulder by deflecting the attention anyone had given him back
on the questioner. A perfect method considering the English officer class, as
big a bunch of blowhards as Alek had ever come across. He was definitely going
to have to change this tactic in order to deal with the Major, considering the
man's history and reputation.
The door flapped again. All eyes lifted to the travel-stained figure
entering their clean, uniformed group.
"Ah, Major Sharpe." Wellington seemed genuinely pleased. "We've been waiting
for you."
"M'lord." Sharpe's dusty blonde head bobbed.
Wellington beckoned Aleksandr closer. "This is Lieutenant-Colonel William
Mulder the third." He paused for effect. His tone had skirted the edge of
mocking at the unwieldy title but no one would dare to call his Lordship on it.
"Your new commanding officer." Was added with a hint of humour.
Sharpe stared, taking in the freshly-made green rifleman's uniform and youth
of his new commander.
"Colonel Mulder distinguished himself as a Ranger against the Americans over
in the Canadas." Wellington elaborated. "Hogan means to use Mulder to
infiltrate the French."
Hogan took this as his cue to join the conversation. "Colonel Mulder speaks
the Frogs' own tongue and is quite the sharpshooter as well, or so I'm told.
That should help him fit in with your lot, Sharpe. " Hogan remarked. "The
Colonel has also pulled a few tricky manoeuvres over on those ruddy Americans.
By his'self, he lost a patrol of them in the woods then set to picking them off
one at time over the next several days. He had 'em trying to run home with
their tails between their legs before he finished them off." That drew a
chuckle or three around the tent. "Your skill at using the land against those
American upstarts is what earned you the nickname 'the Fox', isn't it, Sir?"
"Damned if I know." Aleksandr ducked his head slightly. "I can only hope to
live up to your expectations, Sir." He deflected.
"If half the tales I've had of you prove true... " Hogan trailed off. "Our
man Sharpe is just the one to show you the countryside. The Major has quite the
way with our local Partisans as well. Eventually I'm hoping you can toss Mulder
off to your contacts, Sharpe."
The line of Sharpe's mouth was grim. "As you wish, Sir." He nodded to his
new commander. "Lieutenant-Colonel Mulder."
"Major Sharpe." Aleksandr extended his hand. "I've heard about your
exploits. You are the same Major Sharpe who took an imperial Eagle at Talavera,
are you not? The one who saved Lord Wellington's life?"
"Aye Sir, that would be me." The other man earned a nod but Sharpe's hand
showed no sign of returning the handshake.
"This is quite an honour, Major. I hope to prove myself worthy of your fine
tutelage." He stepped closer, hoping that distance was the reason for Sharpe's
non-response. If his fawning attitude to a lessor officer raised eyebrows in
the tent Alek didn't much care. It was important this man trust, and perhaps,
like him.
"Sir." After a little more hesitation Sharpe shook his new commander's hand
firmly and ventured a spare smile.
Aleksandr offered up his most dazzling grin. He examined the older man
discreetly. Major Sharpe was a rather impressive piece of work. Handsome, in a
rough way and if his uniform was a bit scuffed up, well, the man's rifle looked
to be in prime condition. He seemed a dangerously competent man, compared to
usual parade ground officers that seemed to abound in the British ranks. No
wonder Ducos wanted him dead.
"So what did you come across on patrol, Major Sharpe." Wellington
interrupted, breaking them apart.
"Nothing extraordinary, M'lord. We caught wind of some rumours." Richard
Sharpe snapped a little straighter. "It's said that the partisans have been up
to a bit of slaughter and several French patrols have been massacred... but we
saw nothing first hand." Sharpe added, almost as an afterthought. "We ended up
escorting a supply caravan in, M'lord. We hooked up with them late yesterday. I
believe it's already begun unloading."
That caused a stir of movement in the back of the tent as two men excused
themselves to tend to new arrivals.
"Nothing else?" Wellington regarded Sharpe.
"No M'lord."
"Very well." Lord Wellington nodded and waved his hand from Sharpe and
Aleksandr to the doorway. "That will be all gentlemen. I will talk to you first
thing tomorrow morning about a mission."
"Milord." The honorarium escaped them both. The two men withdrew from the
command centre.
"How much action did you see in Canada, Sir?" Sharpe covertly inspected the
rifle slung across the other man's back.
"Just Mulder, if you please, Major. I spent most of my time in the
wilderness and to be honest I don't have much patience with the rigid structure
of the army." Aleksandr gazed at the horizon. "I'm looking forward to the
change in scenery... the challenge of new opponents." He side-stepped the topic
of Mulder's past yet again. "I took a look at our Regiment yesterday. You've
done an excellent job with them. I was thinking of running them through a
drill. I've heard of your claim that the best of your soldiers can get off
three shots a minute. That's something worth seeing."
"All my men can do three rounds a minute... in any weather." Richard paused
then added. "Sir."
"I stand corrected. Maybe you'll join me as I drill the troops."
"Sir, before you get started on that... " Sharpe interrupted. "As I said
inside, my men and I hooked up with a caravan on our way back from patrol." He
hitched his head in the direction of a hive of activity to the south. "Miss
Scully, your fiancee, was among the arrivals. I left her in the care of my
Sergeant... meaning to look you up after my report."
Aleksandr's posture went stiff and his face paled to bloodless white. "My
fiancee... " The words were shocked out of him. "With your Sergeant?"
Richard Sharpe's brow knitted at the other man's reaction. "Not to worry,
Sir. Sergeant Harper is Irish too. He's simply talking over the news from home.
Harper's a married man."
Aleksandr clamped down on his self-control. Mulder hadn't mentioned a woman
was waiting on him. Of course, the situation didn't exactly encourage that kind
of confidence. Aleksandr forced a smile. "I'm sure Sergeant Harper is a perfect
gentlemen... and being more accustomed to the camp he must know exactly where
to settle my future bride." His mind raced. "I'll get round and pay my
respects... but it will have to wait until after I drill the men. One never
knows when the fighting will erupt and I need to have the measure of the men as
swiftly as possible."
Sharpe's head tipped back slightly to stare at his new commander. "As you
say Sir."
"Please, just Mulder." Aleksandr repeated. "Do stop by the range later
Sharpe. I'd love to hear the tale of Talavera first hand... as well as some of
your other battles. I'm sure I've got a lot to learn from you. I've been too
long on my own in the woods." He laughed. "I'm a little rusty at anything large
scale." Aleksandr put some distance between them. "See you later, Sharpe."
Richard watched the retreat for a few breaths then shrugged and went in
search of Harper.
XENA: "This is war! What did you expect? Glamour? There are no good
choices only lesser degrees of evil."
Xena urged her horse into a punishing gallop. The gap between her and
the French courier that she was chasing closed quickly. Her mount was fresh
while his had been travelling the entire day. Gripping the animal tighter with
her legs the warrior reached over her shoulder and unsheathed her sword with a
quick flowing movement. A quick battle cry was the last thing the fleeing man
heard before the edge of her blade caught the crook of his shoulder and sliced
sideways.
The man's death throes provoked a panicked burst of energy in the horse.
Xena had to follow the animal a good ten minutes before she could lean across
and grab hold of it's flapping reins. After a quick look around Xena led the
horse over into the scanty cover of some nearby trees.
She ransacked the man's pouches with cold efficiency. As she suspected they
contained coded orders and a map with all sorts of obscure symbols pencilled on
it. It would require some study before she would be able to make heads or tails
of the information.
Xena tore off all the marks that identified the packs and horse as French,
tossed the hanging body into the underbrush, and tied the new animal to hers.
Her hand ran down the golden fur of the courier's mount. This was a beast worth
keeping, clean lined and fast as the wind. If she hadn't ambushed the Frenchman
he might have outrun her without too much trouble.
The sight of her grimy fingers in the short, pale hair brought back hazy
memories of another mount long turned to dust. Disturbingly enough, the name of
that cherished mare refused to surface in her mind right now. Her forehead fell
forward against warm, musky flesh three times, willing the memory to surface.
"Argo." She finally decided with a sense of satisfaction. Her mind's eye
provided a vision of her beloved cautiously catching hold of the big animal's
reins. Equating an elusive memory with Gabrielle always made it easier to
retrieve.
"So many losses, beloved. " Xena sighed, running her eyes over the horse's
clean lines. "I just can't keep taking it. I need you to understand that.
Sometimes fighting back is the only way to do it. " She climbed back up into
her own saddle. "Maybe I've gone a little bit overboard but... " A nudge of
her knee set the horse going. "They brought the fight to me. I didn't go
looking for it."
A dull ache in her midsection reminded Xena of the agony she'd recently been
through. The healing still wasn't complete. "I might have been able to stay out
of it if they'd stuck to bashing each other's brains out, beloved, but I
couldn't stand by, not after seeing the price this war demanded of my friends."
Everything about her life had become transient. The sights and sounds she
knew in her youth were long gone. Xena had watched empires rise and fall over
the last two thousand years. The house she had been born in was ancient dust
blowing across the countryside. Good friends were so rare that her heart
demanded she cherish what little time she had in their company. "How can I
allow them to be taken away from me without demanding retribution, beloved?"
The horse following behind tossed its head nervously at some scent on the
evening breeze, skittering sideways. Xena shushed it absently, scanning the
surrounding countryside for any threat. Being constantly on alert was hard but
she didn't dare let anyone else join up with her now. Things were on the edge
of becoming very nasty. The warrior could feel the darkness bubbling up inside
her each time she came across some new atrocity committed by the occupying
soldiers.
"I can hold it together, but really... what's the point? These men don't
respond to anything but violence so that's what I have to use. People haven't
changed much. We knew that sort. By Hades, I WAS that sort for a time." Xena
sighed, glancing up at the sky then across the fields. "Perhaps it's time I
shifted my tactics, my love. I think it's time to fade into the darkness. No,
not like that." She pacified. "I would be far more comfortable at night. It
helps to even the odds." Xena grimaced. The tactics of death weren't something
Gabrielle would be pleased to hear about. The warrior stopped the internal
dialogue.
She regretted some of the bloodier images of revenge she had inflicted on
her soulmate during her recovery. The gentle Bard would be worried about the
state Xena was in, worried that her tenuous control was slipping. "Don't worry,
I'm all right, beloved. I can handle it." She assured.
Her toe poked at the courier's pouch she had taken earlier. The next time
she ran across a safe contact the documents needed to be passed on. "The
British may be able to use this information to move forward. The sooner they
drive the French out of Spain, the sooner I can try and get on with my life."
Xena realised the war was hard on the Spanish people but the British seemed the
lesser of two evils. Wellington actually made an effort to keep his men from
ravaging the countryside as they advanced.
She returned her concentration to the world about her and the mission she
had set for herself with a weary sigh. Tomorrow might require more killing but
that wasn't something Xena wanted to hash over with Gabrielle, or her
conscience. Sometimes it was easier not to speak to the Bard than it was to
justify actions that the other half of her soul had taught the Warrior were
wrong.
MULDER: "I know the difference between expectation and hope."
The girl had impressed Harper from the first moment of their meeting.
Leaning out the window of her coach, caught by a stray beam of sunlight, the
girl had seemed a vision. She had offered up the traditional greeting of a
small silver flask and a shy smile as soon as his accent touched her ears. The
brandy was some of the smoothest he had ever tasted, and Patrick Harper prided
himself of being an excellent judge of alcohol.
Miss Scully was a tiny Irish beauty with carrot red hair, bright blue eyes
and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her small nose. Of course,
her trim waist and the ample curve of her breasts were a nice touch too. It
turned out she was a sweetheart as well. A fine, sensible girl, undisturbed by
the soldiers' scruffy state. Quite unlike the wilting English blonde who had
been sharing her coach. Her company had been a happy addition to the gathering
about the fire the night before. The girl had told a sprightly story about
fairies, a saucer of milk and her neighbour's prize pig.
Harper couldn't help but think it a damn shame that she was here to marry a
Lieutenant Colonel. In his experience a good many of the higher-ranking
officers were either idiots, cads or both. Harper's misgivings grew even
stronger as the girl admitted she had never actually met her intended husband.
"Of course, I've been exchanging letters with his sister ever since Da first
started talking about the marriage." Dana qualified, tucking away the locket
she had eagerly shown her new friend. Mulder's picture was too small for much
more detail than dark hair and a faintly youthful face but Dana had smiled down
at the jewellery-encased portrait. "Samantha speaks very highly of William. She
sent me an Indian thing he made... a gift just for me." She smoothed the fabric
of her dress. "And William himself wrote to me once, the most touching letter
I've ever seen... though he's been terrible busy."
Patrick Harper and Miss Scully were standing at the edge of a whirlwind of
activity. Newly arrived supply wagons were at the centre of the bustle.
"How long have you been fighting Patrick?" She used his first name as he had
insisted the night before.
It sounded good to Harper, hearing his name on the lips of a pretty Irish
girl after so long in Spain. "Feels like forever, Miss." Patrick spotted Sharpe
weaving through the crowd. "Here comes the Major now." Oddly enough, no strange
Colonel walked with him. "No luck, Sir?" Harper asked. "I could take Miss Dana
about... look for him."
"No need for that Pat." Richard shook his head. "It turns out Colonel Mulder
is our new commanding officer. I met him in Lord Wellington's tent." Sharpe
resisted the urge to duck his head and not look the girl in the eye. "I told
him you were here, lass, but he's drilling the regiment right now. I'm sure he
means to look you up afterwards."
Dana's disappointment was painfully clear on her face. She forced a smile
however. "Of course he's at his duties. His sister Samantha warned me that he
was constantly away from home... " A strand of red hair was caught and tucked
behind an ear. "William takes his duties ever so seriously."
"Let me escort you to your quarters Miss Dana." Harper offered.
"Posh Patrick." Dana objected playfully. "That wife you've been telling me
of is no doubt waiting impatiently on you. Be off with you." She scolded. "I
would dearly like to meet Ramona and the wee one though. I'll come find your
camp after I've settled in and perhaps William will be there by then." With one
last smile the young woman walked off in the direction her luggage had taken
earlier.
Harper watched the green skirt vanish into the crowd. "If I were a few years
younger... " He trailed off.
"Ramona would still kick your arse." Richard chuckled.
Harper joined in on the laugh a moment then sobered. "What kind of man would
keep a sweet girl like that waiting on him?"
"A dedicated officer I suppose." Sharpe guessed. "Come on. Let's get cleaned
up, have a cup of tea...then we'll head over to the drilling ground and see for
sure what kind of man he is."
They made their way over to where the South Essex billeted. A small crisp
tent was set up right beside Sharpe's quarters. Patrick and Richard exchanged a
look, surprised at the location of what must be Mulder's lodgings.
All around the nearest campfire the men looked up.
"New officer." Harris spoke over his steaming mug.
"Aye." Sharpe acknowledged as he scrounged up his own battered cup. "I met
him briefly."
"An odd fish by all accounts so far." The seated rifleman continued. "They
say he's kind of twitchy... doesn't hold still long enough to say much." Harris
took a sip of tea. "And the lad that collected him from Madrid is eager to
share the tale of his first sighting of the Colonel. He came running over
before we'd even sat down."
"Whatcha mean, Harris?" Sharpe asked, taking a nearby seat.
"It seems that when Johnson banged on the Colonel's door and called him...
Mulder poked his head out the room across the hall." Harris laughed, recalling
the look on Johnson's face as he told the story. "So Johnson twisted around,
right quick, and catches an eyeful. Mulder's looking a mite on the flustered
side... only half dressed and he's got company on the bed behind him."
Harper spat into the fire. "And him with that bonny girl waiting on him."
Patrick was frowning and shaking his dark head. "Poor girl."
A shrug was Sharpe's response. He would wait to see what kind of soldier the
man was. Mulder's personal life wasn't his concern.
GABRIELLE: "More hot sand. Touring the world is sure tough on shoes."
The road north out of Madrid was hot and very dusty as she hiked towards
where she had been told Wellington's advancing forces had pushed the retreating
French.
"I wish I didn't need to wear all these clothes." She complained to no one,
plucking at where her sweat had plastered the loose shirt to her skin. "My old
outfit would be so much more comfortable in this heat, although it really would
make me stand out. Still, at least I'm not stuck in that corset and dress." She
grimaced "That was truly uncomfortable."
Although the world seemed strange to her and much of what she had seen on
her journey surprised her, she had quickly realised that Xena had taught her
many of the things she needed to know to live in this time. Gabrielle wondered
if her warrior knew that every time she "talked" to her bard, she was teaching
her soulmate about the changes the world had gone through in the time since her
death. Everything from the geography of the modern world to what denominations
of money were worth had come to Gabrielle through their bond. She had even
learned twelve different languages over the course of two thousand years. Xena
usually drifted to thinking in whatever the local language was after she had
been living in one spot more than a few years. Her mindvoice would follow the
change when speaking to Gabrielle not even pausing to wonder whether it would
translate.
"It's funny to think about how when we were together you wouldn't say much
to me at all. Since I crossed over you talked to me more in a day than you used
to in a week."
Speaking aloud was a defence against the months of inner silence, a part of
the price for stepping out into the real world. She now lacked Xena's
mindvoice, a constant companion for two millennia. It had made her feel very
lonely and, at first, afraid. The world was a very different place now and no
matter how much she had learned from Xena's observations over the years the
adjustment had been hard. The world was much larger and had more people in it.
When she saw her first big city she stood in awe at its size.
"When you first took me to Athens I was stunned by how vast it was. Now the
city I recall was barely a tenth the size it is now. It's a good thing that it
had not grown as far as the cave where you stashed those supplies years ago. I
wouldn't have made it this far without that money for clothes and transport."
Gabrielle felt Xena would be proud of how far she had travelled on her own.
Living off the land wasn't really new to her but having to keep attention away
from herself and still interact with the people around her was a challenge. She
knew an independent woman travelling alone wasn't normal in these days and that
alone could cause problems she didn't have time or patience for. Thankfully,
when she felt the attention grow a little too close, she was able to use charm
and money to remain unnoticed. Some things really haven't changed at all.
The dust cloud that was raised by the supply caravan travelling ahead of her
had settled. Gabrielle realised it meant that they had halted for a rest. Some
short trees to her right offered shelter from the mid-day sun so she angled her
steps there. Leaning the staff against the tree and removing her shoulder bag,
the bard settled in what little shade there was.
"As good a place as any to have lunch" she said while removing some leftover
breakfast from her sack. "It was lucky I was able to find this caravan.
Following it to the fighting is better than wandering alone."
She knew the soldiers, acting as escorts, should deter anyone from bothering
the supply train and hoped to share in that security. Gabrielle followed close
enough so that she wouldn't have to get directions to where the fighting was,
but not so close as to make them suspicious of her " I know you're near where
the armies are, lover."
The bard glanced toward the stopped caravan now and then to see if they had
started to move again. As she finished her meal and was repacking her bag she
noticed one of the soldiers was slowly riding toward her. " Not that you would
miss these guys. The red coats they wear really stand out. "
Inside that self-same red coat 'Fox' William Mulder was cooking in his own
sweat. Wearing heavy wool in this weather was absolutely insane but such were
the dictates of the uniform. He urged his borrowed horse a little bit further
so they could halt in the shade of some withered trees. Mulder had wanted a
closer look at the person who had been trailing after the supply wagons for
most of the day. The other soldiers had stated there wasn't much to worry about
on such a well-travelled route as this but Fox needed to know that for himself.
Besides it got him away from the two other officers in the company during the
break... when boredom made carefully obscure, but nasty, comments on Mulder's
difficulties in Madrid weasel into the conversation.
Mulder gazed down at the traveller from his seat high atop his horse. A
peasant, most likely farm raised considering the girl was wearing coarse spun
pants. She carried a tall walking staff, a battered knapsack and a good portion
of her full, blondish hair was tucked inside a scarf to keep the worst of the
road dust off it. That suggested she had put in a fair bit of time on the road.
Not local stock from the look of her, but there wasn't anything remarkable
about the girl. There was no reason to either address the traveller or be
concerned about her presence. It was after all, just a harmless little girl.
Without speaking Mulder pulled a rein hard, clicking an order to his mount and
turned his back on the stranger. Maybe he could quickly scoop up a bit of cold
meat and bread then eat in the saddle now the line-up at the cook wagon had
dissipated.
Gabrielle waited until the soldier had silently turned away then flashed a
grin at the man's stiff back. Her first reaction to his 'down the nose'
inspection of her had been mild annoyance. Between that nose of his and the
attitude the man seemed to be projecting he reminded her of a Roman officer
looking over a barbarian but then again his abrupt dismissal of her meant she
had been judged 'no threat'. She should be able to continue trailing the
caravan without any interference from the escort.
MULDER: "When I first met you I figured you were just ambitious. This
morning, my opinion changed. I thought you were arrogant. Now I'm beginning to
wonder what you're protecting."
Aleksandr kept most of his attention on the men as they went through the
motions of forming a square. He spared only a fraction of his mind noting Major
Sharpe's gradual, roundabout approach. It wouldn't do to give Sharpe the
impression that he wasn't completely enthralled by the regiment's movements.
In reality Alek would rather have been on the far side of the camp from the
drilling field and the nearby firing range. Whenever a shot went off in the
near distance Aleksandr had to grit his teeth to keep from covering his ears
and dropping to the trampled grass. God, but he hated the sound of muskets
firing.
Sharpe was within a few feet now so Aleksandr looked up, composing a
harmless admiring look on his face. There had been precious few people Alek had
met since the French soldiers had taken his family's lands that didn't respond
to mindless adoration. "Major Sharpe. My compliments." He smiled happily. "The
men are so well trained they don't seem to even need my orders. You've done an
excellent job with them."
"Thank you, Sir." Sharpe nodded and looked over the field.
Still 'Sir'. Aleksandr swallowed a sigh of annoyance. Sharpe was proving
more difficult to manipulate than most of these British twits. He was going to
need to deal differently with this Major. "The men aren't within hearing
distance... Mulder really is fine with me." Alek insisted. "Do you prefer
Sharpe or Richard?" A slow blink prefaced the answer. "Sharpe will do fine... Mulder." The
Major's discomfort with the familiarity came through in his tone.
"How have they performed under fire so far?" Aleksandr returned to the
safety of discussing the troops, carefully asking something that required more
than a 'yes' or 'no' response.
"They're a brave enough lot." Sharpe's attention was entirely on the
drilling ground as he spoke. "There's not another regiment I'd rather serve
with."
The younger man refused to let the silence alone. "So, how fast can they get
out of Squares and into lines?" Aleksandr tried putting a hint of provocation
into his voice.
Sharpe's posture tightened up just a little. "As fast as need be." The Major
assured his new commander. "Send down the order and see for yourself."
Alek allowed himself a smirk. What hollow flattery and coaxing hadn't
accomplished, the challenge did. Sharpe was actually responding naturally for
the first time. Aleksandr pulled in a deep breath and bellowed at the nearest
Sergeant. "Lines! QUICKLY!" The authority in his tone may have left something
to be desired but a much more experienced soldier relayed his wishes. The men
scrambled to obey.
A pleased smile tugged at the corner of Richard's mouth. "Quick enough, I'd
say. Of course a good officer would see what's needed and give the order in
plenty of time.
"I'll do my best." Alek shrugged. "But you can't expect much from a shiny
new kid like me I suppose." He teasingly invited derision that Sharpe would
never dare give voice to. "I'm going over for a close look, Sharpe. Would you
join me?"
They had just reached the first soldier in the line when Aleksandr noticed
another green clad rifleman approaching. The man was a bit taller than either
Sharpe or himself with a healthy, broad-shouldered frame. Untidy black curls
and rough shadowed cheeks gave the impression of a common soldier. Alek took
one look at the newcomer, flashed back to the Sergeant from the force that had
taken his family home, and felt both an immediate dislike and a touch of fear
chill his soul.
Aleksandr's father had died fairly quickly. Papa had insisted that the
family not burn their holdings and flee in the face of the French army despite
the Czar's orders. It was a mercy that he didn't live long enough to see what
his foolishness had wrought. The screams from Mama and the girls had gone on a
long time. Alek was certain it was Mama's blood plastered on the uniform of
that bastard Sergeant when he came to find out what the fuss was near the
stables. Blood had stained that dark, greasy hair as the Sergeant slicked it
back, glaring down at where Aleksandr tried to shield his baby brother and last
remaining sister, wildly wielding father's old sword. {A field mouse! You're
letting a field mouse hold you off? I'll show you how to handle the likes of
this one.} And he had, over and over again during the next few days.
Sharpe's meagre smile filled out at the arrival. He took no notice of the
younger man's suddenly stiff posture. "Colonel Mulder, this is Sergeant Harper,
the finest man I've ever had stand at my back." Richard introduced. "Harper,
this is Miss Scully's intended and our new commander... Lieutenant Colonel
Mulder."
"Sergeant Harper." Aleksandr smiled tightly, fighting the urge to flinch as
the Rifleman stepped closer. Malais was far from here... most likely drunk in
cheap Parisian brothel waiting for Alek's return, the spy reminded himself.
This was just another dull oaf he had to deceive, one that he currently
outranked. "So, you're the gentleman that the Major set to minding my fiancee.
Thank you."
"My pleasure, Sir." Patrick Harper inclined his head. "Your Miss Scully's a
rose of a girl. You're a damned lucky man."
"Quite." Alek answered blankly. "Did you see Miss Scully settled in then?"
"Aye Sir. The Quartermaster's given her a tent near the kitchens but Miss
Scully isn't there right now." Harper elaborated. "The young Miss brought
herself over to our site, sir, to call on my wife and perhaps yourself." A
slight waver of emotion was bending the Sergeant's tone. "The short of things
is... my son has been feeling poorly so your Miss Scully is tending on the
baby. She's got quite the soothing manner, your Miss Scully does." Harper
glanced briefly over his shoulder. "She tells me she did a little doctoring
back on her father's lands. The good Lord knows we can always use another set
of healing hands about here. My Ramona is thanking the Saints for your Miss
Scully's arrival."
Aleksandr took an unconscious step backwards, seizing on a way of getting
rid of the Sergeant. "You must be worried sick over your little one, Sergeant.
I can't see you spending your time here on a routine inspection when such as
that is on your mind. I must insist that you return to site, Sergeant Harper."
Alek gave it as an order. "Keep my fiancee as long as need be to tend your
baby. I'm sure Miss Scully is best off in the company of your fine wife as
anywhere in the camp." Aleksandr tore his eyes away from Harper's disturbing
presence and looked at the waiting line of soldiers. "Would that I could come
by and pay my respects to the Lady, but your sick child and my duties here must
take precedence." The authority in his voice increased as Alek distanced
himself from the looming Irishman. "Do tell her I'm thinking of her. Thank you
Sergeant. You're excused."
Harper frowned briefly at the quick dismissal. "Begging your pardon, Sir."
He lingered. "But your Miss Scully did mention that some certain medicines
might be just the thing for my little one. If yourself or the Major could see
clear to intervening with the Army doctors they would most likely part with
just the wee bit required."
Aleksandr had wanted to keep Sharpe at his side so he could work on the
Major but anything to get rid of the Sergeant and keep Mulder's inconvenient
fiancee busy and away from him. Alek looked up from the musket he had taken
into his hands. "Well then, Major Sharpe you should go along as well and see to
it Miss Scully has everything she could possibly require. I can handle things
here. You already know the men. This is entirely for my benefit anyway."
"Aye Sir." Sharpe acknowledged over top of Harper's quiet thanks.
"Off you go then." Aleksandr addressed the only one of the pair he would
look in the eye, putting every bit of charm he had into the dismissal. "I'll
see you later, Major." Alek smiled now.
"Aye Sir." Richard repeated, withdrawing and taking Harper with him.
Aleksandr handed back the first musket and moved to the second soldier but
his ears strained after the departing officers.
"Not that I don't appreciate what he's doing... but he's a strange sort of
man, Sir... that he hasn't come round to see his bonny lass, what with the way
she's pining for him?" Harper mumbled softly.
Sharpe tossed a glance back over their shoulders. "Cut him some slack, Pat.
You do have to admire his dedication to the job... putting the men first, afore
his social life."
The rest of the conversation was lost as the divide between them increased.
Aleksandr spared only a blink of his eyes to assure himself that the tall
Sergeant was gone then put all his concentration on the inspection.
XENA: "What's the matter, you having trouble getting inside my head right
now? Let me help you."
Xena had wedged herself into the shattered remains of a church steeple. The
ransacked building made a decent hide out and the high perch of the bell tower
gave her a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. The spyglass that she
had liberated from a French officer a few days ago was coming in handy.
That lot of Frog bastards hadn't been content with some abandoned building
for night. They had taken over a cottage, using it as bandits might, careless
of the hard work that had been put into stocking the larder.
"They would have killed that farmer to take what they wanted, beloved." She
frowned at the landscape. "Maybe have hurt the children... probably raped his
wife." Luckily the party hadn't progressed that far before luck and Xena's
tracking skills brought her to the door. That small troop of French soldiers
had been only one short step away from renegades. The officer hadn't held any
semblance of control over the motley gang.
"I know those two that ran away... Chasing them down like that was a bit
harsh but... " The only thing Xena hated more than French soldiers at this
point in time were the scavengers. She despised the men who had fled authority
from both sides of the conflict and now lived off pillaging people already
abused and dispossessed by the war. They were worms to be ground underfoot.
The warrior watched the small village down the hill from the deserted church
for a time. Only a few people moved about. It might be safe to approach. Most
of the locals had fled this area. It was too close to several prime
battlegrounds. The villagers might come back once Wellington got off his ass
and moved the front line further north where it belonged.
"Maybe once the French are securely back inside their own boarders I could
stop." She considered. "But what's to stop them from attacking again once our
guard goes down? We have to finish it hard, beloved. That's the best way to
insure they stay away from our homes."
Her thoughts wandered. Xena rested her forehead against the sun-warmed
stone. "Do you remember Daria, beloved?" The Warrior's smile was bittersweet.
"How many years... ? It's been three or four hundred at least. That girl was
forever climbing up into the most unlikely perches." The face wouldn't come
clear. Only a halo of untidy brown curls and an imp's grin would form. Xena's
mouth tightened in annoyance. She had spent six years in the company of the
former thief. Granted, six years wasn't much when weighed against the over two
thousand years worth of memories that crammed her skull, but... "How could I
forget... ?" A moment of panic racked the immortal. With careful precision she
attempted to visualise Gabrielle. Her mind's eye looked down. The Bard was
shorter than she was, but then most women were, especially back in the old
days. Blonde hair, more red tones in the winter, but in the summer as golden as
the sun itself. Xena placed the emerging figure in a dappled woodland clearing,
staff in hand with a sheath full of rolled scrolls tossed casually over one
elegant shoulder. Make the hair long, Gabrielle's short locks had too many bad
memories entangled in it. All right. Green eyes, sparkling green eyes accented
with curving brows and thick blonde bangs. Long lashes, top and bottom. The
image wavered uncertainly, squeezing Xena's heart painfully. Soft, pink lips,
the bottom a bit heavier than the top. A small, straight nose and a stubborn,
clearly defined chin. The Warrior's fingers twitched, wishing she could reach
out and trace. Surely her fingers recalled even more than her mind. The body
was lean, with a flat stomach, strong arms and smooth skin. A groan escaped.
"I'd best put some clothes on you, beloved. The nights are cold enough as it
is." The jest was weak. "I always liked that little green shirt and leather
skirt."
When the picture finally solidified, her relief was a tangible thing. "If I
ever forget what you look like... " The thought trailed off unfinished. The
reality was that there was little she could do to prevent that situation
besides this occasional game of visualisation and nothing she could do to
repair the hurt if the image ever faded beyond recall. A hunger gnawed at her
that had little to do with food. "Too much thinking, not enough action." She
scolded herself. The melancholy was shaken off with a physical shudder.
"Action." Xena repeated aloud in an attempt to dispel the mood.
She tucked away the telescope and set to picking her way down from the
precarious perch. Her horse could stay inside the ransacked church while she
slipped down to what remained of the town. They might be willing to trade some
fresh food for the trinkets she had lifted off some of her targets. Foraging
didn't provide nearly enough meat in the short time she gave to the task and at
her performance level she needed more. Hopefully the few people she would
encounter were cut off enough from the rest of the country not to recognise her
or they were sympathetic to the cause. Better the first. Even admitting they
had traded with the Warrior Princess would be a death sentence if the French
found out.
"I'm being careful, beloved." Xena picked her way through the debris that
littered the churchyard and down the hill. Blue eyes moved restlessly over the
surrounding countryside. "Bread. Nice, soft bread would taste good... maybe
with honey, and a cup of fresh milk." Perhaps if she repeated that often enough
she could convince herself that food was what she was actually craving.
XENA: "Well, isn't that just a typical man. I give you a few smiles and a
kiss and you're convinced that I'm in love with you."
There was a limit to how much cold meat and day old bread Mulder could
stomach. With the brief exception of his stay in Madrid, which was spoiled by
prison porridge, Fox had eaten few decent meals since leaving Canada.
Therefore, given the choice between eating yet another bland sandwich off the
cook wagon or visiting the inn near where the caravan had stopped for the
night... the choice was simple. Mulder could put up with the less than savoury
company of his two fellow officers if he could get some still sizzling meat and
vegetables that hadn't wilted sometime last winter.
Lieutenant Nixon ordered a massive pitcher of ale but after his recent
experience Fox decided to avoid drinking much alcohol. Nixon and the Captain, a
fat man named George Hackett, more than made up for Mulder's aversion to the
ale.
"Nixon here tells me you're for the South Essex, Colonel Mulder." Hackett
sucked the foam off the top of his mug.
Mulder nodded, inhaling the aroma heavy air of the inn.
"That's Major Sharpe's lot." Hackett observed aloud.
"So I've been told." Mulder leaned slightly forward. "I've heard a few tales
of the famous Major Sharpe already... How he captured an Imperial Eagle at the
battle of Talavera, for one. The Major is quite the topic of conversation in
Madrid. Have you served with Sharpe, Captain Hackett."
"Not personally, no, but one can't serve in Wellington's army and not hear
of Major Sharpe. It's not often that an enlisted man climbs up the ranks... and
to reach Major. Well." Hackett blew out a breath. "It comes from always being
first into the breach and the last to retreat, I suppose. Sharpe's not one for
taking on easy tasks. I heard tell he took a deserters outpost then held it
against the French with nothing more than a handful of men and some creative
bluffing." The Captain chuckled.
"I worked under Major Sharpe... when he was a Lieutenant." Nixon offered.
"He was assigned to the wagons for a brief time. He didn't have much patience
for the job and he wasn't at it long... but Lord did he make an impression. No
one wanted to get on his bad side." Nixon chewed at a breadstick. "His lady was
this hot-blooded Spanish Partisan. 'The needle' they called her, but I think
her name was Teresa. Takes a certain kind of man to bed down with a
blood-thirsty assassin."
Mulder smiled down at the table. He could certainly relate to that
situation. A woman willing to throw herself into the middle of a conflict, who
could hold her own in a fight, was definitely an attraction he could
understand.
"His Spanish woman's dead now, I heard." Captain Hackett interrupted.
"Teresa, aye. Some scoundrel deserter shot her. Messy business."
An elderly, bent man carried a tray over to their table and proceeded to set
steaming bowls in front of each man.
Noticing that they had lost Mulder's attention, the two officers were soon
chatting between themselves about the dubious reputation of some jewellery
broker.
Mulder ignored them in favour of the creamy mushroom soup in front of him.
Between bites his gaze drifted through the lamp-lit interior of the inn. The
crowd was an odd mix of travellers with perhaps a few locals near the empty
fireplace. Fox noticed the girl he'd seen on the road earlier that day sitting
in a quiet corner. Her long, gold hair was uncovered now, making her stand out
from the crowd.
A roasted chicken came as Mulder finished his soup. He was half way through
the succulent bird when some movement caught his eye. A crudely dressed, huge,
bruiser of a man had decided the girl needed company. Mulder feared his
pleasant meal was about to be disrupted by the look of the scene. The lout
rested his knuckles on the girl's table and leaned over her, rumbling something
about pretty Senoritas and leering. Fox couldn't catch the exact words, it
being in Spanish, but he got the general impression from what their body
language told him. The blonde laughed sweetly and waved the big guy off
murmuring some firm but playful taunt.
{What's wrong with right now, Missy?} The interloper bent further down,
laying a grubby, blunt fingered hand on her wrist. His considerable bulk
actually tipped the table.
Gabrielle winced back from the heavy, sour smells coming from the man
looming over her. {Really.} Responding in Spanish. {I've had a tough day and
I'm not in the mood.} She had to work at shaking off the weight of his hand.
{What? You think you're too good for me. Is that it, yellow hair?} The
lummox flexed his arms. {I got these muscles working the land... putting food
in the mouths of the likes of you, little girl.}
{And it's quite impressive.} Gabrielle pacified. {I'm flattered, but no
thanks.} Her voice was beginning to loose its musical tone. She noticed one of
those red coated soldiers rising and turning in her direction. The last thing
Gabrielle wanted was to play the damsel in distress for some self-righteous
officer. {Listen, I... }
The giant didn't wait for his prey's next objection. Meaty fingers curled,
tightened and pulled the blonde to her feet. {Come have a drink with me, pretty
one.} He demanded, yanking her around.
Gabrielle went with the motion, lifting her free hand as she turned. The
flat of her palm impacted hard with the drunk's nose at the same time her foot
stomped down on his instep. His hand spasmed open, releasing her. {I said no}
Gabrielle announced evenly.
The farmer held his hands to his nose, astonished for a moment by the rush
of blood and sharp pain of the break. Within a second however he shook of the
shock and roared in fury. Bloody hands lifted to catch hold of his tiny
opponent.
The annoyed Bard cursed to herself, took a quick step back, then kicked up
into the man's groin. When he bent over in reaction a knee lifted hard into his
face dropping the giant heavily to the floor. Gabrielle straightened up,
rolling her own shoulders to shake out the tension and turned back to her
table.
The British officer was standing right behind her staring in shock at the
scene he had just witnessed. Gabrielle couldn't resist. She lifted a hand, one
finger extended and pushed up on the man's chin, closing his mouth. {You'll
catch flies.} The bard teased, still in Spanish.
"What? I don't understand. You... that man... "
Eloquent, Gabrielle thought, almost giggling. Switching languages, she
explained. "I said no, several times." Her head tipped to one side and she
smiled radiantly.
"Yeah, all right... " Mulder backed up a step, only half-aware he was still
staring, like an idiot. It must be his time for falling into killer green eyes,
only this pair sparkled with light and amusement. "I thought... " He completely
revised his earlier impression from the roadside. This was no girl. Her sweet
face and small stature were deceiving, taking attention away from her lean, fit
body and confident stance. "... But you're fine."
"Quite."
She spoke perfect English as well, Mulder realised. His manners snapped back
into place, straightening up and making him bow slightly. "Lieutenant Colonel
William Mulder the third." He announced. "At your service."
"Thanks, but I'm fine, except my dinner." Gabrielle pointed. "It's getting
cold."
"Right. Sorry." He nodded. "Nice meeting you, Miss... "
Gabrielle chuckled, turned away and settled back down at her table. She
noticed the innkeeper and two other men were dragging her unconscious suitor
out the back door.
Fox went back to his own dinner but it didn't hold anywhere near as much
interest as it had just a few minutes ago. He picked at the remains of his
chicken and waved off the waiter's other offerings with absent attention.
Mulder continued to watch the golden haired beauty, admiring her gently curving
shoulders, long neck and graceful movements until the young woman gathered up
her knapsack and staff. She paused at the bottom of a darkened stairway and
gifted William with another one of those blinding smiles before disappearing
into the darkness. When Fox's attention finally returned to the table he sat at
Mulder noticed his dinner companions snickering and looking anywhere but into
Mulder's eyes.
(to Sharpe) "It doesn't do to duel with your new commanding officer"
Sharpe emerged from his tent to find the tea already brewed. Harper
handed up a steaming cup from where he sat on his tied up bedroll.
"You spent the night out here?" Richard took one scalding sip.
"Aye." Patrick nodded. "Miss Dana stayed the night with Ramona and the babe.
He's much recovered this morning." Harper assured Richard when he noticed his
friend's look of alarm. "I suspect the lass is hoping to catch a moment of the
Colonel's time... not that she could." He frowned at the tent beside Sharpe's.
"His-self never came back last night, at least not that I saw, and he's not
there now."
Richard looked up into the early morning sky. "We're to get a new mission
today. Perhaps the Colonel has gone to Wellington already." Sharpe took another
deep gulp of his tea. "I suppose I should catch up with him." The rest of the
mugfull was tossed away.
Sharpe strode off towards the command centre, tugging his clothing into
order and trying to fasten up his many silver buttons as he walked. He didn't
get half way there before noticing the Colonel's dark green uniform among a
small crowd of red jackets. Riflemen's uniforms were so rare in this part of
the encampment it was near on impossible not to take note of each other.
"Major Sharpe." Aleksandr shouted, closing the distance between them so they
met in an unusually isolated point in the camp. His eyes took in the other
man's still untidy state. "No need to rush yourself, Sharpe." No other soldiers
were close enough to be privy to the more casual address. "I've already seen
Lord Wellington and got our orders." Alek was delighted with the way things
were going. He had feared he would have to make a break for it today and risk
being hunted down as a deserter or a spy but instead he was actually being
ordered out of the camp and toward the French lines immediately. His playful
mood manifested itself in a reckless wish to reach across and run his fingers
up the intricately decorated breast of Sharpe's jacket. Damn, but the man
looked enticingly rumpled this morning. "We... " Aleksandr dragged his
attention up from the slices of rough green fabric, white shirt, and smooth
skin. "That is to say you, I and no more than a few others are to go out and
find a woman... 'La Princesa Guerrera'. Colonel Hogan told me you've a few
chosen men that you like to take on missions like this."
"Aye Sir. I've a small lot of riflemen that'll fit the bill just right."
Sharpe acknowledged.
"Excellent. We'll be out until we find this 'Warrior Princess' so everyone
will need full packs." Aleksandr glanced around to see if anyone was paying
attention to the pair of them. His imagination had alighted on just the method
to keep the Major off balance while having fun at the same time. "I'm ready to
go now." No one was looking. "I'll saddle up my horse and meet you... and
whichever men you decide to bring at the north gate in about an hour." By this
time tomorrow he may have already slipped Sharpe's supervision and taken to the
road to report in. Alek surrendered to temptation. He reached over to finger
one of Sharpe's unfastened buttons, briefly brushing warm, bare skin in the
process. The action earned him a startled flinch and a confused frown from the
older man but it was worth it for the brief moment of pure tactile enjoyment.
"This one's loose." Aleksandr tugged lightly then released the little silver
ball. "You should sew it tighter before it falls off, Sharpe." The reality that
he was the other man's superior officer and his liberties couldn't be violently
repulsed or even complained about made Aleksandr smile. The worst the Major
could do was avoid him, and upon cold reflection, that might be the best way
for Alek to hold his cover and keep himself under control until they parted
ways.
"Aye Sir. I'll see to it." The Major backed up a step, a puzzled,
disbelieving expression on his face.
Aleksandr paced him, keeping the distance between them the same if not
closer. God, but the man smelled good. An enticing mix of cheap soap, smoke,
and something indefinably male. "Really Richard, you don't need to 'sir' me all
the time." Maybe, if the Englishman proved amusing enough, he wouldn't try to
follow Ducos 'kill' order on Sharpe. It would be such a horrible waste.
"Major Sharpe!" Patrick Harper ambled casually up to the pair of officers.
His shout preceded him by a fair length. "Colonel Mulder." Harper greeted,
coming up to halt slightly off centre and behind Sharpe's left shoulder. "Good
morning to you Colonel." He stared straight into the other's eyes.
Now it was Alek's turn to back away, although he resisted the automatic
impulse to lift his hands in surrender by tightly gripping the hilt of his
sword. "Sergeant Harper." Christ, was that his voice squeaking so pitifully?
Aleksandr cleared his throat nervously and inched even further back. "I've a
few loose ends to tidy up... " A pack to retrieve from it's hiding place, for
one. Alek had stashed it last night after searching Dana Scully's tent. He had
wanted his escape prepared, just in case Wellington didn't send them out first
thing this morning. "I'll see you in an hour at the north gate Major Sharpe."
He walked backwards until he was well out of striking distance before turning
and striding off into the bustle of the morning.
"I do believe the Colonel is afraid of you, Pat." Sharpe turned around to
face his best friend.
"Of me? Perish the thought. You know what great respect I have for these men
who buy their Officer's rank like some trinket off a gypsy cart, Sir." The
Sergeant's mouth quirked into a feral grin. His head tilted to one side and
Harper's gaze fastened on Sharpe's chest.
"What?" Richard looked down at himself with a scowl.
"Oh nothing, Sir." One of Patrick's eyebrows lifted. "I'm just wondering if
there's something wrong with your buttons."
The Major's cheeks and ears deepened to hot red. "Don't say it, Harper, just
don't."
Colonel Michael Hogan chose that moment to walk up to the pair. "Ah, Major
Sharpe, we missed you at the briefing this morning." The intelligence officer
flashed a brief smile. "I was hoping for a few words with you before you left
camp." Hogan gestured for Sharpe to walk with him.
They headed in the direction of where the South Essex was billeted. Harper
fell into step right behind his Major.
"The mission may seem simple enough... " Began Hogan. "... But there's
several layers to it, Sharpe."
Of course there were. Hogan was far too devious for Richard to figure out
every twist in even the most straightforward of the man's instructions.
They threaded their way through campfires and tent guidelines. "First and
foremost we need you to acquaint Mulder with the lay of the land and bring him
up to snuff on the situation around here. His stay with the South Essex isn't
like to be very long at all. I've plans for him, so I need him to be able to
pass for a Frog as soon as possible."
"I understand, Sir." Sharpe stepped over a muddy trickle.
"Then there's 'La Princesa Guerrera'." Hogan shook his head. "Such
enthusiasm for killing as her's... it's for the young." He mused aloud. "I'm
hoping you can track this Partisan down, knowing your way with the locals. Did
your Teresa ever mention this Warrior Princess? They seem to have worked the
same areas."
Richard hesitated. Teresa had been glowing in her descriptions of her
mentor, Xena, but Sharpe wasn't prepared to share that much information just
yet. "I recall some mentions, yes Sir."
"Good. Good. That's my boy. You can find the woman and bring her to us,
Sharpe. I want to know what she's up to next and make sure she's firmly aimed
at the Frogs. We wouldn't want to be tripping over each others paths now, would
we?"
"No Sir."
Hogan glanced sideways as they walked together, trying to judge whether
Sharpe was taking him seriously. All those 'yes sirs' and 'no sirs' were
usually a sign of trouble. "And then there's Colonel Mulder himself. I'm
thinking that if he comes back alive after spending a week or three with your
lot... and if you haven't shot him yourself... well, then he may just turn out
to be a decent officer after all." A blustery laugh escaped the big man.
Behind them Harper chuckled. Pat's amusement was decidedly more sinister.
Hogan noticed, but spared the Sergeant minimal attention. "I honestly value
your opinion, Richard." The Colonel said gravely.
They approached the cluster of tents that housed Sharpe and his chosen men.
"I haven't had any contact in private with the young Colonel other than a
few brief words last night near the cook wagons." Hogan paused, wondering once
again why Mulder had been about there so late at night. "The young man strikes
me a bit odd. Not exactly what I expected. What do you think of him so far,
Sharpe?"
Richard came to a halt, not wanting to be too near the tents in case Miss
Scully emerged while they were discussing her fiancee. "He seems dedicated
enough. I wouldn't venture an opinion yet, Sir. I barely know the man."
"Dedicated, I suppose." Colonel Hogan looked off into the distance. "I heard
he was on the drilling field most of yesterday. How did he take to the men,
Sharpe?"
In the barest of whispers, by Richard's ear, Patrick rumbled. "Mulder taking
to the men isn't like to be a problem, now is it?"
Sharpe dared a quick jab of his elbow back into his Sergeant's stomach. To
Patrick's credit he didn't make a sound of reaction.
"The Colonel seemed pleased with the Regiment, Sir." Richard managed to say.
Hogan nodded. "I did notice the Colonel was extraordinarily happy about
having you placed under him, Sharpe."
Patrick leaned forward once more only to have Sharpe take a quick side step
and level his most lethal glare at the Sergeant. "Speak a word and you're a
dead man, Harper." Richard warned.
Colonel Hogan frowned at the interchange but considering the look on
Sharpe's face he decided not to question the threat. "I'll leave you to your
preparations then. Keep an eye on Mulder for me. I'll want details when you get
back."
"Aye Sir." As soon as Hogan was safely away Sharpe whirled in place and
stalked over to his tent, barking over his shoulder. "The lads and us... north
gate. See to it Harper." He disappeared inside and the sound of him ransacking
his gear came through the fabric walls.
Harper crossed over to his own tent. One look at the women waiting for him
smothered the smile from his face however. On the bright side Ramona was
happily holding the baby and beaming up at Patrick. Unfortunately Dana Scully
was right beside her, scanning the area with a hopeful look on her face.
"Hagman, Harris, Cooper, Perkins... " He shouted at the men. "Full kits. NOW!
We're to be on the trail right away. We've got ourselves a Warrior Princess to
track down so we're going to be a while."
The specified men scrambled after their supplies.
Dana edged forward, craning her neck. "Patrick, where's William? Is he
staying in camp or going on the mission with you?" Her hands nervously smoothed
the fancy dress she had put on last night in hopes of meeting her intended.
Harper bit down on the flare of anger that erupted as he realised the
Colonel had absolutely no intention of coming to see the girl before leaving.
"Sorry, Miss Dana, but he's for the trail with us... waiting at the gate as we
speak I think."
Sad blue eyes dropped to the dirt and she crossed her arms over her chest.
"Of course. I'm sure it's very important and quite urgent."
Ramona sidled up closer to the younger woman, wrapping one arm around her
while the other held the baby. "Don't worry I'm sure they'll be back in no
time." She lied, knowing what the look on Patrick's face meant. "Here, you hold
the little one while I help Patrick pack... then after the men are gone you and
I can sit down to a quiet cup of tea and talk."
Dana smiled weakly and took the child, walking absently over to Mulder's
tent as if she hoped the man still might show up at the last moment.
"So, is he a bad one then?" Ramona demanded in a whisper.
"I'm afraid he might be, love." Patrick admitted.
Swearing in Spanish, Ramona set to putting together Patrick's kit.
La Princesa
Guerrera
by Carla Jane and Jim
Spain, Spring 1813
For those who'll volunteer to come
To 'list and fight the foe today.
Over the hills and far away.
(Chorus)
O'er the hills and o'er the main.
Through Flanders, Portugal and Spain.
King George commands and we obey.
Over the hills and far away.
When duty calls me I must go
To stand and face another foe.
But part of me will always stray
Over the hills and far away.
If I should fall to rise no more,
As many comrades did before,
Then ask the fifes and drums to play.
Over the hills and far away.
Then fall in lads behind the drum,
With colours blazing like the sun.
Along the road to come-what may.
Over the hills and far away.
