Bloody Red Flag
Alhaeron (formerly T.R.)
Disclaimer: Oh, I'm sure you all know by now. Don't own The Patriot, Tavington, anybody in it, blah blah blah blah blah. Blah. No profit.
A/N: Back again by popular demand. I wrote this in 2005 and I decided, because I have way too much free time, to re-post it. That being said, I have no electronic copies of it, only hard ones, so this could take a while. Also, due to the fact that I'm writing a real book, that takes precedence, so if I have to choose between working on this and UFS (the book), it'll be UFS. Anyway, like I said way back when, this is a time travel fic. It's not a Mary Sue. It's going to be edited a little bit, because I've gotten a lot better at writing since then and there are some things I wrote that I just can't stand to read now, so I'm not going to inflict them upon you.
Chapter Five: The Green Dragoons
But the colonel did not waste much time on shock. His reputation had him down as a man who was not easily surprised, and this must have taken him greatly by surprise if he'd been incapacitated by it for this long. While I was still staring, open-mouthed, at Cornwallis, Tavington closed his mouth, then opened it again, but this time words came out of it. "My Lord, I really must protest!" he said, in a voice that was half a yelp. He looked like a kicked dog.
But Cornwallis must have been anticipating something like this from Tavington, for he cut off the colonel smoothly. "Colonel, if you have any grievances—"
"Believe me, sir, I do!"
"Kindly do not interrupt, Colonel. Now, if you have any grievances, I welcome you to discuss them after the business of getting Captain Stevenshire outfitted and prepared is taken care of."
"But, General—"
"I will hear no more out of you now, sir," bellowed Cornwallis, losing his temper, "and if you continue to disobey me, I will not hear anything you have to say!"
Tavington deflated, and knew he was beaten, but he was not chastened and would not make himself out to be so. "Not that you ever listen anyway," he muttered petulantly, and stalked out of the tent. The other man, the one I'd disliked on sight, finally spoke.
"Quite a boorish fellow, don't you think, My Lord?" Cornwallis just huffed. There had obviously been altercations of this sort before. There was a pause, to let the tension in the tent uncoil somewhat, and then the Lord General turned to me.
"Captain, you need to report to the quartermaster and turn in your old uniform and outfit, and receive your new one. You need only show the staff there your commission, and they will give you what you need. Then you will report to the Green Dragoons' section of camp." After all this time, I finally found my voice.
"Thank you, My Lord." He waved his hand regally in the direction of the tent flap, and I bowed hurriedly and left.
***
My men looked up when I entered the tent for the last time, to collect my belongings. I was too preoccupied to even tell them to "at ease," and they watched silently as I bustled around, hunting up my gear. I carried all I could, and what I could not carry, I strapped on. Not for the first time I wished for a horse, as I bustled to and fro, clattering with pots and pans and bits of extra weight. I finally dumped all of the stuff I'd be carrying to the supply station outside the tent, and re-entered, jangling. My men hid grins and turned snickers into coughs, and I shot them glares. But they were curious, I could tell.
I opened my mouth once, closed it, then opened it again. Finally I said, "I have been given a field commission as a captain, Green Dragoons." Some of them looked at each other with expressions of mild shock, but the majority shrugged as if to say, "Saw that coming." I was known as a fair leader, sure, but we'd never developed an affection for each other. After all, life of the British Regulars, what was one commander to another?
I kept going, though. I felt I had to say something. "I don't know who your new commanding officer will be, whether it'll be someone new or one of you will be promoted. I feel confident, however, that any one of you could command this company at any time." They nodded, but they didn't care. I had no news of real importance to them. "You'll be reinforced. We lost a good deal of men in this morning's action." I paused, then grinned. "Give 'em hell, all right?" Rude laugher resounded through the tent that promised obedience to my parting words. "Good luck," I said finally. There were various murmurs of thanks and farewell, and then I left the tent.
"Captain," I whispered into the still evening air, then grabbed my gear and trundled off.
I cut a funny sight, bulging with all of this weight. Heads looked up from various duties, be it washing or cleaning or grooming or snoring, as I walked by. The supply tent seemed a very long way off, and I cursed and muttered under my breath, condemning Tavington, Cornwallis, and the Ghost to premature and very painful deaths. When I finally reached the tent, I had a little group of followers, laughing and jeering at me. I spat curses back at them that would have made a sailor blush, and they left, muttering. I dumped the stuff I wasn't going to exchange outside of the tent and entered.
It was different from last time. Outfitting a captain is far more important that outfitting a Regular, and a lot more care was taken with me. I was shown how to put it all on, and then, instead of a pack, I was given saddlebags and a blanket roll. "Um…what am I supposed to do with these?" The soldier helping me gave me a look that plainly said, "How did this moron manage to get promoted?"
"You'll have a horse," he said. "It's being brought up now."
"Oh." There was nothing else to say in the face of my stupidity.
"We'll help you with that, too."
"Thank you."
After a while, we heard hooves on the spongy grass outside. I tore out of the tent and skidded to a halt in front of a lovely bay mare with a look in her eye that said if I came any closer she'd take my head off and use it as a chew toy. I gazed at her with nothing but pure adoration. After all these years of futile wishing and hoping, I was getting a pony! Of course, I'd never wanted a pony, per se: I'd been too big for one since I was eleven. Now I wanted a horse. What color or gender I didn't care, just so it was young and strong and had a need for speed, as I did.
As she took a wayward snap at the young man holding her, I rushed forward to wrap my arms around her neck. There was only one horse who'd ever managed to successfully intimidate me, and this was not it. However, this mare had me pegged and, quick as a striking snake, she whipped her head around and clamped her teeth down on my outstretched arm. I had been bitten, kicked, stomped, and thrown by all manner of horses, though, so this wasn't a big deal. She just wasn't a horse for hugs.
Just as quickly as her, I seized the reins from the private, who relinquished them gratefully and, twisting, I put one foot in a stirrup and swung aboard. The mare pranced and stamped, huffing and puffing, but I coolly manipulated the reins and waited. After she'd settled enough to be approached, I saw the equipment master coming forward with my saddlebags. I could feel her tensing under me, and I waited. Closer, closer… It was a sure thing. She was going to kick. As soon as the quartermaster got within range, I spurred her forward, shocking her into disengaging her hindquarters. Realizing that I was smart enough to have figured out that trick, she let the quartermaster fasten on the bags and baggage, and waited, like a coiled snake, for her next opportunity. I called her Snake from then on, and carefully observed the way the equipment was arranged, and waited for her to try again.
Finally, when all was said and done, they handed me the last bit of my gear: my helmet. I lifted it onto my head and struggled with the buckle, feeling its top-heavy weight making my head bob around. When I'd gotten it into place, I thanked the supply troop and tilted my heels into Snake's sides, all too conscious of the spurs on my new boots. As she moved off brusquely, I felt the sword clanking against my side: I'd forgone a new one, preferring my old one. It was something familiar, something I knew I could handle. Then Snake and I moved out to the camp of the Green Dragoons.
***
They sheltered apart from the rest of the army, on the sloping sides of a mist-covered hill. Clouds had obscured the stars as we made our slow but cautious way to the encampment. I let Snake choose her steps, as the ground was uneven and I figured that she'd know better how to make her way than I. She had wonderful gaits: a smooth, powerful walk, a graceful trot, and a canter like riding a rocking horse, though I'd not yet tried her at the gallop. If she'd only quit trying to reach around and bite me, this would be horse heaven.
All the way here, especially on the smooth expanse of ground between the Regular encampment and the hill, on which we'd cantered, she kept stopping, ostensibly to scratch at a fly-bite on her leg. The jerky nature of the stops, however, suggested an ulterior and far more devious motive; indeed, she moved off disappointedly every time I failed to topple over her neck.
As we closed in on the camp, I saw horses hitched to posts outside the few communal tents, sometimes two or three to a picket. I'd been told to report to my commanding officer—three guesses who—and I figured that the tent with only one horse on a post had to be his. Just before I breached the perimeter, another horse wheeled out of near-nowhere and deposited itself in front of me. Snake spooked and started and I wasted a good couple minutes trying to get her back under control. It was only after this was accomplished that I noticed that this horse had a rider as well.
"Halt!" he said in a decidedly too self-important manner, but I was in no mood to bandy words with fools. I tiredly pulled out my very sorry-looking commission (having been handled by a lot of people today) and shoved it at him. He glared at it for a minute, then looked up at me, an evil grin creasing his face. "Says here you're to report to Colonel Tavington," he said. I nodded. "Poor soul," he continued. "Wouldn't want to be you right now. Commander's sulking; he met with Cornwallis on the subject of his new captain and didn't like what he heard." He looked back at the paper. "'Spose that'd be you."
"And you are?" I said exasperatedly.
"Lieutenant—"
"Well, Lieutenant, I suggest you shut your mouth and move out of the way or I will shut it for you and report you to your commander, sulking or not. Am I clear?" I used my best Sergeant Hard-ass voice. The lieutenant gave me a hurt look, but moved away, and as I passed on I heard him muttering, "Can't see why he doesn't like you; peas in a pod, right?" I let Snake bite his horse in passing, then we marched up to Tavington's tent, for the first time in the same foul mood and with the same intent of purpose: busting ass and going to bed.
I spent five minutes fiddling with the post, and tying Snake's reins to it. Some horses were trustworthy enough to be left untied for hours and they wouldn't stray; others could just have the reins wrapped a couple of times around whatever object was handy and they'd stay. Snake was neither of these. I tried the second tack, and she jerked and pulled so that the reins just slid off the hitching post. I tried several more knots, then, when she'd resorted to chewing the reins to get away, I slapped her away from them and tied her so tightly she couldn't reach them. Furious and fuming, I stuck my head inside Tavington's tent.
It was nothing like Cornwallis's: no ornamentation or frippery or decorations of any sort. The colonel, despite his rank, lived a Spartan lifestyle. A single candelabra of burnished brass illuminated the interior; a bed hugged the far wall; a small end-table with various personal effects stood by it stolidly. The centerpiece was a small, battered desk at which the colonel himself sat. "Come in," he said wearily, without looking at me. I entered, saluted, then stood stiffly.
"Captain Stevenshire reporting for duty, sir." He looked up at that.
"Ah, Captain." He gave me a wan smile, but it wasn't so much a smile as a showing of teeth. I noted that both canines were exposed, and waited.
"Captain, I have spoken to the Lord General about you. I must say, I did not approve of your being transferred to my command." He stood and squeezed around his desk. "You have never made a good impression on me, from the time you insulted me—"
"As I recall, sir, your fist made a wonderful impression on my face," I said before I could stop myself, then winced. But he just grinned, predatorily.
"So I did, and you'd do well to remember that. Now, I was disciplined for that, and warned that any further unorthodox disciplinary methods would result in my suspension and possible removal of my rank," he said wearily, with the air of a man reciting an oft-repeated passage.
"However," he continued, and his voice sank to a hiss, "if I ever meet with such insolent behavior while you remain under my command, the consequences will be far more dire. I know you lied to me today, and that lie has gotten you the good humor of my superiors, as well as your rank, but I don't care. If you had been under my command then, I would have had you shot for insubordination. You'd do well to remember that too.
"But," he said, drawing back a pace, "your results have been unquestionable thus far. Should this continue…" He trailed off, shrugging, then said, "I run a tight ship—"
"I'm beginning to see that. Sir." He gave me a warning glare and kept on.
"I run a tight ship, and insubordination is not tolerated. Look," he said, "let's get down to facts. If it were up to me, you'd be back with the Regulars by morning. But it isn't, and I've been ordered to take you on for at least a year. That's how long your commission lasts." He gestured at a thin slip of paper on his desk. "So I'll say this: the life of a Dragoon is neither easy nor fun. But I can promise you one thing," he said, staring straight at me, straight through me.
"What?" I said, forcing a tremor from my voice.
"It is always interesting." He gave me the first non-wolfish smile I'd seen from him yet. "You didn't piss yourself when I was busting your arse, I'll give you that. Better men than you have done it." His face darkened again. "But that's all you get. Dismissed, Captain, and remember what I said. Go to Tent A; you'll find an empty bed there." He smirked a little, then turned away, and I tore out of the tent as fast as I could go. My heart was pounding so hard that I couldn't walk a straight line.
"That went well," I muttered to Snake, who gazed at me reproachfully with her lips flapping emptily, trying to catch hold of her reins. When I went to untie her, she took a snap at me instead, and I dealt her a smack on the neck. "I'm not in the mood, you silly horse, so just settle down and behave for once!" After a few minutes of difficulty finding Tent A, I tethered Snake and poked my head in. You could hear the crickets.
"Who're you?" someone asked, after a minute of awkward silence.
"I'm, ah, your new tent-mate?"
The man looked back at me, confused.
"How? We haven't had any extra space in ages. C and D have both got room, but we're full up. Sorry, mate," he said as I turned to go.
"Right," I said dreamily. "Sorry to bother you…" Inside, though, I seethed. Tavington! This was his petty little revenge! That was what he had been smirking about.
But I wasn't in the mood to go galumphing up and down looking for empty beds. It had turned into a clear night, and warm, so I laid my bedroll under the stars at the edge of the encampment. After tethering Snake to a stake as tightly as I could, I settled in for a long-awaited and much-needed sleep. I was out like a light.
A/N: And so it begins…again. Keep the reviews coming, peeps.
Alhaeron
