Set during Sharpe's Eagle between chapters nine and ten.
Eventually, with no help from Simmerson, Sharpe was able to get his riflemen and the rest of the South Essex back across the river.
Sharpe would have called the recently completed battle hell, but this was a hell all on its own. A different kind, but a hell nonetheless.
Sharpe looked over at Simmerson, still a good distance away and surrounded by his cronies. The last thing he wanted to do was come back over here and whatever hell he knew Simmerson would be planning for him, but it's not like Sharpe had much of a choice in the matter.
"Sharpe!" Sharpe heard someone call out his name. He turned in the direction he heard it coming from. It was one of Simmerson's officers riding on a horse. If Sharpe remembered them correctly that would be Gibbons. It seemed he hadn't forgotten about his threat of arresting Sharpe.
"You've got to be bloody kidding me," Sharpe grumbled.
"Didn't you say they wanted to arrest you, sir?" Harper asked him as he watched the man come forward.
Sharpe only let out a breath, not wanting to answer that question. As Gibbon's horse came closer, he slowed down its trot until he stood before the rifle officer.
"You're under arrest Sharpe," Gibbons said, glaring down at the rifleman.
"Yes, you told me that when you left us to defend ourselves across the river," Sharpe said, glaring back at him. He hoped, however small, that they might have forgotten about that in the long process to cross the river. A long process not helped by any of these guys.
"Your sword," Gibbons requested, holding his hand out to Sharpe.
Sharpe tensed, his left hand wrapping around the scabbard of the blade. How easy would it be for him to just take it out right now and attack the man sitting high on his horse. It would be quick. The man so obviously wasn't expecting Sharpe to attack. He could pull the man off the horse and have a blade in his stomach before the man could even process what was happening.
"Let it rest Sharpe," Hogan said, walking over to stand next to him, making Sharpe pause in his thoughts of how he could kill the man.
"Let it rest?!" Sharpe asked, incredulous. "Did you not watch as they left us there to be killed?"
"Trust me Sharpe," Hogan said as he leaned into Sharpe's shoulder. "When the upper echelons get word of what happened here, all will be well."
Sharpe stepped back, relenting. Reluctantly, he held up his saber to Gibbons, only holding onto it slightly longer than what was considered necessary as the man took it from him. "I still don't like this," he hissed as Gibbons turned his horse back to join his uncle.
"Neither do I, Sharpe," Hogan said. "Neither do I."
Xx ️xXx ️xXx ️xX
"Don't worry, Lieutenant," Sharpe heard one of his men say behind him. He turned his head over his shoulder to look at the man while they continued walking and raised an eyebrow, as if to tell the man to continue talking.
"We won't let the Colonel get his way," the man said.
Now that caught Sharpe's attention. His eyes widened and he turned his head around quickly to see who was around. Luckily, it seemed that all of the South Essex's Officers were still a good ways ahead and out of earshot.
Sharpe turned to look back at the man. "And what… Do you mean by that?" Sharpe hissed, his voice low but still threatening.
"You know exactly what we mean, sir," the man said as he lowered his voice and looked at Sharpe's face. "We aren't stupid, sir. We knows what that guy is planning there. Bet he's planning to blame all this on you. Well, none of us are gonna let that happen."
Sharpe leaned back a little from where he found himself leaning forward to better hear the man. "Do you have any idea what you're saying?" he asked.
"Of course, sir," the man nodded. "And don't worry, sir. We gots rifles, they only got muskets. And based on their fighting back there, we don't think their better numbers will help than any."
Sharpe's eyes widened as he processed the man's words. Did… did he really just say that? He looked into the man's eyes.
No, he recognized that look. The same look they had going into battle. The same look they had while XXX. He was serious. Dead serious.
And it wasn't only this man… it was his entire company of riflemen.
Bloody hell.
These men… they were the same men who, not even ten months ago, didn't give him the time of day as the Battalion's Quartermaster. The same men, who only six months ago, were planning ways to kill him after they were separated from their Battalion.
And now…
Now they were planning what? A mutiny?... A rebellion?... A riot? if Simmerson does something to get Sharpe in trouble.
Sharpe couldn't believe what he was hearing, couldn't understand it. Where did these guys get their insane, rediculus, stupid, frightening ideas?
He didn't know. But he did know that it scared him. Scared him greatly.
But at least they weren't planning to kill him again. Just kill for him. He only wished they would have remained only wanting to kill Britain's enemies for him. Because despite Sharpe's feelings for Simmerson, this will only get him in infinitely more trouble if word were to break out.
Trouble that Hogan or Lawford wouldn't be able to help him with.
Sharpe shook his head as he turned around and continued walking forward, quickening his pace.
"And Private?" Sharpe called back to the man, not looking at him.
"Sir?" the man replied.
"Don't say a word of what you just said to anyone," Sharpe ordered him.
"Yes sir!"
