Silver Bayonet

The prologue… It came to pass…

Godalming forces his men to march hard and they finally bump into the picket line of the main army and soon find themselves at a fire in the tent line to crowd around and finally rest.

An officer rides up on the unit and demands to know where their officer is. Godalming, tired and hungry and prone to spats of insubordination ignored the man and began sharing his meagre rations with his men. The man dismounts and shouts at Godalming to give his report.

“I have been out in the wilds to the south doing God’s Own Work. That work is classified and my men are weary. What would you have me share this late in the day?”

* “I know you Silver Bayonet types feel you are above the chain of command, but you sir are not. You are a mere Ensign and I am an Aide-de-camp and you will come with me to see The Field Marshall immediately.”

“Nosey you say?!”

The Aide bridled at the nickname for The Marquis of Wellington being used so flippantly…  but Godalming cuts him off.

“Well why didn’t you say so? Sir Arthur and I have plenty to discuss. Lay on Macduff…”

The Aide, finally getting his way, but still cross, climbs back into his saddle and offers hand to help Godalming up to ride with him. Godalming pat’s the hand away.

“I am wounded, dirty and tired, but I’ll be buggered before I nestle my nethers to your arse on the back of that nag. I’ll walk to wherever I am needed with as much dignity as I can muster but I won’t ride sidesaddle with you… Sir.”

His men tried to hide their amusement but a badly caught snigger was heard by the Aide who spun around fuming… but he couldn’t tell who made the sound.

* “The Field Marshall is waiting a 5 minute ride to the North. I can’t wait around…”

“Then find me a horse! And a chef. And a wench would be nice.”

His men openly laughed at the last jest until suddenly they all jumped to attention in horror because The Field Marshal and a handful of high ranking officers rode into view, illuminated by the fire.

** “Jones!!? Is the good Ensign ready to receive his orders? I thought to ride to you once I found out he was back…”

* “I am afraid that Ensign Godalming has been less than compliant…”

Godalming finally couldn’t stand the pain of is wounded leg (a wicked musket butt blow from a bandit in their recent engagement) and fell to one knee. Doctor Bombay rushed forward to help his officer.

** “Damn your eyes Jones, can you not see the man’s injured!? Ensign Godalming?! You’re to rest and report to me at sunrise. Doctor?! Work your magic and I expect to see you both in the morning. Jones you really must use more common sense when carrying out my orders man. Come along.”

Jones tried to hide his embarrassment and straighted himself and yanked his reins to fall in line as the group of officers rode away.

The next morning Godalming and Doctor Bombay waited outside the tent until summoned. The pair were offered tea which they turned down and awaited their orders.

** “Godalming, you’re the sort of man that will rid me of this Havestman menace and I thank you for it, but if you could just learn a touch of civility around my staff it would be appreciated.”

“You have my respect and loyalty Sir. I will try to be more civil Sir.”

The Field Marshall looked at him sceptically for a moment, not convinced by the declaration, but then moved on.

** “The treasures and intel you unearthed is being looked at more closely by those best suited to such occult research, but I need you to head out as soon as you’re fit.”

Godalming hid a wince of pain that raced through his leg as best he could; his sense of duty driving him to get back to work.

“I can march this afternoon Sir.”

** “Capital. Excellent. Now the mission is this. Find a French drummer boy in this forest and return him back here to camp.”

The Field Marshall placed his finger on the map in front of him and the Doctor leant forward and appraised where he had placed the finger. Technically behind French lines.

“Permission to ask for a reason behind the orders Sir?”

** “Granted on this occasion.”

“What’s special about this drummer boy? Sir.”

** “There’s a chance that he has been bitten by a revenant and did not turn into a revenant or decay and die like everyone else that has received a bite of this kind. If there’s something special about this child we want to discover what it is.”

“There’s a lot of drummer boys over yonder Sir. What will make him stand out?”

** “Well his unit was killed by a rising of revenants and he and his regimental mascot are wondering these woods. He’s lost. Our spies would have picked him up but had to leave under pressure from enemy patrols and revenants roaming the woods. Puppy and the boy are inseparable by all accounts.”

“Won’t the revenants kill him or the French find him before we get there?”

** “There is a risk of that, Yes. We would rather we find this potential weapon against the undead than the enemy, but we need someone as experienced and skilled as your men and you to execute the rescue. If you say you can march this afternoon we’ll have to settle…”

“We’ll head out now Sir.”

** “That’s the spirit. I knew I could count on you Godalming. Go get that pup and his pup and get back to camp ASAP. God speed. Dismissed.”

The two men saluted and filed out.