February 1806
Just outside Munich
"Are you sure he'll come out of the city soon, Major?" The British officer, dressed smartly in his Hussar-Style 95th foot uniform, turned to the Colour Sergeant who had just spoken. "With Ocks you can be sure he won't rest his ass there while we keep harassing Bavarian caravans just outside the city. We can be bloody sure he'll come at us within a few days, if not sooner. And you've seen those men yourself, Harper. He has few good soldiers left since he retreated from Kassel, and one or two days rest at Munich aren't enough to get them ready for battle again. -- Hey, you see that? Look!" The officer handed his spyglass over to Sergeant Harper, and pointed at the road leading to the city. A small column of troops was visible there, leaving the city to the north, heading in their direction. Tattered sounds of a march-song reached their ears, and the marching soldiers came close enough to identify them as Bavarian Fuseliers. "You see that, Harper? Most of them are green soldiers! I told you, they will be no match for our Chosen Men! Let's get back to our guys and prepare a welcome for the Germans."
Down the road the small column, about 35 men strong, marched onward to the north; Their leader, Leutnant Ocks, was walking up and down the column, softly whistling the melody of a song he had heard Russian prisoners sing. He knew there had to be enemies around in the area, and reports of their raids had reached him in Munich. Now they marched through a slightly hilled area, with some bare trees wet from the melting snow. It would be spring soon.
The sound of a shot tore through the quiet morning.
"Kompanie, halt! Left-face, form a line!" The Bavarian soldiers turned to the left, and formed a rudimentary line at the right of their Lieutenant, who was at the back of the column. Now they were facing their enemy, who had started shooting at the left side of the column: About 40, 45 British Riflemen, spread around on the hills and behind some trees, and keeping up a quick fire at the Bavarians, who quickly lost some men. "Forward on the double-quick, boys!" Leutnant Ocks drew his Rapier from his sash, and ran in the direction of the enemy fire, followed by his men. They were well out of Musket range, and the riflemen had a good advantage over the Bavarians. When he had advanced a hundred feet, Ocks turned around, and shouted: "Kompanie, halt! Reform, children. Quick now, form a line!" The Fuseliers started to gather in some kind of formation, but the green recruits couldn't keep up with the veterans, causing confusion among the Bavarians. Ocks was losing men quickly, and he realised he could never form his men in a firing line in time. He sent up a quick prayer, and shouted: "Charge!"
The British, or rather, Irish Major saw the Bavarians resuming their charge, a chaotic collection of men. As they came nearer, he spotted the officer at the head of his troops, a short Subaltern with a ridiculous big ribbon holding his hair together in 18th-century fashion, and holding an old Rapier in his hand. "Hey Hagman, can you get that fellow there?" The mentioned Rifleman raised his Baker, and aimed carefully.
Ocks had reached the first Riflemen with some of his soldiers when the shot hit its target. The peak of his helmet shattered, and his head was knocked back. For some moments he stood still, his vision blurred by the shock and obscured by blood pouring over his eyes. Then he fell down.
That moment his men were already amongst their foes, starting a deadly fight with bayonets, musket-butts and swords. The Bavarians had lost over half their men, but they fought like demons; being shot at from seemingly every direction a few moments ago, they now furiously charged in at their foes, gripped by a rage which only fear could instill.
The irish Major drew his Heavy Cavalry sword, and hacked down the first enemy who came at him. Oberjäger Berthout shot him in the arm, and clobbed him down with his rifle. The remnants of the Bavarian company quickly managed to cut down their opponents in melee, and at last the surviving riflemen surrendered.
Although being shot in the face, the bullet had hit Leutnant Ocks from an angle, and he survived his injury. With his head wrapped in bandages, he had the prisoners brought before him. He looked at them with one eye peeking from under his bandage, and grinned. "We'll send back King Georgie's men in a suitable way. Over the hills and far away. Hehe."
And this, my friends, is how Richard Sharpe was sent home in his underwear.
Just outside Munich
"Are you sure he'll come out of the city soon, Major?" The British officer, dressed smartly in his Hussar-Style 95th foot uniform, turned to the Colour Sergeant who had just spoken. "With Ocks you can be sure he won't rest his ass there while we keep harassing Bavarian caravans just outside the city. We can be bloody sure he'll come at us within a few days, if not sooner. And you've seen those men yourself, Harper. He has few good soldiers left since he retreated from Kassel, and one or two days rest at Munich aren't enough to get them ready for battle again. -- Hey, you see that? Look!" The officer handed his spyglass over to Sergeant Harper, and pointed at the road leading to the city. A small column of troops was visible there, leaving the city to the north, heading in their direction. Tattered sounds of a march-song reached their ears, and the marching soldiers came close enough to identify them as Bavarian Fuseliers. "You see that, Harper? Most of them are green soldiers! I told you, they will be no match for our Chosen Men! Let's get back to our guys and prepare a welcome for the Germans."
Down the road the small column, about 35 men strong, marched onward to the north; Their leader, Leutnant Ocks, was walking up and down the column, softly whistling the melody of a song he had heard Russian prisoners sing. He knew there had to be enemies around in the area, and reports of their raids had reached him in Munich. Now they marched through a slightly hilled area, with some bare trees wet from the melting snow. It would be spring soon.
The sound of a shot tore through the quiet morning.
"Kompanie, halt! Left-face, form a line!" The Bavarian soldiers turned to the left, and formed a rudimentary line at the right of their Lieutenant, who was at the back of the column. Now they were facing their enemy, who had started shooting at the left side of the column: About 40, 45 British Riflemen, spread around on the hills and behind some trees, and keeping up a quick fire at the Bavarians, who quickly lost some men. "Forward on the double-quick, boys!" Leutnant Ocks drew his Rapier from his sash, and ran in the direction of the enemy fire, followed by his men. They were well out of Musket range, and the riflemen had a good advantage over the Bavarians. When he had advanced a hundred feet, Ocks turned around, and shouted: "Kompanie, halt! Reform, children. Quick now, form a line!" The Fuseliers started to gather in some kind of formation, but the green recruits couldn't keep up with the veterans, causing confusion among the Bavarians. Ocks was losing men quickly, and he realised he could never form his men in a firing line in time. He sent up a quick prayer, and shouted: "Charge!"
The British, or rather, Irish Major saw the Bavarians resuming their charge, a chaotic collection of men. As they came nearer, he spotted the officer at the head of his troops, a short Subaltern with a ridiculous big ribbon holding his hair together in 18th-century fashion, and holding an old Rapier in his hand. "Hey Hagman, can you get that fellow there?" The mentioned Rifleman raised his Baker, and aimed carefully.
Ocks had reached the first Riflemen with some of his soldiers when the shot hit its target. The peak of his helmet shattered, and his head was knocked back. For some moments he stood still, his vision blurred by the shock and obscured by blood pouring over his eyes. Then he fell down.
That moment his men were already amongst their foes, starting a deadly fight with bayonets, musket-butts and swords. The Bavarians had lost over half their men, but they fought like demons; being shot at from seemingly every direction a few moments ago, they now furiously charged in at their foes, gripped by a rage which only fear could instill.
The irish Major drew his Heavy Cavalry sword, and hacked down the first enemy who came at him. Oberjäger Berthout shot him in the arm, and clobbed him down with his rifle. The remnants of the Bavarian company quickly managed to cut down their opponents in melee, and at last the surviving riflemen surrendered.
Although being shot in the face, the bullet had hit Leutnant Ocks from an angle, and he survived his injury. With his head wrapped in bandages, he had the prisoners brought before him. He looked at them with one eye peeking from under his bandage, and grinned. "We'll send back King Georgie's men in a suitable way. Over the hills and far away. Hehe."
And this, my friends, is how Richard Sharpe was sent home in his underwear.
