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A red coated Hanoverian Colonel casually walks down a wooded lane, gesturing as he speaks to his nearby companion. Accompanying the Colonel this day is a fresh faced, young recruit who has been studying military tactics under the tutelage of his future commanding officer for several weeks now. He listens intently to everything that the veteran warrior is telling him, eager to learn all that he can before he receives his commission and takes the field in live combat against the adversaries of his King. He thinks his confrontation with the Brigands of France still lies somewhere in the future. The young cadet could not be more wrong.
Suddenly, and with virtually no warning, the bushes to both sides of the road rustle to life. Emerging from the underbrush are no less than twenty French Legere. With bayonets fixed, they immediately surround the two Hanoverians, leaving them no possibility of escape. The young cadet’s eyes grow wide at the sight. Whereas it had certainly been his intention to engage the French in combat one day, this is not exactly his idea of the best method by which to do so. The cadet casts a nervous glance at his mentor Colonel and is surprised by the apparent calm with which he seems to be facing certain death.
As the two and twenty officers stand in silence, the underbrush rustles once again as a French Capitaine de Legere emerges, sword drawn and casually resting on his right shoulder. “Well, well, well. What do we have here mes braves soldats?,” the officer says with a smug grin. “It looks as if we have captured a dowdy pair of English puppets, no?” The French soldiers all break into malevolent grins and chuckle at the words of their commander. A lump rises in the throat of the young cadet, making it a bit harder to swallow. The Hanoverian Colonel calmly meets the gaze of the French officer, as a flicker of recognition crosses his face.
Returning the German puppet’s steady blue gaze, the French officer’s grin broadens. “Yes mon ennemi plus hai, you do recognize me after all. That is very good, because I want you to know who it is that finally ends your miserable life and silences your petulant ramblings against our beloved Tondu.” Laying his sword on the left shoulder of the Hanoverian Colonel, the French Capitaine leans closer, staring directly into the unflinching eyes of his prey. “I have tracked you for over a year now, learning your habits, studying your ways and hating you for the indignity you caused me to suffer during your childish show of cockroaches and match boxes, insulting our beloved leader and making a mockery of all that we hold dear. Now it is time that you pay for your crimes. Now is my time of retribution for all of France. Where is your Muddy Field Marshall to save you now mon ami? Hmmm?”
It is everything the Hanoverian can do to maintain his composure at this moment. Even still, his eyes begin to water just a bit from the reeking garlic breath of this Frenchman and the overwhelming stench of his cheap perfume. Seeing his mentor officer beginning to tear up, the young cadet blanches, certain that death will prematurely claim him before he can honorably defend his country and his king on the glorious field of battle. The French soldiers are all smiling now and their eyes sparkle in anticipation of what will come next.
“Well”, says the Hanoverian Colonel, “it certainly looks like you have outwitted me at last. Sad to say, but I do believe that my end is certainly near.” The French Capitaine de Legere is literally beaming now. “I do have one question for you though, before I depart this world”, continues the Hanoverian as he slowly edges his right hand away from his sword and toward his left, breast pocket. Noticing the movement of his enemy’s hand, the French Capitaine presses the his razor sharp blade closer to the side of the Hanoverian’s exposed neck. “Careful, mon ami”, coos the Frenchman. Slowly reaching into his pocket, the Hanoverian Colonel asks, “Have you ever seen one of these?” The Frenchman’s eyes grow wide at the sight held before him. He thinks to grab for the object, but the Hanoverian is quicker. In one fluid motion, the Hanoverian Colonel flings a small, silver mirror deep into the thick underbrush.
A moment of stunned silence follows as the realization of what just happens dawns on the French soldiers. Coming to their senses, the twenty Frenchmen throw down their weapons and dive into the thick underbrush to retrieve the prize; kicking, scratching and clawing their companions in a desperate attempt to be the first one to find this most coveted of all items. The French Capitaine stands motionless, conflicting emotions crossing his face with the rapidity of an advancing horse battery. Now it is the Hanoverian who is grinning as he winks at the confused Frenchman and nods in the direction of his fleeing men. “I suggest you hurry. It would not do for a Private to retrieve such a prize at the expense of his commanding officer.”
The French Capitaine’s visage takes on a look of desperation as he drops his sword and dives into the underbrush shouting, “Wait for me! Wait for me! I am your commanding officer and I order you to halt! That’s my mirror….!”
The young cadet sucks in a large gulp of air, as his mentor Commander bends over to retrieve the abandoned sword. It seems that in all of the recent excitement, he had momentarily forgotten to breath. Casually carrying the captured weapon in his right hand, the Hanoverian Colonel places a brotherly arm around the young cadet's neck as he urges him to resume their walk, so rudely interrupted, down this previously peaceful, country lane. “So, as I was saying”, continues the Colonel in a fatherly tone, “what would you think about a commission as a Hanoverian Field Jager?”
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