The Hanoverian Colonel sheathed his sword with relief. That was indeed a very close call. It was fortunate for the Hanoverians that the French Peacock had more pressing business at the moment. A company of Jagers was certainly no match for two battalions of Vieille Garde Grenadiers and a full regiment of the Chasseurs a Cheval of the Emperor’s personal escort. Fate, and the seeming kindness of an old rival, had smiled on them once again. The Valkyries would have to collect these fine German marksmen on another day.
Turning from the eventful courtyard, the still living Commander of the Hanoverian Brigade entered the Great Hall. Undisturbed by the events outside, the hall was filled with the lords and ladies of France dressed in their very finest attire and dancing to the modern music of Breval.
Near the center of the room, and also seemingly the center of attention for this illustrious gathering, was a tall officer dressed in the attire of a French Lancier. His uniform was immaculate, which was most common for French officers, yet it was the uniform itself that had caused the Hanoverian Colonel to pause in the doorway in disbelief. Colonel Jones had never seen this particular uniform before, but he did recognize the man who was wearing it. In fact, he knew the man quite well, or at least he thought he did. The man dressed in the uniform of a French cavalryman had once been a Hanoverian officer who answered to the nickname of Die Ratte (The Rat). The ‘French cavalryman’ was none other than Lieutenant Scott Clawson, the Commander of the Hanoverian Verden Battalion and a subordinate officer to the understandably shocked Hanoverian Commander.
With purposeful stride, Colonel Jones walked directly up to his trusted Lieutenant, his uniform eliciting odd stares from the assembled dignitaries. Drawing near from behind, the Colonel stopped and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir” he said. A puzzled look came over the face the French officer. That voice sounded so familiar. Turning to see the speaker, the Frenchman’s eyes grew wide with delight at the sight of his Hanoverian Commander and friend. Before Colonel Jones could react, he was caught in a firm embrace from the big man, who kissed him on each cheek in greeting. Again the Colonel was stunned, as much by the overwhelming stench of French perfume as the unexpected, and rather undignified, actions of his Lieutenant.
Recovering his composure, the Hanoverian Colonel patted the big man on the back. “Well, it is certainly good to see you again, old friend. I had feared you were dead when you failed to return from your last patrol. It is good to see you well.” Pausing for a moment, the Colonel continued, “You may let go of me now.”
Finally releasing his commanding officer from his hug, the French Cavalryman said, “It is certainly good to see you again, sir. I see that Generaal Bijl has promoted you to a full Colonel now.”
“Yes”, replied the Hanoverian Colonel, “it is amazing what you can gain in our army with a box of fine cigars and vintage brandy. If you wouldn’t mind, may we step outside for a moment to talk where it is a little quieter? We do have a bit of catching up to do and this may not be the best place to reminisce.”
“Certainly, sir”, said the French Cavalryman. “Just give me a moment to let my guests know that I will be outside for a bit.”
Guests, thought the Colonel who was quickly growing accustomed to being surprised in rapid succession.
The French Rat explained to the persons nearby that the Colonel was his former commander in the Anglo-Allied Army, the one that he had told them so much about. The demeanor of the ‘guests’ immediately changed, becoming one of almost warm welcome rather than the hostility to be expected by an officer in service to a nation with which theirs was at war. Although his head was literally reeling at the moment, Colonel Jones did an exemplary job of retaining his composure and masking his confusion.
The Hanoverian Colonel and the French Cavalryman walked back out of the Great Hall and into the courtyard, where the rest of the Hanoverian Jagers were dispersed in a defensive ring. “So tell me”, said the Hanoverian Colonel, “how in the world did you come to wear your present uniform? I thought you hated the cavalry and all things equine.”
“Oui”, replied the French Cavalryman. Colonel Jones raised an eyebrow. “I despise the cavalry. I chose this uniform because it pays better.”
“Pays better?” inquired the Hanoverian Colonel.
“Oui, monsieur Colonel”, said the Cavalry Officer. Colonel Jones visibly winced. “Being a cavalry officer, I am paid twenty-five francs every fortnight, fifty francs each month.”
“Fifty francs, that is a lot of money for riding a horse”, exclaimed the Colonel.
“Oh, but that is the beauty of it, sir”, replied the Cavalry Officer, “I never ride a horse. I never even get near one for that matter.”
“I don’t understand”, said the Hanoverian Colonel. “How can you be a cavalry officer and never ride a horse?”
The French Rat grinned at the slow thought process of his former commander. “It is very simple, monsieur Colonel. This is La Grande Armee. I get paid to host parties while looking fabulous! Did I also mention that I was engaged? Here is a picture of my lovely Bridgette.”
The Hanoverian Colonel is momentarily speechless as his brain absorbs the magnitude of his problem and works out a plausible solution to his present dilemma.
“You know, Lieutenant, it is getting late and I do need to get the men back to camp before Generaal Bijl lists us a Missing in Action, but I find myself with a bit of a problem,” said the Hanoverian Colonel. “We had a minor run in with the Emperor of France and his escort a short while ago.”
“Le Tondu”, exclaimed the French Cavalryman as he literally beamed at the pronunciation of the nickname of the Emperor of France. “Yes, he was just here. He loves my parties!”
“Hmmm, yes”, said the Hanoverian Colonel, “well the problem you see, is that in our current uniforms, it might not be in the best interest of my men to go travelling about the countryside unescorted. If you could spare a bit more of your time, I would appreciate it if you could safely guide us back through the French lines.”
“Oui, monsieur Colonel”, said the French Cavalryman. “Just let me get my handbag and I will be glad to escort you to safety.”
As the French Rat stepped back into the Great Hall to retrieve his necessary travelling accessories, Sergeant Major Schmidt said, “Colonel, sir….”
“Don’t ask Sergeant”, said the Colonel in a weary voice.
“Here I am”, said the French Cavalryman as he returned with a large handbag, the colors complementing his uniform exactly.
Led by the French Rat, the band of Jagers moved out, leaving the castle and its joyful party behind. After travelling for several miles, the French Rat said, “Well, you should be safely past our lines now, monsieur Colonel. I must bid you adieu and get back to my party and guests.”
“I am afraid that won’t be possible, Lieutenant Clawson”, said the Colonel. “You, sir, are a commissioned officer in the Anglo-Allied Army and it is high time you returned to your command.”
“Oh, no sir, I am afraid that is entirely impossible” replied the French Rat.
“I am afraid that you simply don’t have a choice”, said the Colonel as he nods to his burly Sergeant Major who throws the French cavalryman over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Hey, put me down, you big lummox”, cried the French Rat. “You are wrinkling my uniform, I left a soufflé in the oven, Le Tondu will be vexed, wait, wait, my handbag…”
After several more hours of travel, the company of Hanoverian Jagers arrived safely back in camp with their recovered officer. The French Rat was much quieter now, as during the march, Der Wurger gave him a small, silver mirror to keep him occupied.
With the French Rat still slung over his shoulder, the Sergeant Major asked, “What shall I do with him now, Colonel?”
“Give him three shots of Jagermeister and throw him in the deepest mud puddle you can find” replied the Hanoverian Colonel. “Oh, and whatever you do, don’t forget to pluck those damn tail feathers!”
NWC
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