Young bloods

A sorry business indeed, Arthur reflected, as he made the morning inspection of his brigade, stretched out along the Waal in a series of small forts and redoubts. His men looked tired and filthy. Despite not having had to march anywhere in the last two months, they were on constant alert for any attempt by the French to cross the Waal and had been called out of their tents and bunkers every time the alarm had been sounded by a nervous sentry. Supplies of food were sporadic and even when they did turn up the measures were always short, or the meat and biscuits were rotting and barely edible. The men of the Royal Waggon Corps were having a fine war of it, skimming off the best supplies and selling them on the black markets in The Hague and Amsterdam. Meanwhile, Arthur and his men went hungry. Most of his officers saw to it that they were well fed, but he endured what his men endured and made sure they knew it.The result was trust and loyalty – a rare commodity amongst the regiments strung out along the bank of the Waal.

As Arthur rode up to the fort commanded by Captain Fitzroy, a pair of sentries rose from the small fire beside the gate and stood to attention. Arthur saluted as he passed between them. Inside the gate the fort was a sea of mud. To one side a soldier, stripped to the waist, was busy hacking strips of flesh from a slaughtered horse and tossing the hunks of meat into wooden tubs. Nearby others were stoking up the fires under some steaming cauldrons. None of them acknowledged the arrival of their commanding officer and for a moment Arthur considered riding across to them to demand the respect he was due. In normal circumstances he might well make this a disciplinary matter. Indeed, he should insist on proper procedure under all circumstances. But today, the cold, grey and wet sapped the spirit of them all, and Arthur could well understand how some armies fell to pieces in such circumstances, if left to endure them for too long. So he ignored them and guided his mount across the sucking quagmire to the timber-framed bunkers that had been erected backing on to the rampart. They served as Fitzroy's accommodation and headquarters for the two companies of the garrison. Arthur dismounted, squelching down into the mud, and hitched the reins to the rail outside the bunkers. Pushing aside the leather curtain that hung across the entrance, he ducked inside.

An elderly sergeant was working at a small desk by the light of a lantern and he instantly rose and stood to attention as he saw the colonel.

'Where's Captain Fitzroy?'

'Outside the fort, sir.' The sergeant gestured to the side opposite the main gate. 'Playing cricket.'

Arthur laughed. 'Doing what?'

'Playing cricket, sir. Officers' and sergeants' eleven versus corporals and privates.'

Arthur stared at the man for a moment and then shook his head. 'Cricket… Hardly the season for it.'

'That's just what I told 'im, sir.'

'I see.Very well then, you can get back to your work, Sergeant.'

'Sir.'

Arthur turned round and left the bunker, striding up on to the rampart and along the walkway towards the far side where a small fortified sallyport protruded. To his left the rampart dipped down towards the greasy-looking current of the Waal, swirling lazily past the fort. A quarter of a mile away, on the far bank, was a French observation post, a flimsy-looking timber tower upon which stood a French soldier wrapped in a coat. As Arthur looked the man raised his hat and waved it in greeting.

'Damn impudence!'Arthur muttered, refusing to respond as he quickened his pace. From ahead there was a sudden cry and then a chorus of cheers. As he reached the corner of the fort Arthur could see some men in red jackets scattered over a rough patch of fenced pasture. In one corner a few cattle looked on as they grazed. Captain Fitzroy was talking earnestly to a young ensign, a cricket bat held in his hands as if it was a felling axe. To one side, stood a corporal, grinning as he casually tossed a ball in one hand.

'I'm telling you,' Fitzroy said loudly,'that was clearly a no-ball.'

The ensign shook his head. 'Sorry, sir, the ball was properly bowled.You're out.'

'Damn it, sir! The man's arm was not straight when he bowled.'

'The ball was good. And, if I may presume to say, it is bad form to argue with the umpire. Now if you would be so good as to leave the field, sir?'

Fitzroy glared back and seemed to be on the verge of exploding with rage when he caught sight of his colonel making his way along the rampart to the sallyport.

'Very well, damn you.' Fitzroy flipped the bat over and held it, handle first to the umpire. 'But you've not heard the last of this, Partridge.'

He strode across the field towards a pile of coats and snatched one up as he hurried on to the fort and met his commander just as Arthur emerged through the sallyport.

'Morning, sir.' Fitzroy saluted as he struggled into his greatcoat.

'Good morning.' Arthur nodded. 'What's the meaning of this?'

'The cricket? Just thought it would do some good for morale. Keep some of the men occupied for a day. There's not much else to do.'

'No.' Arthur admitted, with a weary look at the flat landscape.

'I should think the Netherlands in winter is as close as a man can get to a vision of purgatory.'

Fitzroy chuckled. 'You're not wrong there, sir.'

Arthur smiled back, then his expression grew more serious. 'How are things?'

'Not good. The men are on half-rations, and I've given orders to start eating some of the weaker draught animals. We've little enough fodder for them as it is, so they might as well do some good. Any sign of our supplies turning up?'

'No. None at all.'Arthur tugged the collar of his coat up.'I rode to headquarters yesterday to see what the delay is. Fifteen miles back from the Waal.' He shook his head. 'It's a different world.The general and his staff have got themselves a comfortable house with fine grounds. Fires ablaze in every room, fine wines, the best food to be found in this country, as well as the prettiest whores.'

Fitzroy's eyebrows flickered in surprise, before envy took hold. 'Bet those idle bastards are shagging themselves silly.'

'No doubt. But it seems to be about the only thing they are doing. I spoke to the head of the commissariat, once I had prised him off some filly. Told him what we needed. He said he'd see to it as soon as possible. Which means we'll be lucky if we get any more rations before Christmas.'

'Christmas!' Fitzroy shook his head and swore softly. 'I doubt there'll be anyone but skeletons left in the fort by then. Of course,' he nodded towards the cows, 'we could eat them.'

'No. Out of the question.You know the Duke's recent orders. It's a court martial for anyone caught looting Dutch property.'

'Just one cow,' Fitzroy pleaded. 'We'll tell the locals it ran into the river and was swept away.'

'No. Don't even joke about it.'

'Who's joking?'

'Enough!' Arthur waved his hand impatiently. 'Now, tell me, what's your strength?'

'As of this morning, fifty-three effectives. Eighteen unfit for duty. Twelve of those have typhoid fever and won't live the week out. I've put them in a tent in one corner of the fort to keep them away from the other men. So I'm well under half strength. God help us if the French attack.'