Storm Clouds Gather

Source

Late April, Christian and Thomas were finally to depart for the Continent after a long few weeks of preparation. Not only was the necessary kit to be acquired, to include camping equipment, tents and the like, but horses as well. Thomas said three should do it, plus a couple of mules.

"Mules, Thomas? Whatever for?"

"Well Sir, we've got tents, cots, cook stoves, field desk and chairs, rations, dress uniforms ..."

"Why on God's green earth do we need all that for?" Christian protested.

"Well Sir, you're not a company commander anymore, sloshing about on foot with the common soldiery. As a battalion commander you have a lot more paperwork to keep track of, not to mention the need to maintain a headquarters in the field. Commanding 600 men is a lot different than commanding 60. I'm surprised you hadn't thought of that. The mules will be pulling your baggage wagon of course."

In truth, Christian hadn't given it much thought. His wife was angry with him, after all she, no more than he, wasn't English, she was Dutch. She was furious at the prospect of being left in a foreign country while, as she put it, "you go swanning about the countryside chasing Bonaparte."

To boot, he hadn't been at home much since word of his appointment to battalion command had been confirmed. Surprisingly it wasn't a militia battalion, it was actually one of the regular regiments of the Hanoverian establishment, Field Battalion of the Bremen regiment, a light infantry unit. He had heard the unit referred to as the Verden Battalion and the Bremen-Verden battalion. Thomas had an opinion on that.

"You know how 'tis, Sir. When it's peacetime the generals love to organize, reorganize, then rename every bloody thing under the sun. When we get there the lads should know what they're called. What do yer orders say?"

Christian grumbled slightly as he pulled out the orders from his sabretache, which one English officer had already told him wasn't authorized for infantry officers in the King's service. (Thomas had laughed out loud when Christian had pulled his, "I don't speak English" routine. At which the offending officer had stormed off muttering about "bloody foreigners.")

"Says here, The Light Field Battalion Bremen-Verden, lower down it's the Field Battalion Verden. I've had a note from the Prince's ADC saying it's been renamed, again, to the Field Battalion Bremen. I was told regular infantry kit was needed, but that the men are light bobs. Not up to the Rifle's standards, but good enough."

Thomas nodded, "Just to be safe, Sir, I managed to acquire a red jacket with the proper facings and a green jacket as well. Though I'll be damned if I know what the facings are."

"We'll know soon enough when we get to Belgium, I reckon." Christian finished the conversation.

Christian was also quite a few pounds lighter than he had been a month before. Amazing what constant movement and not eating could accomplish for one's waistline. A few townspeople had remarked on how dashing he looked when he'd been in the village purchasing a few last minute necessaries. He had blushed in embarrassment, but had nodded his thanks.

As he walked back to the stable, he decided to pop into the pub, he was thirsty and hungry as well. He decided he would make the time to eat.

As he turned down the street towards the pub, he heard his name called. A voice he hadn't heard in quite some time.

"Christian, is that you? I hardly recognize you."

He turned, slowly, it struck him that he'd been addressed in German, an odd thing in a little English town. As he looked, he recognized her, Elsbeth, wife of a fellow officer. He stood there, stunned, as he looked into the blue eyes he knew so well. He had fancied her at one point in his life, though she didn't know it. He'd already been married at the time and she was engaged. But they became fast friends, something rather unusual in this day and age.

"Elsbeth, it's good to see you."

She shook her head and said, "You always were an idiot, Christian," as she threw her arms around him and hugged him close.

Flustered, he said nothing for a moment, then he managed to stutter, "How is Kurt?"

"My husband? Oh I don't know, he went over to Brussels last month. I daresay I won't see him until Bonaparte is chased back to his little island. I see by your uniform that you might be heading that way as well? I thought you were retired."

He took a deep breath, "Well, I've only been retired a few months, so with Napoléon on the loose I thought that ..."

"You still call the Ogre that? I daresay someone who didn't know you might take you for a Bonapartist."

Christian blushed, "Nothing like that at all," he stammered, "I respect the man as a soldier, nothing more."

Her laugh filled his senses, he had forgotten how entrancing she was. "I'm off to Belgium tomorrow, I've been given a battalion of Hanoverians."

She smiled at him, then touched his sleeve, "Is there anything I can do for you? Kurt is on the Prince of Orange's staff, you know."

"I did not know that, but ..."

"I shall be in Brussels in a week, do look me up, now I have to run."

She hugged him again, "I have missed you terribly, Christian. Come and see me in Brussels, won't you?"

As she walked off, he stood there, nonplussed, all of the old feelings were coming back. Feelings he had suppressed, feelings he didn't need right now.

"Damn it." he muttered.