The King's Marauder

That word was drawn out several seconds long, fading off into a sigh. Lewrie and Mountjoy looked at each other, openly grimacing when Sir Hew looked towards the ceiling, as if seeking inspiration.

“All we need now are troops, sir,” Mountjoy gently reminded.

“Two companies,” Lewrie stuck in.

“And there lies the rub, sirs,” Sir Hew told them, coming back from his inspection of the ceiling. “After explaining the possible ramifications of what Spain might do, given the reports of Marshal Junot’s army assembling, Horse Guards in London, and General Fox on Sicily, have promised me an additional battalion or two, yet…”

There’s that bloody word, again! Lewrie thought in a huff.

“And yet, sirs, I must husband all I have, and all that I may receive, to defend Gibraltar,” Sir Hew Dalrymple concluded.

“Ehm, may I enquire, sir, if you thought to mention the need to include detachments for offensive operations to London, or to General Fox on Sicily?” Mountjoy asked, sounding as if he had crossed fingers, hope against desperate hope.

“Believe I did so, in passing, Mister Mountjoy,” Sir Hew said, looking cross to be questioned.

“Offensive operations along the coasts may tie down a fair number of Spanish troops,” Lewrie quickly said, “if we hit ’em hard and often enough, sir. They’d have to garrison every little seaside town or fishing port, re-enforce their coastal forts, batteries and semaphore towers, or erect batteries. That’d limit the number of troops and guns that the Spanish could muster to lay siege to Gibraltar. Go in for a pe

“Not anywhere near Gibraltar, though, sir!” Mountjoy eagerly added, taking new heart. “We’d strike further afield.”

He’s lookin’ at me like I’m a talkin’ dog, Lewrie thought; An idea from the likes o’ me that helps?

“We would do nothing to ruin your fairly cordial relationship with your counterpart, General Castaños,” Mountjoy slyly went on, “from which I am certain that you glean useful information upon the mood of the region. Yet, if Spain and France plan a move against you here, our raids could delay and limit his massing of forces by the Spanish, requiring the French to commit their troops, and their march to here would take so long that London would have more than enough time to send you all the re-enforcements you could wish, sir.”

“Perhaps that would end with British armies in Spain, meeting ‘Boney’s’ armies head-on, sir,” Lewrie suggested.

“That would be promising,” Sir Hew said, leaning back to fantasise for a moment. “But, landing British troops against allied Franco-Spanish armies…” He sighed and went gloomy again.

“Well, Sir Hew,” Mountjoy said, with a grin, “it has been our aim all along to break that alliance and get Spain out of the war. Neutral if possible, able to trade with the world again, or as a British ally in the best case.”

“Teeterin’ on the edge, Sir Hew,” Lewrie contributed, and drew a quick under-lid glare from Mountjoy who feared that Dalrymple would mis-interpret on which side Spain might teeter.

“Nowhere near Gibraltar, or General Castaños’s military region, d’ye say?” Dalrymple mused, pulling an earlobe again. “In that case, some limited offensive raids might…” He paused, then reached out to pluck a china bell from his desk-top and ring for an aide. A massive set of old oak doors opened, and an Army Captain entered.

“Sir Hew?” he asked with an eager-to-serve smile.

“Captain Hughes, the troop transports that arrived a few days ago,” Dalrymple enquired. “Of what units do they consist?”

“One squadron of horse, sir, two regiments of foot which will go on to General Fox,” Captain Hughes easily reported off the top of his head, “and several companies of replacements for various regiments.” Hughes had all the regiments’ numbers, and the numbers of troops at the tips of his fingers, the perfect aide.

I know this bastard! Lewrie realised; He’s that opinionated twit in the seafood chop-house with that girl t’other day!

Up close, and face-on, Captain Hughes was the epitome of a war-like officer, beefy, strong, and wide-shouldered, with a deep voice. His red uniform coat, with gilt lace epaulets, black facings and silver and red button loops, his shirt, neck-stock, and white waist-coat and matching breeches were immaculate and exquisitely tailored. Hughes’s boots were so well-blacked and buffed that they might have been made of patent leather.

Give him a beard and put him in hides, and he’d make a damned fine Viking, Lewrie thought; The shitten bulldog!

“Experienced, are they, Hughes?” Damrymple asked. “The replacements?”

“Fresh-trained and sent off from their regiments’ home barracks I believe, Sir Hew,” Hughes said, with a superior smirk. “Newlies.”

“Two companies from the 77th, hey? Hmm,” Dalrymple mused, and drummed his fingers on his desk. “Had their regiment suffered a great many casualties on campaign, I would have thought that their Colonel would have requested more from their home battalion. Perhaps whoever he is, he can soldier on without them, then. Full complement of officers with them, Hughes?”

“Two Captains, two Lieutenants, and two Ensigns, sir,” Hughes rapidly ticked off. “I do not know of their experience or abilities.”

“And have I made you conversant with any plans for offensive, seaborne raids along the coasts, Hughes?” Sir Hew asked further.

“I do believe that I might have come across some mention here and there in the course of sorting your correspondence, Sir Hew,” Hughes hesitantly said, cocking his large head over to one side.

“Allow me to name to you, sir, Captain Sir Alan Lewrie, Baronet, and Mister Thomas Mountjoy, of the, ah … Foreign Office. Sirs, my aide, Captain Daniel Hughes, seconded from the 53rd Foot,” Dalrymple said, rising to summon them together for the requisite handshakes. “And what did you make of such plans, Captain Hughes, given your scant familiarity with them?” Dalrymple asked him.

“They sound simply capital, Sir Hew,” Hughes replied eagerly. “A topping-fine venture!”

“Good, good, then,” Dalrymple said, beaming. “Glad to hear you find them so. Captain Lewrie has managed to arrange all the necessities with which to put the plans afoot, but for the troops. His complement of Marines aboard his ship will be a part of any landings alongside those two companies of the 77th.”

“How many men in all would that be, Captain Hughes?” Lewrie asked him, sure that he was the sort who would have the numbers.

“Including officers, sergeants, and corporals, that would be one hundred and twelve, Captain Lewrie,” Hughes quickly supplied.

“Just about right,” Lewrie told him. “About as many as the transport can manage. Them, plus my fifty-six…”

“Under a Captain of Marines, sir?” Hughes asked, with a bit of a scowl, as if imagining that Dalrymple might place him in command of the landing party. Hughes looked most eager for a fight.

“A First Leftenant, sir,” Lewrie told him.

“Hughes, as welcome as are your skills as my aide,” Dalrymple said, “still I have felt your desire to command troops again. For this task, I believe I will appoint you to take charge of those two companies of the 77th, and Captain Lewrie’s Marines when sent ashore on any of the raids.”

“I would be delighted to serve, sir!” Hughes loudly declared, puffing up his thick chest in pride. “Let us be at ’em, what? Yoicks, and tally ho!”

“And, for this duty, I think advancing you to a Brevet-Majority would not go amiss, either, Hughes,” Dalrymple added.

“You do me too much honour, sir!” Hughes exclaimed. “But thank you for it, all the same!”

“Agreed then, gentlemen?” Dalrymple asked them all.

“Quite,” Mountjoy assured him. “My thanks to you, Sir Hew.”

“With the troops, and Major Hughes’s experience, I am confident we’ll raise chaos and all the mayhem one could ask for,” Lewrie added. “We must fill the Major in on what we intend, and begin the training for the troops as soon as we can.”