Rating: MA. Violence, language, m/m sex, tissues may be needed [er, not for the sex! For the tears!]
Comments welcome to [email protected]
Tom's Triumph.
By Minerva
Part One
Assaye September 23rd, 1803
"Bloody Hell!" Tom Garrard muttered to himself. He wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand and stared again at the group of horsemen riding past his Regiment.
No, there was no mistaking it! Tom would recognise that figure anywhere. Tall, athletic, striking in looks, Dick Sharpe would turn heads wherever he went! But what was he doing here in Assaye when he was supposed to be in the armoury in Seringapatum? And he was riding a bloody horse! Sharpe hated horses and couldn't ride to save himself. What on earth was the young blonde-haired Sergeant doing following around after General Wellesley on a bloody horse?
Smiling to himself, Tom looked through the assembled lines of his own fellow infantrymen to the thin figure of his Captain who sat waiting on the black gelding in front of the lines. Well Lawford hasn't seen him, Tom thought with a smile. If he had, Tom would have bet quite a tidy sum of money that his Captain, William Lawford, would have galloped off after Sharpe, regardless of what his orders said.
Tom watched Sharpe's figure disappear in a cloud of dust along with the rest of the riders and contemplated their meeting after the battle. With any luck, he and Sharpe would have the night to themselves. To talk, joke, drink a little arrack and, maybe later, to hold each other again. Tom shook away the thought of Sharpe's eager body next to his and focused his attention on the men in front of him.
"Not long now lads," he called out. A Sergeant's place was at the back of the lines, to steady the men and hold them in place. It wasn't his role to lead, but to reassure. Well the men certainly needed that today. They faced a force of well-trained native troupes led by European Officers of various nationalities. The battle was just beginning.
Garrard lost sight of Sharpe but was given little chance to worry about his friend's safety as his Company joined the fray. Three Companies of the 136th Regiment, the sixth, eighth and Tom's own seventh, were sent in to assist the wavering 74th Regiment who were being beaten back by siege guns and musket fire.
The battlefield was blanketed in smoke from both cannon and musket that stung the infantrymen's eyes and throat. A constant barrage of sound assaulted their ears. As the three companies neared the beleaguered 74th, they too came under heavy fire but were kept moving by their Captains and Sergeants.
Garrard kept one eye on his Captain, remembering his promise to Sharpe four years ago to watch out for Lawford. It would be tragic if Tom was reunited with Sharpe after this battle only to bear the news of William Lawford's death. But as Tom assessed the situation he suddenly began to fear that none of them might make it to the end of the day. There were enemy cavalry, well-trained Mahratta cavalry, hovering just out of musket range, waiting for a chance to cut the British to shreds.
The 74th were moving backwards now in an attempt to form square and protect themselves from the cavalry. As the 74th moved out of range, the enemy infantry turned the full strength of their muskets and field guns onto the 136th.
Chaos erupted around him and Tom watched men fall, screaming from a blast of canister shot. As the smoke cleared a little Tom could see Lawford and Captain Grosvener of the 6th trying to steady the men and bring them onwards to the safety of the square that the 74th was now holding. But men were panicking in the smoke and noise, disorientated, and Tom, at the back of the lines was forced to hit several with the shaft of his halberd to prevent them from running into further danger.
Another round of canister shot exploded in the midst of the 136th. Men were slaughtered. All around him, Garrard could hear the cries of the wounded and dying. He rallied the men nearest him, giving directions to carry the wounded and make for the safety of the square.
Suddenly through a clearing in the acrid smoke, Garrard once again caught sight of Richard Sharpe, galloping behind General Wellesley, heading towards the enemy lines. Oh dear God keep him safe, Tom prayed, suddenly oblivious to his own well being. If Sharpe should fall then Garrard hoped he would go with him.
British Cavalry arrived to rescue the 74th who together with the 136th, now began a slow retreat eastwards. Once more Tom brought up the rear, shepherding his men to safety. Up ahead, Garrard could still see William Lawford, on foot now and limping slightly, but appearing none the worse for the battle.
Tom glanced behind him again, hoping for one last glimpse of Sharpe, but what he saw made him hold his breath. Sharpe and the rest of the General's party were charging a group of native cavalry. Wellesley's horse went down, a pike through it's chest, tossing the General from the saddle and Sharpe followed, quickly going to the General's aid.
But suddenly Tom's attention was diverted as two young infantrymen staggered into sight through the dissipating smoke far behind the retreating lines. Christ what were they doing back there still, Tom wondered, as he watched them struggle forward, one leaning heavily on the other. A final glance at Sharpe showed him surrounded by Mahrattas, a sabre in his hand, hacking away. Tom cursed silently, knowing he couldn't help his friend who was too far away. But he could help the infantrymen behind him and without further thought to his own safety, Tom ran back to the injured men.
The whine of an incoming cannon ball alerted Tom and he quickly dropped to the ground in an effort to protect himself. The explosion blinded him momentarily, spattering dirt and dust and making him cough and rub at his eyes. His instincts quickly had him on his feet again and making his way through the smoke to the infantrymen.
He found them lying face down and as he turned them over he discovered they were just boys, new recruits. One was dead, his chest a mass of blood and gore, his leg badly cut. He seemed to have taken the full force of the flying metal shards. The other was unconscious but seemed unhurt apart from some cuts to his head and face.
Tom slapped him gently, "Wake up lad, we've got to get out of here." He hoisted the youth onto his shoulders but as he stood the sound of hoof beats sounded close by and Tom dropped the infantryman again and searched the littered ground frantically for something to use as a weapon. His halberd had been blown from his hand in the explosion leaving Tom weaponless. Tom grabbed a musket from one of the corpses that lay nearby and quickly fixed the bayonet in place. At his feet, the young infantryman groaned, coming to consciousness.
"Keep yer head down lad, we've got company!" was all Tom managed to say as the lone native cavalryman road down on him, sabre at the ready.
The musket wasn't loaded and Tom did not have the time to search for ammunition. He pointed the bayonet at the oncoming rider, but at the last moment reversed it and swung the rifle butt at the horse's mouth with all his strength. It reared, throwing the rider off centre, so that the swinging sabre angled away from Tom's head and sliced along his upper arm.
As the enemy rider was thrown off balance, Tom grabbed the man's arm and pulled him from the saddle. They fell together in a heap, but Tom was the first to recover and quickly drove his bayonet into the man's chest.
It was over and Tom stood slightly dazed and short of breath, blood seeping down his arm.
"Sarge?" The small voice spun Tom around, bayonet poised ready, death in his eyes. But they were alone once more except for the bodies that littered the ground.
"Sarge? Where's Daniel?" The young Infantryman's eyes looked dazed, as he searched around him.
"Your mate's dead lad." Tom said, trying to soften the words a little. He pulled the boy to his feet and started him walking. "Which Company are you from?"
The boy stared back, blinking a few times, fighting back tears. "Captain Grosvener's, only the Captain's dead too, I saw him fall." He walked woodenly, and Tom kept a hold of his arm. Shock most likely, Tom decided, or a mild concussion.
"What's your name lad?" Tom asked again, thinking it best to keep him talking rather than let him fall silent. After one battle he had seen an infantryman who seemed fine for a while but then went quiet and fell into a deep sleep, so deep that you couldn't wake him.
"Joseph Tench. What's your's Sarge?" Tench asked wiping at the blood on his face with shaking hands.
"Tom Garrard of the 7th." Tom breathed a sigh of relief as they made it safely to the place where the rest of their Regiment was waiting. The remaining companies looked untouched, their lines unbroken, their uniforms clean, still waiting to see action.
They were the last men to return from the battlefield and Major Whybird rode up to meet them. Tom stared in surprise and attempted to stand to attention as the tall Major dismounted, but Tench suddenly sagged and leaned over to vomit in the dust.
"It's all right Sergeant, at ease. That was well done. I'm grateful to you." Tom didn't know what to say. "Thank you Sir," he muttered, embarrassed.
"I knew Tench's father. He was in the Grenadiers when I was Captain of that Company and he saved my life at Seringapatum. I'm pleased to see that his son has survived. The lad's only just enlisted."
"Yes Sir, he's a bit dazed, that's all Sir. Nothing too wrong, I think. Shall I take him to the field hospital." It wasn't the usual procedure for men with superficial injuries, but Tom wasn't sure what the Major would want.
"No, no, they'll be too busy there, I dare say. Run off their feet. Perhaps you could keep an eye on him for me." Whybird sighed, "There are precious few of the 6th Company left. You're with Captain Lawford's Company aren't you, Sergeant...?"
"Sergeant Garrard Sir, and yes, I'm with the 7th." Tom was suddenly feeling a little light headed. He looked down to see if his arm was still bleeding but it had stopped.
"Well go and get that arm bandaged, Sergeant. Mr Lawford is over that way. You deserve a rest and you won't be needed again, today. The battle is almost over."
Whybird gestured over towards where Garrard had last seen Sharpe and Wellesley. "The General had a lucky escape. Some Sergeant saved his life I've been told!"
Bloody Hell! Tom smiled to himself as he made his way to where the rest of his company were making camp and bandaging their wounds. Trust Dick Sharpe to do something like that.
The knowledge that Sharpe was safe lifted Tom's spirits and he settled Tench down with water and a blanket before he set about his duties of accounting for the men in his Company.
It was late afternoon when Tom finally sat down at his own campfire, put on his small pot of stew to cook and took off his red jacket and bloodstained shirt. The sabre cut wasn't deep, but ran a good ten inches down his upper arm. He idly wrapped a piece of old cloth around it, more in the hope of keeping the dirt out than for any other reason. The bleeding had stopped long ago and Tom's main worry was repairing the cut in his jacket and shirt.
His thoughts turned to Sharpe and he began to look forward to the simple joys of sharing a cup of tea with his friend. Sharpe would know that the 136th was here and would come seeking Tom out once his duties were done for the day. Perhaps they could share their supper together around the campfire and talk. It had been months since they had last met, but Sharpe was always in Tom's thoughts and dreams. Tonight Sharpe would be in his arms too.
Tom spared a glance at Tench who was still sitting huddled in his blanket beside the fire, sipping at a mug of tea. It was hardly a cold evening, but the lad was still shaking. What to do with Tench, Tom wondered?
Earlier, Tom had asked if Tench had any other mates in the sixth company. But he had shaken his head, saying he had only been with them for two months. He and Daniel Paget had both been drummer boys, promoted into the ranks when they turned 16. Tench's father had died at Seringapatum, saving his Captain's life. His mother had married an infantryman in the 76th and Tench didn't know what had become of her. No, he was alone now and silent tears had slipped down his face.
Tom had left, hoping that Tench would deal with his grief in his own way. He had sought out the remaining men of the 6th Company, but there were few left, having taken the brunt of the artillery fire. No one seemed concerned about Tench, but their Sergeant had added one more to his figure for survivors.
Well if Sharpe did spend the night under Tom's blanket, he could ask Corporal Love to keep an eye on Tench. After all Tom wasn't a babysitter.
A tall figure cast a shadow over the jacket that Tom was stitching and he looked up quickly.
"On yer feet Sergeant! Is that any way to behave in front of an Officer?" Tom sprang to his feet and could only stare open mouthed at Dick Sharpe a golden haired figure, highlighted by the setting sun, warm and alive but most amazing of all, wearing an Officer's red sash and carrying a sword.
"Well don't look so shocked Tom, I was only joking! Bloody hell, close yer mouth." Sharpe blushed slightly as Tom beamed a smile.
"Oh Dick, will you look at you! An Officer!" Tom shook his head in disbelief. "So it's true, you were the one who saved Wellesley? And he made you an Ensign."
It was Sharpe's turn to smile now. "Yeah, an Ensign in the 74th. Captain Hughes would have been proud of me."
"I'm proud of you!" Tom said in a quiet voice. He wanted to reach out and pull Sharpe into his arms, but suddenly that simple action seemed inappropriate. There was barely an arm's length between them, but it had become a barrier that Tom could not cross. Sharpe however seemed oblivious to it.
"Yer should have seen Lawford's face when he saw me. Christ I thought he was going to kiss me in front of bloody Wellesley and all the others."
Sharpe was euphoric, a mood Tom had rarely seen. For the moment all Sharpe could think of was his rise from the ranks to the privileged position of Officer. It would take a while for all of the practicalities to sink in; for Sharpe to realise what limitations also came with the title.
But for now Sharpe was celebrating and Tom wanted to share that with his friend.
"Come and sit down Dick and I'll cook you some supper. I've got spare rations." Tom offered. It was acceptable for an Officer to share supper with a Sergeant as long as the Sergeant cooked. It would give them a chance to catch up if nothing else. Anything more was too much to ask for now.
"I can't Tom," Sharpe began, glancing over his shoulder "Lawford's already said he'll take me to the Officers' tent tonight for dinner and introduce me to some people." As if on cue, William Lawford made his way over to the two men, his fair hair looking almost silver in the deepening shadows of evening, his uniform spotless, no sign of the limp that Tom had noticed earlier.
"Are you ready Richard?" Lawford asked, his voice soft, his eyes bright.
Sharpe hesitated, looking back at Tom "Do yer think I look all right?" he asked nervously, brushing at his shabby uniform.
But it was Lawford who answered, laying his long fine fingers on Sharpe's arm "You look splendid Richard. You'll turn heads when we walk in."
Without a doubt! Tom thought to himself as he tried to hide his jealousy. It was the look in Lawford's clear blue eyes that Tom suddenly despised, a look of triumph, not because Sharpe had achieved something great, but because Sharpe would now be seen as acceptable company. No longer would William Lawford have to hide his liason with Richard Sharpe. As if to confirm Tom's thoughts, Lawford turned to him and said,
"Don't bother waking me with tea in the morning Sergeant, I'll call you when I'm up. Oh and have some of the lads move my tent higher up that rise. I want a little privacy tonight." The look in Lawford's eyes held no doubt as to what he would be doing later.
Tom held his face neutral. "Yes Sir," he answered determined not to give Lawford the satisfaction of seeing his jealousy. They had fought a tug of war over Richard Sharpe for the past four years. Tom knew that the game was finally over and it was time to quit the field. But suddenly Tom realised that he was, in effect, the winner of the contest.
Because for Tom, this was the moment of his greatest triumph, the moment when he could finally see the outcome of all the years he had spent with Dick Sharpe, caring for him, helping him, nurturing him, loving him.
Sharpe was being given an opportunity that very few men from the ranks ever gained. There was nothing more that Tom could do to help him. It would be up to men like Lawford to show him the way and help him fit in. The greatest thing that Tom could do for his friend now was to let him go. The greatest thing, but also the hardest.
"We'd best be going Richard." Lawford said, his fine hand still resting possessively on Sharpe's ragged sleeve.
Sharpe looked around, suddenly seeming almost reluctant to leave the companionable glow of Tom's fireside. "You'd better get someone to wrap that arm properly for yer Tom, the bandage is half off already." Sharpe said with a faint smile.
Tom took a deep breath, fighting back the trembling that he felt inside. He stood to attention and looked straight at his friend. "I will Sir," he said accentuating the last word, fighting the urge to reach out one last time to touch Sharpe, his face, his hair, his hand.
But Sharpe's green eyes looked right through Tom's defences, past the brave smile, past the upheld chin, down deep into Tom's heart, and found there things that Tom would never say aloud.
"Thankyou Tom." Sharpe whispered and he blinked away the sudden moistness that threatened his eyes before turning and following Lawford.
Tom stood watching the two retreating figures for a long time, not trusting himself to return to the fireside, afraid that his face would give away all of the secrets he had tried to hide for so long.
Finally when Tom thought that it was dark enough to hide the redness in his eyes he returned to his campfire and the small pot of supper that was bubbling away.
"Did the General really make your friend an Officer because he saved his life Sarge?" Tench asked, the first words the lad had spoken for several hours.
Tom nodded, unable to speak for a moment. "Yes, Dick was a Sergeant just like me. We've been mates since we met in Flanders in '94."
"Fancy that! A Sergeant gets to be an Officer if he saves a General." Tench replied, clearly impressed by Sharpe's good fortune.
"So what do they give Sergeants who save infantrymen?" Tench asked innocently, but the words brought back a flood of memories.
Memories of a young infantryman laying in the mud on a freezing night in Flanders 'Do yer want a go Tom?' Memories of a young infantryman crying out from troubled dreams. Memories of Sharpe scared of drowning during the storms that racked their ship. Memories of Sharpe not knowing how to cope with his grief after Captain Hughes died. Memories of Sharpe clinging to Tom in the night, whether from lust or fear or simply because he had so very rarely been held by someone who cared.
For nine years Tom had shared Sharpe's company. Night and day for the first five years, and after that with ever decreasing frequency. But Tom treasured every moment they had spent together since he had rescued Richard Sharpe on that cold night in Flanders. The times they had spent together, both good and bad were the happiest moments in Tom's thirty years of life.
Looking back at Tench, Tom smiled, a soft smile, edged with sadness. "For saving an Infantryman?" Tom whispered, looking up to the star lit sky. "A place in heaven I think, and that's just fine with me."
Later That Night:
Richard Sharpe wasn't sure what woke him in the early hours of the morning. His eyes shot open, but all was quiet, the night silent except for the gentle sounds of breathing next to him.
Carefully he slipped from William Lawford's arms and made his way across the darkened tent to pull back the canvas flap. Moonlight flooded in, bathing Sharpe in it's soft light as he stood there naked, staring at the sleeping Regiment spread out across ground below him.
No one stirred, no sound broke the stillness and yet Sharpe couldn't shake the strange restlessness, the feeling that something was wrong. His gaze raked the sleeping forms huddled around the dying embers of their campfires until it came to rest on one familiar shape.
Tom Garrard.
Even from that distance Sharpe knew it was his friend. He had spoken with Garrard as he stood beside his campfire earlier that evening and knew without a doubt that his was the solitary figure, asleep without a blanket, curled up with one arm stretched out at an angle.
Tom's arm had been crudely bandaged and Sharpe realised he hadn't even asked how the wound had happened or offered to help him re-wrap it. Yet Tom had stood there offering him his own rations and rejoicing in his promotion. But that was Tom, that was how he had always been.
The moon had risen and now hung huge in the sky, making the stars for once seem dim and pale, obliterating their light, but filling the void with something warmer. Sharpe smiled to himself, thinking that Tom was like the moon, a soft light in the black night that was his past, lighting Sharpe's way as he crawled from the darkness. A light that had warmed and comforted him, a light that had guided him and was always with him, but often overlooked.
It would be so easy for Sharpe to find a blanket, walk down the hill and lay beside Tom. To spend one more night with him as they had so many times before.
But Tom always had more sense. Tom was the practical one, who knew what was right and what wasn't. And Tom had made it clear that those times were over. One little word hung between them now, such a small word and yet so powerful.
'Sir'
Sharpe knew Tom would never step over that boundary. He had chided Sharpe again and again about his relationship with William Lawford, pointing out how dangerous it was for their Lieutenant as much as for Sharpe himself. No, Tom had rules. Rules he would not break and this was one of them.
"What are you looking at?" said a soft voice behind him and Sharpe felt Lawford's warm breath on his bare shoulder. "The moon," Sharpe whispered, his eyes on Garrard as he felt Lawford's arms steal around him.
"Come back to bed." Lawford purred in his ear and Sharpe turned around to face the captain. "We broke the bloody bed!" he said and they both started laughing. Indeed the camp cot lay splintered in the corner and their blankets and sheets were piled up in an untidy attempt at making a bed in the middle of the tent.
Lawford drew Sharpe away from the tent flap, back down to the ground and proceeded to once again surprise Sharpe with the tricks he knew. Sharpe let himself be rolled onto his back, content to watch Lawford for the moment and wonder who had been his teachers. He groaned aloud as Lawford rose above him, impaled himself on Sharpe's erection, and rode him to a climax.
As he lay on the edge of sleep again Sharpe suddenly realised what had made him feel so uneasy.
It was not the fact that Lawford had changed. Slowly, over the last four years, the shy quiet Lieutenant had become as skilled as a whore, and a good one at that.
It wasn't that Lawford had bargained all evening until he had secured himself a place as Captain in the same Company of the 74th that Sharpe was now with, swearing they would never be parted again.
No, it was the fact that when he and Lawford rode from Assaye, Tom Garrard would be left alone.
For the last four years Sharpe had slept secure in the knowledge that Garrard and Lawford were in each other's company, looking out for each other, bound together by what they had in common, Richard Sharpe. But now Tom would be alone. Tom, who had watched out for him and then later Lawford, would be left on his own, not for a few months, but perhaps for years.
There was talk of the 74th being ordered home to England, but the 136th was to remain in India. Tom Garrard, a man of such simple dreams was to stay in a heathen country that he hated, while Sharpe was torn from his side, perhaps never to see him again.
Once more Sharpe rose and walked to the tent opening. The moon had travelled across the sky, marking the passage of the night. It's silver beam touching here and there, had come to rest on the sleeping figure of Garrard.
Sharpe had never put much faith in the almighty, it was far better to rely on oneself. But perhaps there was something or someone who listened to soldiers and for once in his life Sharpe turned his eyes to the moon and asked that Tom Garrard not be left alone. That he find a mate as true as he had been to Sharpe. Someone to watch out for him and care for him, someone to laugh with him, someone to love him.
Love was a word that Sharpe had never heard from Tom's lips, but he knew without doubt that Tom Garrard loved him. Sharpe had been hearing that sentiment from William Lawford for years and yet one simple declaration from Tom would mean more to him than all Lawford's swearing.
But Sharpe would not hear those words from Garrard now, not when they would be parting and words like 'I love you' would make it so much harder.
So for the moment Sharpe would have to be content with carrying the knowledge in his own heart. And maybe, sometime in the future when they met again, Richard Sharpe would find a way to tell Tom Garrard that he returned that love.
Part Two
Assaye, 24th September, 1803.
"Dick?" Tom Garrard squinted up into the pale light of dawn at the fair hair and green eyes looking down at him. "Dick?" he whispered again trying to wake up. But the fair hair wasn't golden, it was light brown and the eyes were the wrong shade, more hazel than green.
"It's me Tom. Do you want some tea?" Corporal Martin Love asked quietly. Tom Garrard blinked his eyes open and sat up with a groan as the pain in his left arm registered.
"Did you clean that arm properly Tom? Did you put something on it? I'd better take a look at it." Love said, his brow drawn, a look of concern on his face.
"It's fine Martin. It's just the bruising, that's all." Tom replied a little more harshly than he intended. He was out of sorts. His arm ached and he had been woken repeatedly throughout the night by Joseph Tench, the young private that he had rescued yesterday. Tench had spent the night calling out in his sleep, at times screaming, as he was chased by whatever demons his young mind could conjure. Tom had seen this before. It was common amongst soldiers who had seen heavy fighting and friends die around them. It had taken a flask of arrack to finally silence Tench and by that time Tom was wishing he had saved enough to drink himself into a heavy sleep also.
But it was not the remembrances of men blown apart or death riding up with a sharpened sword that plagued Tom's thoughts. It was the vision of Dick Sharpe who was only 500 yards away wrapped in William Lawford's arms instead of his own.
"Where's Dick?" Love asked, full of concern, "I thought he'd be here with you?"
"Well he's not, is he." Tom answered abruptly, not wanting to have this conversation.
"He wasn't wounded was he? I didn't see him at the hospital.." Love's voice trailed away, not wanting to voice his other fear.
Love had spent most of the previous afternoon and evening over at the field hospital. It was usual for each company to have someone stay with their wounded to make sure they were cared for, to fetch them water while they waited or simply to offer comfort. Love�s soft- spoken manner made him well suited to that duty, but he was also a help to the surgeons. Martin was a boot maker and handy with a needle and thread. He possessed a strong stomach and thought nothing of stitching up men in much the same way he might have stitched up their boots the day before.
"Dick's with Lawford." Tom said gruffly, looking up the small rise to where Captain William Lawford's tent stood pale and ghostly in the watery light of dawn.
"Oh," was all Love replied as he squatted down beside Tom and handed him a mug of strong tea. As Tom sipped his tea he stared up at the tent, frowning. "Bit risky doing it here. Anyone might see them." Love continued when it became apparent that Tom had nothing more to say on the matter.
"Won't matter now. Dick saved Wellesley's life yesterday and the bastard made him an bloody Ensign!" He'd had all night to think over Sharpe's promotion and the difficulties his friend now had ahead of him. It wasn't going to be an easy road for Sharpe to travel and Tom had begun to worry about how his friend would fare. That concern coupled with Tom's own sense of loss had overtaken the enthusiasm and pride he had felt yesterday.
"I heard some Sergeant had saved the General, but I didn't know it was Dick! Bloody Hell! So he's Lawford's Ensign now? That won't be so bad Tom, if he's here with us."
"He's not with the 136th! He's with the bloody 74th! God knows where they will be sent. There's so few of them left they'll probably be sent home to an honourable welcome!" Tom tried to raise his arm to brush some stray hair from his face but his arm gave a stab of pain and he caught his breath.
"Here, let me see that arm." Love said reaching out but Tom pulled away. "Stop bloody fussing Martin. I'm all right so just leave me alone."
Love took the hint and headed back to the small campfire. "Do you want me to take them up some tea Tom?" Martin's voice had gone quiet again and Tom knew he'd hurt his friend's feelings.
"No, Lawford said he'd call out when he was up." Tom gave a reluctant laugh at the words and their double meaning. But Love simply nodded and continued stirring the porridge he was cooking. Dick would have appreciated the joke, Tom thought, and felt again the ache in his heart that had been there since yesterday when he realised that what he and Sharpe had shared for so long was well and truly over. He'd known all along that this day would come, but now that it was here Tom felt empty. Empty and alone.
Tom set about taking off his jacket and shirt to inspect his arm, not an easy task when every movement was painful.
"Looks like yer had a hard time of it," a familiar voice said and Tom looked up to see Dick Sharpe standing, watching.
"Not as hard as you, by the look of you!" Tom said with a small grin as he took in Sharpe's ruffled appearance and bruised neck. Sharpe grinned back as he squatted down beside Tom. "He's a bloody tiger when he wants to be. We smashed the stretcher!"
"Well I hope Lawford was on the bottom when it happened! He deserved it!" Tom said half seriously.
"Yeah," was all Sharpe could say before looking up. "Morning Martin." Love nodded. "Morning Dick, er, Sir, congratulations.." he said nervously before kneeling down on the other side of Tom to inspect his arm.
Tom winced as Martin prodded and poked and finally produced a small bottle and poured the contents over the cut. Tom gasped as the vinegar stung.
"How'd you do it Tom?" Sharpe asked suddenly sorry that he hadn't done so the evening before. The cut was long and the surrounding skin was almost black from bruising. It looked painful.
"Sabre cut, it's not that bad." Tom answered, but Love continued the story. "Tom went back to save one of our lads and was nearly blown apart. Then he was attacked by one of those bloody heathen horsemen who got him with his sword. Saved the lad though." Love concluded with a glance over his shoulder to where Tench was still sleeping some distance away.
"Tom's good at saving lads, aren't you Tom." Sharpe said with a soft smile. "Make sure yer look after him now, Tom, won't you."
"Richard! Where's the tea? What's taking you so long?" The voice drifted down the hill and the three men turned to look up at the pale shirtless figure of William Lawford standing outside of his tent.
"Go on. I'll bring it up." Tom said quickly "Looks like he wants you again." Sharpe grinned, "Christ I would of thought he'd got enough of me last night." He turned and waved back at Lawford who disappeared back into the tent.
"Listen Tom, there's something I've got to tell yer," Sharpe began, his voice suddenly serious and Love discretely stood and went back to the campfire.
"Last night Lawford bought a new commission in the 74th. He's leaving the 136th."
Tom licked his lips that suddenly felt dry. "Oh," was all he could think to say as the ramifications of Sharpe's announcement sunk in. Sharpe reached out and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"But it will be all right Tom. I worked it all out last night." Long after he had returned to bed, Sharpe had lain awake trying to think of a way to keep Tom by his side. The answer had come to him in the quiet hour just before dawn.
"I'll talk to Lawford and get him to ask for yer. He did it before so he should be able to do it again. They're desperately short of men in the 74th. I'm sure they'd be thankful to get a Sergeant as good as you." Sharpe smiled hopefully and Tom tried to return the look.
Sharpe stood and brushed the dust from his worn trousers. "I just wanted you to know all this before you heard it somewhere else. Don't worry about it, Lawford will work it out."
Tom nodded and tried to smile. "We'll see what happens, then."
"Oh and he wants some hot water brought up for shaving and washing." Sharpe added with a wink as he turned and walked away.
"Bloody Hell Sarge! Has that mate for yours been up there all night fucking Captain Lawford?" Tom Garrard blinked, and spun around to stare at Joseph Tench who was sitting up wide-eyed, staring at Sharpe's retreating back.
"Now what makes you think that's what they've been doing?" Tom asked trying to hide his smile. He glanced at Love by the fire who was also trying hard to keep a straight face.
"I'm not stupid Sarge! I was born into the army. I know what goes on." Tench stared at Tom for a moment, then asked. "Is that what you and he used to do? That the sort of mate he was?"
Tom blushed. "Well I wouldn't be telling you if we did, Tench! I doubt you even know what you're talking about." Tom said brusquely. Tench was barely old enough to shave.
"Course I do!" Tench declared standing and stretching. "I tried it once with Moses Farmer, out the back of the mess hall in Sering. Don't know what all the bloody fuss is about, anyway. I didn't think much of it!"
Martin Love coughed heavily into the pot of porridge he was stirring and Tom couldn't keep the grin off his face. "Yes, just like I said, Lad. You don't know what you're talking about."
"Where's the tea Richard? My mouth tastes like a sewer?" William Lawford said from where he lounged on the tumbled blankets on the floor. Not surprising, Sharpe thought to himself, considering what yer did with yer tongue last night. He sat down beside Lawford and wondered once again who had taught the young Captain things that even Sharpe would baulk at doing. "It's coming," he said and then burst into a smile as he ran his fingers across the pale skin causing Lawford to catch his breath and grin back, his blue eyes full of wickedness.
"Take your shirt of Richard," Lawford purred as he tugged the course fabric out of Sharpe's trousers.
"Tom will be here soon, we don't have time." Sharpe stopped the wandering fingers, but Lawford was persistent. "Nothing here that he hasn't seen before. I just want to touch you." Lawford slid his delicate hands under Sharpe's shirt and then tried to pull the garment up but the worn seem ripped.
"Shit! That was my good shirt! Where will I get another one out here." Sharpe tugged the ruined shirt off and scowled at Lawford who lay back laughing.
"I'll give you one of mine Richard. I have plenty. Besides you need to get some decent clothes. You can't go to the Officer's mess dressed like a ragamuffin. You'll never fit in."
Yer right there, Sharpe thought to himself. Despite trying hard to do the right thing, Sharpe had found last night an ordeal. There was so much he was unfamiliar with. When to stand, when to sit, which glass to use for which wine, what knife, what fork, what spoon. When to speak, when to laugh. When to take offence. Time and again Lawford had come to his rescue but even so by the time they left Sharpe had begun to doubt he would ever by one of them.
"It's just a matter of learning Richard." Lawford had whispered softly to him later that night as they lay naked, side by side on his camp stretcher. "It's like learning to read or write." Or anything else Sharpe thought as Lawford proceeded to show him things he'd learnt in the last two years.
"Tea Sir," came a voice from outside the tent. Sharpe tried to stand but Lawford draped himself across Sharpe's chest to hold him there.
"Come in Sergeant," Lawford called out and grinned at Sharpe who dropped his eyes and looked away, embarrassed.
It wasn't as if Tom Garrard was unused to seeing his Captain in various states of undress. He'd certainly seen him in far worse a condition than he was in at the moment. But Tom wasn't used to seeing William Lawford holding tight to Dick Sharpe who was also wearing less than he had been at the campfire.
Tom looked away but everywhere were reminders of a night of rough passion. The broken cot, the discarded and torn clothing, the empty wine bottles. If he took a deep breath, Tom suspected he'd still smell the scent of sex in the air.
"Will there be anything more sir?" he asked finally meeting Lawford's eyes.
"Hot water, Tom! We need to wash and shave!" Lawford replied then looked at Sharpe and laughed. "Christ do we need to wash!"
"Yes, Sir, Martin's boiling it now." Tom turned to leave without looking at Sharpe.
"Oh and Tom, have someone pack my things later. I'm leaving the 136th and going to the 74th. Today!" It was said in such a way that Tom knew Lawford was waiting to see his reaction but Tom was not inclined to play games.
"Very well Sir I'll get someone onto it as soon as you're finished with Ensign Sharpe." He left without waiting for Lawford's reply.
"Bloody cheek of him!" Lawford swore as he stood up and took his tea mug, splashing it about.
"Yer goaded him into that William." Sharpe replied, using Lawford's Christian name to calm him. That name was something Sharpe had never become used to, but now that he was an officer he supposed he should try to use it.
Lawford immediately softened, a gentle smile coming to his lips. "You're right Richard," he said, his voice almost like a caress. "I owe Tom so much, I ought not tease him like that."
"Perhaps yer could see if yer could get him a place in our Company? The 74th is so short of men I'm sure they'd be pleased to have a Sergeant of Tom's capabilities." Sharpe stood and crossed the small floor to stand in front of Lawford, his green eyes capturing Lawford blues ones and holding them.
But Lawford blinked, once, twice and looked away. "That's not as easy as you make it sound Richard. I had to go to considerable trouble to get Tom his place in the 136th. Sergeant's positions don't grow on trees you know. Besides, how will it look for me! I have my own career to think of! It's not going to look good if I go dragging Tom Garrard around behind me. You of all people should know how rumours get started!"
Lawford turned his blue eyes back to Sharpe and his voice changed.
"It's going to be hard for you to be accepted by the other Officers, Richard. The last thing you'll need is to have your name linked to that of an enlisted man."
For a moment Sharpe thought he could see straight into Lawford's soul, see the truth in his words. Truth that came from personal experience making Sharpe wonder just what problems their relationship had caused between William Lawford and his peers.
"Trust me Richard, I know what's best." Lawford raised his hand and gently caressed Sharpe's face, pushing the straggly blonde hair back, stroking a fingertip over the sandy eyebrow.
"I trust yer," Sharpe murmured before pulling Lawford close and capturing his mouth in a crushing kiss.
Tom Garrard didn't worry too much when a day passed and he had not heard anything from either Sharpe or Lawford concerning his transfer to the 74th.
"It just takes time Martin," he told Love that evening as they sat drinking tea. "Besides, Lawford owes me. He'll do it even if it's for no other reason than that."
"He owes you big, Tom. That's something he should never forget. Hell, he might be dead now if it wasn't for what you did." The two men looked at each other, remembering.
No, Lawford wouldn't forget what Tom had done. He'd said so himself at the time. But would Lawford put his debt to Tom above his desire for Richard Sharpe? Lust was a powerful force. Sometimes it was stronger than love. It was like a grass fire, burning out of control, destroying all before it. Lawford might love Dick Sharpe but would it be that noble emotion that guided his actions or would it be lust, possessive and greedy? As the days passed, Tom began to wonder.
In the end, it was the 136th that left Assaye first. Orders came to prepare to march out the following morning and Tom felt his heart sink.
"He's not going to do it." Martin Love said quietly as they walked from the makeshift parade ground after the announcement had been made. "There's still time." Tom said simply, but his hope was fading. He wondered if Dick knew what Lawford was planning, but decided this was something he should handle himself. "I'll go see him," Tom said, surprised at the desperation in his own voice. "I'll ask him myself."
Now was not the time for pride.
It was almost noon before Tom was finally given permission to enter Lawford's tent. The fair haired Captain sat at his small desk surrounded by papers. He was clearly busy.
"I'm sorry I've kept you waiting Tom, but I've had things to do for the Colonel. We are expecting the new draft in ten weeks or so and we have to work out where the men will be placed." Lawford put down his quill and leaned back in his chair. "Have you come to say goodbye Tom?" he asked with a smile.
Tom's mouth felt dry. "No Sir, I was hoping you would be able to arrange a transfer to the 74th for me Sir."
Lawford didn't answer. He bit his lip a little and slowly rose form his chair.
"It's not that easy Tom, you know that." Lawford began with a sideways glance at Garrard.
"I know Sir, but I..."
"What Tom?" Lawford interrupted. "You want to be with Richard? You can't bear the thought of being away from him? You can't bear the thought of me being with him instead?" Lawford said harshly. He turned and Tom could see the anger in his eyes.
"I love him." Tom said simply.
"So do I." The words were soft, not said as a challenge. "But that's not why I bought this Commission with the 74th. I did it because Richard would have been completely out of his depth if he didn't have someone to show him the way."
Lawford closed his eyes for moment and frowned, his hand brushing through his fair hair in desperation. "He doesn't even know the correct order for toasts in the mess hall! He could so easily become the laughing stock of the Regiment, Tom and I won't let that happen."
The blue eyes sought Tom again, pleading. "If you love Richard, then do the right thing and let him go. He doesn't need you any more. You'll be a liability to him now. Give him this chance to make something of himself."
Lawford's words were gentle, hiding the cruel message they delivered. "You know I'm right Tom. You've maintained you're distance from Richard since he was promoted. You certainly didn't do that because you were concerned about my feelings. He can't be yours any longer and you know it!"
Tom muttered in agreement but he still held one flicker of hope.
"I know we can't have what we had before, but I just want to be near him. I can watch out for him. Ensigns are terribly unlucky, they need someone to keep an eye out for them." Tom waited to see Lawford's reaction, but the blue eyes didn't waiver.
"I won't cause him any embarrassment. Please Sir, you owe me." It was said in desperation and Lawford's eyes pulled away but not before Tom had seen a subtle change.
"Please William," Tom whispered, knowing Lawford was thinking back, appealing to his Captain's memory of a time in the past when Tom had proved he was a friend surpassing rank or social standing.
"No." The word was delivered like a Judge's verdict and Tom knew it was final. He prepared to leave but Lawford turned back to him suddenly and Tom was surprised to see his Captain's blue eyes were full of unshed tears.
"I am sorry Tom, I truly am. If I could help you at all you know I would, but I can't do this for you." Tom stared back, unable to speak.
"I'll promise you this though," Lawford continued. "If there is ever a way I can make you an officer too, I'll do it. I swear it to you, Tom."
Tom gave out a little strangled laugh. "Yeah, well it won't be in this bloody army Sir!"
Tom left then, there was nothing more to say and Lawford let him go, knowing any other words they had for each other were better left unsaid. But despite his bitterness Tom could not stay angry with Lawford. He knew his Captain was right.
The 136th's camp was a hive of activity as the men prepared to take their leave. Tom sat down by the campfire and scowled at Martin Love who took one look at Tom's face and wisely remained silent. But young Joseph Tench spoke up, oblivious to Tom's state of mind.
"That friend of your's was looking for you a while ago. The one who's now an Ensign."
Tom looked up hopefully "Dick?" he asked.
"Yeah, he said to tell you that he'd see you later." Tench grinned and winked. "Got something planned for tonight, hey Sarge?"
"Bloody Hell Tench! Is that all you think about?" Love interrupted, "Go fetch some water in the kettle!"
Tench grumbled but stood up, grabbed the kettle and ambled off towards the stream.
"He probably wants to say goodbye." Love said quietly. "Yeah, and I know how he'll want to say it too." Tom replied bitterly. "I can't do it Martin. I can't go with him tonight and pretend that it's going to be all right. There are things I want to tell him, things that I can't say and then march away tomorrow." Tom put his head in his hands wondering how he could face Dick Sharpe tonight.
"Just tell him Tom." Martin Love sat down beside Garrard and leaned close until their shoulders were touching. "Don't leave it until it's too late. You might not have the chance again. Who knows when you will see Dick after tomorrow? Who knows what will happen to either of you? Don't let yourself always regret that you never said the things that were in your heart."
Tom looked up and saw regret in Love's eyes. "Did you tell Matthew?" Tom asked and Love nodded. "But not until he was dying and it was too late then to hold him in my arms and rejoice in that love with him. Don't make the same mistake Tom. You still have that chance. Tell Dick tonight."
The shadows were long and the sun was low on the horizon when Richard Sharpe strolled up to Tom's campfire. "Any spare rations, Tom?" he asked with a grin. "Always for you Dick." Tom answered with a smile.
Neither man spoke of the fact Tom was leaving tomorrow. They didn't mention Lawford or his inability to procure Tom's transfer. They spoke of the past, of times spent together, of friends they had shared and told tales to Martin Love and young Joseph Tench who seemed to have made himself part of the group. Sharpe had brought a bottle of rum with him and as it was passed around the stories became wilder and more outrageous until their laughter could be heard throughout the camp as the light faded and the stars took up their vigil in the sky.
"Come help me check the sentries, Tom." Sharpe finally said with a wink when the camp was settling down for the night. Garrard gave Martin Love a brief smile. "I'll be back in a while," was all he said but Love doubted that. "Take your time Tom," was his reply.
"Christ that Dick Sharpe is a lucky bastard!" Joseph Tench declared as he and Love prepared their blankets.
"Why is that Joseph? Because Wellesley made him an Ensign?" Love asked with a yawn.
"No, because the Sarge looks at him like the sun rises out of his.."
"All right, that's enough." Love said hurriedly. He had noticed the way Tench had sat with his eyes on Tom all evening. "And you can keep it to yourself, too, if you don't want to get on Tom's bad side."
"Oh I wouldn't want that Martin," Tench replied dreamily as he watched the retreating figures of Sharpe and Garrard. "I wouldn't want that at all."
They had to walk some distance from the camp before they could be sure of any privacy. Sharpe led them to a secluded place where the ground was soft underfoot and the grass had not been trampled. He had searched that afternoon to find just such a spot. Not an easy task on a plain that had been a battlefield, only days beforehand.
They sat down together, each knowing the others thoughts, knowing what they would do and why. But there was no rushing, no frantic grappling. They sat for the longest time content in the silence before Tom turned and whispered, "This has to be the last time Dick. We can't do this now that you're on Officer."
"We'll see Tom," Sharpe replied and he moved closer, one hand going to the back of Tom's head to pull him in to kiss. But Tom held back.
"No, I mean it Dick. It's too risky. Surely Lawford's told you that? Surely he's told you the trouble you can get into?"
Sharpe was about to answer that Lawford hadn't said anything about trouble, but he sensed that Tom had made his mind up and it would be better to agree now than waste more time talking about Lawford. Besides, Sharpe held no doubts that he could seduce Tom without any difficulty the next time they met and half of the fun would be the trying.
"All right Tom," he breathed as he closed the space between them, his lips seeking Garrard's, his other arm coming up to wind around Tom's waist.
Heaven, Sharpe thought, as he pushed Tom backwards onto the ground, a little taste of heaven! That's how it always felt with Tom. Sharpe could do what ever he liked, knowing Tom would let him lead, would let him do anything and would enjoy it all. And there was so much Sharpe wanted to do.
They shrugged off their uniforms as they kissed and caressed each other. Neither man wanting to rush this encounter, both wanting to savour every moment of their passion, to feel it build, to feel it burn, to let it recede only to grow again as they inched ever closer to ecstasy.
"You'll need the oil." Tom whispered, and Sharpe knew it was Tom's way of telling him he'd had no other lovers since their last meeting. It didn't surprise Sharpe really. He'd long ago given up wondering if Tom would find someone to take his place. Sharpe had never asked Tom to be faithful, in fact he'd even hinted a few times that Tom would be better off if he did find someone to keep him warm while they were apart, some one like Martin Love, but Tom had dismissed it as foolishness. Casual affairs weren't in Tom's nature.
So different to Lawford, Sharpe thought once more, as he watched Tom turn onto his side, waiting. Even in this they were different. Lawford liked nothing more than to gaze up into Sharpe's eyes when they made love as if he could somehow steal his soul away. But Tom wanted the physical closeness, the feeling of Sharpe's arms around him, holding him and that was best achieved by spooning together, side by side.
More often than not Tom would close his eyes and Sharpe sometimes wondered to where Tom's thoughts retreated in those moments. But it was always his name that was on Tom's lips when he could stay quiet no longer and Sharpe knew there was no one else.
"Don't move yet," Tom gasped desperately when at last they lay exhausted and Sharpe made to pull away. "Just stay like this a little longer."
"Daft bugger," Sharpe muttered sleepily "We'll bloody stick together if we stay like this for too long. They'll need a bloody crow to pry us apart in the morning!" But he tightened his arm around Tom's waist to hold their bodies together as they dozed.
"I like it, you know," Tom began again, his voice small in the silence, for once unsure. "I like the feel of it, of you." A pause, and Sharpe opened his eyes, suddenly alert, waiting for the next words.
"I like the feel of..of you in me." Sharpe could feel Tom holding his breath, feel the fast pounding of his heart where Sharpe's hand rested on his chest.
"I know, Tom. I like it too." Sharpe let his lips gently kiss the side of Tom's neck.
"And Dick? I love you, Dick."
The words should have shocked, but somehow they didn't. They seemed so right, Sharpe thought, so very right. But Sharpe didn't need to hear these words from Tom; the knowledge had grown in his heart over the years they had shared together. Tom's love was a part of him and always would be.
"I love yer too Tom," he whispered, the words bringing with them a strange contentment. "And don't you forget it, that's an order, Sergeant!"
"Now who's the daft bugger?" Tom replied sleepily.
It was very late when Sharpe and Garrard returned to the camp. They picked their way between the sleeping bodies, walking close together, but not touching.
"Yer don't have to be alone you know Tom. It's not good. I worry about you." Sharpe's voice was quiet, serious.
Tom felt like laughing or perhaps crying, he wasn't really sure. Only Dick Sharpe could whisper words of love and then scarcely an hour later, suggest he find another lover. Tom said nothing.
Sharpe stopped and turned, taking Tom by the chin and tipping his face up so that he couldn't look away.
"I don't deserve your faithfulness Tom, I never will. I'd be far happier if I knew you had someone to look after you and keep you warm at night when I'm not here to do it." Tom wanted to look away but the green eyes held him, trapped.
"We've been through enough together over the years to know that nobody will ever come between us. We'll always be mates, nothing can change that." If Sharpe believed it then perhaps it was true, Tom told himself and he tried to smile. Sharpe released him and slid his arm around Tom's shoulder.
"And no more talk of this being the end, Tom!" Sharpe continued, his voice light again as he took his leave. "I won't let rank come between us. Besides, we will run into each other again, we always do. India's not that bloody big!" The last was said over his shoulder as Sharpe walked away.
Oh yes, Tom would see Richard Sharpe again and William Lawford would be by his side and Tom would be standing to attention.
"How did it go?" The voice startled Tom, he hadn't heard Love walk up behind him.
"Fine Martin, I'm tired. I want to go to sleep." Sharpe's words of love had given Tom some measure of hope. He hadn't been expecting them and they had lit up Tom's night like a shooting star. But as he prepared to spend another night alone, their brightness was already fading.
"Mind if I lay down over here near you? Tench is snoring loud enough to wake the dead!" Martin didn't wait for the answer but dropped his blanket and pack next to Tom and proceeded to get comfortable.
"I know what you're about Martin! I'm all right, I don't need anyone to hold my hand." Tom lashed out, but Love ignored him and lay down with his back towards Tom. "I know you don't, Tom." Love whispered over his shoulder as he settled down into his blankets, "I didn't need anyone after I lost Matthew either, but I'm glad you let me know that you were there if I did."
Tom pulled his blankets up, suddenly angry. "I haven't lost Dick! He's not dead like Matthew!" The words were regretted the moment they were said and Tom sat up again ready to apologise. But Love had rolled over also and leaned up on his elbow to look at Tom with his level gaze.
"Well then stop acting like he is!" Love's voice held no anger or hurt. "If Dick really means that much to you, then be happy for him and stop wallowing in self pity. Besides, if you really want to you can find a way to make it work for you both. Don't give him up without a fight." Love declared. "I've never seen you run from anything Tom, so don't do it now!"
Was that what he had been doing, running from his hurt, lying down without a fight? Tom smiled at the irony, hadn't he always been the one to tell Dick not to give up, to keep trying and yet now he was doing the very same thing. But Dick had always had Tom to help him along and Tom was now alone.
"You're right Martin, but I miss him so much when he's gone. I always do. I feel so alone."
Love lay down again and turned his back but Tom heard his quiet voice whisper, "Well you don't have to Tom."
The sun was barely above the horizon when the 136th Regiment stood assembled and ready, waiting to march. Major Whybird stood up solemnly, his long face drawn and serious and silence quickly spread through the ranks.
"New orders have come from General Wellesley, orders which I will now read to you with a heavy heart. Due to the large numbers of casualties in our ranks and the fact that we can not expect any new men from England, it has been decided to amalgamate the 136th Regiment into the 33rd Regiment and retire our colours."
The assembled Infantrymen stood stunned by this news, none more so than Tom Garrard.
"We will march to Seringapatum and once there you will be assigned to your new Companies. Were possible, Sergeants and Corporals will retain their rank. Most of your Officers will be taking up commissions with other Regiments and I myself have been called home to a position at Horseguards." Whybird paused and looked down at his hands. When he looked up again, the men in the front rows could see he had tears in his eyes.
"It has been my honour to lead you, lads. You have always acquitted yourselves well in battle and you should not see the retiring of the Regimental Colours as a disgrace, rather as a fitting tribute to men who have given their all."
There was an unnatural silence among the men as Whybird's news slowly registered. Slowly, a faint hum of whispering began to diffuse through the ranks building steadily until everyone was talking at once. Order was lost and no one seemed willing to bring the men back to attention. Whybird walked away to stand with his junior Officers, content to let his men express their concern in their own way. They could wait a little longer before commencing their journey.
"Well you should be happy Tom," Martin Love said where they stood at the back of the ranks. "That's your old Regiment. I dare say a few of your mates will still be there."
It had been four years since Tom had left the 33rd to take up a Sergeant's position with Lawford in the 136th but he hadn't forgotten the time he had spent with the Havercakes.
"Good friends, Martin, and a few enemies too," he said thoughtfully, as a flood of memories returned.
"Well you're a Sergeant now so they shouldn't bother you." Martin replied confidently, but Tom didn't look so certain. "I wouldn't be so sure of that," he said "One was a bastard by the name of Hakeswill, Sergeant Hakeswill. And the other, Morris, well he was the Captain of the Light Company and probably still is if he hasn't drunk himself into his grave. Captain Morris! I should have shot him in the back years ago! They are the ones who had Dick flogged!"
"I see," Love said thoughtfully, "So they have it in for you too?"
Tom nodded "Oh yes, that's why Lawford got me out when he did, so they couldn't use me to get at Dick. He was safe in the Armoury, but they could still make my life a misery." While Sharpe and Garrard had presented a united front they had been able to outwit Morris and Hakeswill for years. It was only when Dick had become entangled with Mary Bickerstaff and William Lawford that things had begun to fall apart. Now Tom would have to face these two men alone and he doubted they would have forgotten the past.
"Shit!" Martin exclaimed quietly under his breath.
"That just about sums it up." Tom said with a grimace, but he squared his shoulders, thinking that Dick would be ashamed if he let Morris and Hakeswill intimidate him now. "But don't worry Martin, Dick and I withstood their threats for years and I'm don't intend to stop now."
Brave words. It wouldn't be easy and to do it Tom knew he'd need the help of a mate, a friend he could trust. Someone who wasn't afraid to stick his neck out when things got tough and yes, someone to keep him company at night so that he didn't give up when it all became too hard.
He looked at the man standing beside him, waiting. Quiet, unassuming, so very different from Dick Sharpe, but a true friend none the less. Perhaps Dick Sharpe was right after all, perhaps he did need someone.
Tom smiled at Love, his voice suddenly tentative, "So what do you say Martin? Think you might like to give me a hand?"
"I thought you�d never ask, Tom." Love replied.
The End.
Feb-April 1999