markofthebrave | [ Action, Voice ] .060

[ Action, Voice ] .060

[Katara hadn't been sleeping well to begin with, the moon was full and bright and her blood was restless - at least, that was her excuse. The truth of the matter was that ever since Masaomi, and then Aang had confessed, she hadn't known peace. It was manifesting in shallow sleep, in more determined than genuine cheer. So when the moon woke her - it was so bright tonight, like one of Luceti's streetlights - she tossed and turned futilely before getting up.

She dressed quietly, making sure to take the 'holy water' waterskin, and walked along the river. Though the way she was feeling, the holy water would be the last recourse if confronted with the vampire. She felt like unleashing the full power of the river on something. Her neck prickled, restless, tense, practically itching for the excuse to focus all her agitation into a fight, a sanctified, no holds barred clash of water and strength and agility, a focus, a clarity so that she wouldn't have to worry about her torn heart, or the hearts of those she loved anymore.

She'd go on a mission, if she thought it would help. But she didn't want to have to kill anyone. And Aang was here. ...and she especially didn't want to have to kill anyone while Aang was here.

Eventually, she reached the Southern Lake and stood, staring at the moon and its reflection for long moments. The serenity of the scene failed to soothe her and with a loud "HAH!" she shifted form and tore a burst of water straight through the surface of the lake until it towered as high as the trees before she abruptly pulled it back and up, catching it before it crested the edge of the lake and turning the raised water into a thousand smaller drops.

She felt a little better, until she noticed all the lakeside creatures she'd stirred to life with her childish display. Lightly ashamed of herself, she moved to sit by one of the slides she and the first Toph had constructed, contenting herself with shattering the lake's serenity with a handful of pebbles every now and again.]

[After a late night out, Katara slept in to nearly noon this Saturday... morningish. It felt good. She didn't have a shift in the Med Lab today, so today was a day for... errands. Study and maybe some time on the koto and running into town to make sure she had as much as she needed for dinner, but... she also had time to address the journal, if she wanted.]

Hey, Luceti - it's a lazy sort of Saturday. Now's a good time to share some famous stories from our worlds, don't you think? Does anyone know any famous adventures? ...or love stories?

[What is love? Baby don't hurt me...]

I know a pretty good one. It takes place in the Earth Kingdom, a long time ago, before there were earthbenders...

[She'll just leave that there, not wanting to spam in case of a lack of interest.

Of course, the chances are also good that one of her housemates or friends may decide to claim her attention for something else entirely. So if anyone wants to do that, or bump into her as she runs to the grocery store, or spy on her while she's playing music, this is a lazy Saturday, come as you are sort of deal.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Blowing up the bridge would have cut off the enemy from their flank?

[...perhaps not the question he was expecting.]

Edited 2012-05-05 20:06 (UTC)

Aye, Miss Katara. You've a good head for this.

And it would've been fine except Simmerson cocks it up, doesn't he? Arrogant and bloodthirsty, he looks across the bridge at Valdelcasa and he sees a few squadrons of French dragoons. [ ... ] The enemy. And instead of ignoring them and blowing the bridge as commanded, he goes after them.

...over the bridge. That they were supposed to blow up.

[That seems. Incredibly stupid.]

They'd be isolating themselves from any help while still leaving their flank exposed.

Edited 2012-05-05 20:26 (UTC)

Two regiments are entirely thrashed by the French. Hundreds of casualties. [ ... ] And Simmerson only then goes and blows the bloody bridge up with the survivors on the other side. Lennox and Vaughn's men among'em.

Vaughn had to break the news to the dying Captain. Simmerson's folly had lost them the Colour. King's Colour, in fact. The standard every regiment takes with them into battle. Something to rally around and losing it's a great disgrace. So Lennox used his last breath to ask Lieutenant Vaughn to capture him a French eagle...

[ dramatic pause! only this, too, might need exposition: ] Sticks with gold birds on'em, Miss. Just as important to the French as the King's Colour is to the British.

Edited 2012-05-05 20:30 (UTC)

[This is a sad story, made sadder by one man's prideful idiocy. How did he ever receive a command.]

I see.

[ money, lass. money and breeding. ]

It'd ease the shame, you see. Vaughn agreed but there was other work to do. The battered remains of the South Essex were left on their side of the bridge and the French were coming back to take them prisoner -- and they had a gun. A small four-pounder, but it could do damage. The able soldiers who were left took that gun and didn't allow themselves to be captured for that, Lieutenant Vaughn was gazetted Captain. A promotion for rallying the broken companies.

But a gazetting ain't permanent, miss. It has to made to stick. And capturing a French eagle could be just the sticking he needed.

I see. [And she does.] So he determined to keep his promise.

In secret, aye. His General heard a rumour of what Lennox had asked and so his General ordered him to stop dreaming of eagles. But Vaughn wasn't a rich man like the other officers and they already turned their blue-blooded noses up at him. Worse, Simmerson pinned the whole mess on Vaughn -- hoping to have the man kicked out of his position and his job.

So the man has a choice. He captures a French eagle or be tossed from the only life he's ever known and excelled at. Up until now, no one outside of military circles has heard of Lieutenant Dick Vaughn, now Captain. But at Talavera, he took an eagle and made headlines back home.

Did he go by himself? How did he get it?

[You're leaving out the best part of the story, man! Come on! ;;]

Fifty-five thousand against a French force lacking ten thousand of that number. But the British allies in the Spaniards, some thirty-five thousand men, panicked and fled the field. Leaving the British alone.

Vaughn was amongst'em. During the first night, they fight for their lives. Marching and counter-marching. Attacking and counter-attacking. In the wee hours of the morning, three columns of the French are launched at allied lines. The columns are frightening things: men in blue in rows of two, their feet thundering the earth and their drummers whipping them into a frenzy.

But a column of French infantrymen never can beat a line of British. It's mathematics, lass. Textbook warfare. In a line, more men can shoot. And the columns are beaten off; and the cannons shuddered the air. The grass caught fire.

And Vaughn saw an eagle in the distance. "It would make a great story, so it would," said his sergeant. And the Captain agreed but it would take more than the pair of them to win it. But Vaughn wasn't Simmerson -- would never be Simmerson -- would sooner die than be anything like Simmerson. So he turned to his men and he told them to retire and celebrate their victory and any who wanted to join them in taking the eagle would be a fool but a welcome fool.

[ and every last bloody fool in the company had stayed! sharpe had had to order denny back a few times -- telling the lad he wanted to see him meet his seventeenth birthday. ]

And they rushed the enemy. The protectors of the French honour, Miss Katara, wear bearskins. And some carry axes. And they're called Grenadiers.

...what happened?

The French drummers ran. Vaughn and his sergeant plunged into the heart of the enemy line. Muskets exploded. Guns deafened.

[ and so much blood was spilled, but he leaves out these details. he leaves out how the standard-bearer crumpled to the ground after a rifle's crack -- and hagman's customary 'got him' pounding in sharpe's ear.

and denny -- suddenly there against orders with his laughably slim sword. denny! sharpe pushed the boy down and swung to protect him but there was a bayonet in his chest; even as sharpe sliced into the culprit, he felt the boy collapsing against him.

so sharpe acted on blood and impulse. he had swung the eagle in a wide arc, cutting the air with gold. screaming and knocking men aside with the captured eagle. ]

The...the enemy went. [ he had never seen so many bodies on a battlefield before. not even at assaye. the smell of roasted flesh and vultures. ] And Vaughn and his men kept their prize. The very first eagle captured by the British.

...the very first, huh?

[Was it worth it?]

Others've been caught since, of course. But this was the first, aye. Vaughn's captaincy was confirmed. The South Essex weren't broken up after the shame of losing their colours.

So then men who fought got to stay together.

[ those who lived... ]

Aye. [ ... ] Or so the news stories said.

[Stupid men and their stupid honor.]

It sounds like that story would have encouraged all the British forces who heard it.

[She takes the kinder commentary.]

The men of the South Essex are fine models in that regard.

That's important to have in a war - a source of hope.

Mmhm. That's what a standard is to us soldiers. A reminder of why we fight. And who we're fighting for.

[ not...quite his actual believes. however, she's a nice girl and he doesn't want to get cynical with her. ]

That's... not something I've heard of.

[Man, if they'd known that, they would have knocked the banner out of every Fire Nation ship they sunk.]

You see, each eagle's been touched by the French emperor himself. And us British have two flags -- the King's and the Regimental colours. Each battalion flies their colours, and they have the battle honours embroidered on'em.

Men of the South Essex captured the eagle and so an eagle was added to their colours. It's a sign of what they've done and what they still can do, miss.

They must be very proud.

...Wondrously so. Their recruiting parties fare well -- when men come to join the army, they come to the South Essex.

[ a fact that had been exploited by crimpers. crimpers whose defeat richard is still fresh from. ]

What about your tale, miss?

Well, it's not really a war story.

[She'll move with the flow of conversation. He's given him a lot to think about.]

Are you sure you want to hear it?

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