Nairn shook his head. 'It's a mistake, Sharpe! Has to be! But you can't put mistakes right by sending letters! We've written to the useless bastards, but letters to the Horse Guards are put in a drawer marked Urgent Business to be Ignored. But they can't ignore you. You're a hero! He said it with friendly mockery. 'Go to Chelmsford, find your men, and bring them back. It will take half the time of doing it by letter.

'Yes, sir. Sharpe sounded dazed. Go to England?

'And bring me back some whisky, that is a direct order! There's a shop on Cornhill that gets the stuff from Scotland.

'Yes, sir. Sharpe spoke distractedly. Going home? England? He did not want to go, but if the alternative was to watch a Battalion die that had earned its right to tramp the roads of France, then he would go through hell itself. For his regiment, and for its Colours that had flown through the cannon smoke of half a continent, he would go to England so that he could march into France. He would go home.

CHAPTER 1

Sharpe, arriving in Chelmsford, could not remember the way to the South Essex's depot. He had only visited the barracks once, a brief visit in 09, and he was forced to ask directions from a vicar who was watering his horse at a public trough. The vicar looked askance at Sharpe's unkempt uniform, then thought of a happy explanation for the soldier's vagabond appearance. 'You're back from Spain?

'Yes, sir.

'Well done! Well done! First class! The vicar pointed eastwards, directing the soldiers out into the open country. 'And God bless you!