The Maharajah's General by Paul Fraser Collard

Crimea, his men had used the Minié rifle. Against the Russian conscripts it had proved itself to be a dreadfully effective weapon, the heavy bullets capable of tearing through successive ranks in the dense enemy formations. The cleverly designed bullets deformed when they were fired, allowing them to grip the grooves in the rifle’s barrel as well as ensuring that little of the explosive power of the cartridge was lost. If the new Enfield was a superior weapon, then it was going to give the redcoats a huge advantage. His new command still used the percussion-cap musket. It was an old-fashioned weapon, and his men would have to excel at their drill if they were to make up for its lack of range and power.
    ‘I saw the effect of the Minié in the Crimea.’ Jack was enjoying being back amongst fellow redcoats. It was a relief to talk about the merits of rifles, rather than endure the polite yet trivial small talk of society. ‘It certainly proved its worth there.’
    ‘I am sure it’s a good weapon, sir. But the men aren’t so sure. They like their muskets. They don’t see the need for change. If it was good enough for them boys at Waterloo, then it’s good enough for us.’
    ‘Well,’ Jack did his best to ignore the traditional inertia of the redcoats, ‘I shall certainly enjoy seeing them shoot. For now, please order them on parade.’
    Hughes stamped to attention and flashed Jack a solid salute. ‘Yes, sir.’
    Jack felt a rush of emotion as he acknowledged the salute. It had been too long since he had given orders. He felt the shackles falling away. He was back where he belonged, doing a job he loved. He was home.
    Jack heard the heavy tramp of feet on the wooden veranda outside the office. He lifted his head from the company’s books as he listened to the raised voice berating an unfortunate Corporal Jones. He recognised it at once.
    He held back the flash of temper he felt flare inside. The morning had gone well. The men of his new company had impressed him, both with their turnout and with their drill. He had left them to prepare for the day ahead and burrowed his way into the books, trying to commit to memory the names and histories of the men now under his command. It had been slow going. He was not a fast reader and it had been difficult to decipher the company clerk’s tight script, but he had been enjoying himself as he started the vital process of getting to know the men. Now Lieutenant Fenris had deigned to appear, and Jack knew he would not be left in peace for much longer.
    Sure enough, a flushed face appeared at the door to the company office. ‘May I ask what the deuce is going on here?’ Fenris stalked into the small room and stood in front of the desk where Jack sat carefully closing the thick ledger he had been studying.
    ‘Good morning, Lieutenant. Please shut the door and take a seat.’
    Fenris turned and slammed the door. He did not sit, but stood at Jack’s desk, his hands held petulantly on his hips. ‘Now look here, Danbury—’
    Jack did not let him continue. ‘Sit down!’ He gave the order with all the force of a man who had commanded in battle.
    Fenris’ mouth snapped shut with an audible click. Jack thought he would ignore the order, but with a visible effort at controlling himself, he managed to pull up a chair and take a seat, vibrating with barely suppressed anger.
    ‘Captain Danbury.’ Fenris’ voice was icy. ‘Might I remind you that I have been in charge of this company for the past six months. I appreciate your wish to assume command’ – he choked on the word but managed to carry on – ‘but I must ask that you give me the respect I am due and allow me to continue to run the company until you are in a position to understand how things are done here.’
    Jack was battling his temper. It would be easy to unleash the tirade he felt building inside him. But he was the senior officer. He had to think of the men first. It would harm the company if its two officers