Rules of War by Iain Gale

Brussels.
    â€˜See where it came from, Sarn’t?’
    â€˜Couldn’t say for certain, sir. Third house on the left at a guess.’
    There was an uproar at the rear of the column: ‘Shit!’
    â€˜Quiet, that man there!’
    â€˜But Sarge. The bullet went through my bloody hat. Ruined it. Look.’
    It was Tarling. The musketball had indeed hit his tall Grenadier’s mitre cap, obliterating the white embroidered thistle in the centre and leaving a scorched hole trimmed with filigree fragments of gold wire.
    Slaughter stared at the punctured hat: ‘Well, you’re bloody lucky it didn’t go through your brain then, Tarling, aren’t you.’
    Steel spoke: ‘Sarn’t, you and four men, come with me. The rest of you stay with Lieutenant Hansam. And keep your bloody heads down.’ As he spoke another shot cracked out, the ball whizzing past Steel’s ear. ‘Christ. That was a bit close. Taylor, Cussiter, Mackay, come on. With me. Fix bayonets, and leave your hats behind.’
    Moving fast and keeping low the four men moved along the left side of the street. Another shot rang out, ricocheting off the cobbles and glancing up at one of the houses. They paused. Slaughter tucked in close beside Steel: ‘They’re lousy shots, sir. Don’t you think?’
    â€˜Probably conscripts. Though if that’s the case then why the hell are they bothering to shoot at us and not legging it back to Paris?’
    â€˜Perhaps they don’t really want to hit us. Just scare us off.’
    â€˜Don’t be ridiculous. Why would they do that? What have they got to gain? This bloody village? The French army’s gone home. We’re chasing them back to Paris.’
    It was two days now since the battle and in all that time Steel and his men, like the rest of the army, had hardly been allowed to rest. Marlborough intended to push the French back as far as they would go and their orders were to advance in forced marches to the northwest until otherwise instructed. Slaughter ducked instinctively as another musketball sang high over their heads.
    â€˜Perhaps that’s it, sir. Perhaps they’re not even soldiers at all, just civilians. Scared, like.’
    The ball that had missed Slaughter and Steel hit the cobbles behind them and sent shards of stone up into the calf of Private Mackay who screamed and clutched at his bleeding leg.
    Steel raised his eyes: ‘There now. Are you satisfied? You and your damned theories. What does it matter who theyare? They’re bloody shooting at us, Jacob.’ He unslung the fusil from his back and, knowing it to be loaded already, cocked the hammer. ‘Mackay, stay there. The rest of you come with me. Second house along. Through the door. Charge!’
    As the musket discharged again above their heads the Grenadiers kicked at the door of the house and it gave way. Inside the darkness took them by surprise. The shutters were closed and there was no other light source.
    Steel shouted: ‘Open a window!’
    Tarling obliged and they moved through the interior quickly as Steel had taught them, one man moving to every opening, waiting and listening before getting into the rooms. One by one they called out:
    â€˜Nothing, sir.’
    â€˜No one here, sir.’
    â€˜Upstairs then. Look out.’
    From the top of the wooden stairs there was a crack of musketry and a flash of flame as the gun fired again. Aimed at Steel, the bullet flew hopelessly wide of the mark and embedded itself in the far wall of the hall.
    He called out: ‘Now!’
    Together Steel and Slaughter rushed the stairs and threw themselves on the figure at the top. It was hard to see anything in the shuttered house.
    â€˜Get him downstairs, Sarn’t. I want this one alive.’
    They half-pushed, half-dragged the sniper down the wooden staircase and threw him to the floor, where he lay motionless and whimpering, covered by the bayonets