Newtown's Optic: Newton Emersonimagines Senator Eoghan Harris in the style of the scripts he wrote for ITV's Sharpe, that gallant but often brutal up-from-the ranks English officer and the hero of forlorn hopes, last stands and bloody victories
"Captain Owen Blunt, King's Own Boil Lancers reporting for duty, sir!"
Blunt saluted the general in his customary style, showing just enough respect to their difference in rank, but not quite enough for their difference by birth. Blunt was not the sort of man to forget his roots while he climbed to the top of the tree, although he had broken several sticks along the way.
"I was very impressed with your performance at the Battle of Montrose, Blunt," the general said. "Your late, late charge had the enemy on the run. So now I want to give you an even more important assignment."
Mindful of his own gruff dignity and manly pride, Blunt barely reacted to the news.
"Gosh sir, that's brilliant, you're the best general ever!" was all he finally said.
"Yes, quite," the general replied. "Now listen up Blunt. I've dragooned a truly wretched squad for a frightfully dangerous mission. They're the dregs of the Earth, brigands and vagabonds spurned by polite society. Can you whip a press gang into shape?"
"It's been a while, sir, but I'll try," Blunt said.
"Very well," the general continued. "Enemy forces have infiltrated a house near the castle. Lead your company in and hoist our flag. That will be the signal for us to fix bayonets and wipe them out. Good luck, Blunt, and remember, the fate of the country is in your hands."
Leaving the general's tent, Blunt recalled the final words of Aristotle: "who gave me this poisoned chalice?" Or was that Socrates? No matter.
The new company was waiting outside and they were indeed a rum crew.
There was Ivan Doolally, who had been asked to leave the regiment three times. There was Seán O'Loan, who had joined up to escape his creditors.
There was also at least one adventurous young woman disguised as a man, although you were far more likely to get away with that sort of thing in the navy.
"Right, you horrible lot!" Blunt screamed at the top of his voice.
"You can't speak to me like that," Doolally complained. "Don't you know I've been decorated?"
Suddenly Blunt felt a sharp nip at his ankle. "Bark! Bark! Bark!" It was Nosegay, the regimental mascot.
"He's barking!" cried the troops, as they always did whenever Nosegay appeared.
"Hush, puppy," Blunt said, as he always did whenever anyone appeared. Nosegay scampered off, no doubt to chase Aristotle, the cook's cat. Or was that Socrates? No matter.
"Here's the plan of attack, men - and adventurous young women disguised as men," Blunt continued.
"I'll take a party in through the front of the house. Doolally will take a second party in through the back of the house. O'Loan will take a third party, fire and theft policy on the house."
Doolally piped up. "So we'll be attacking the enemy through different parties under different leaders, but you'll be in overall command?" "That's just how I prefer to work," Blunt replied.
But now it was O'Loan's turn to interrupt the briefing.
"I know this place!" he exclaimed. "It's full of old men and unadventurous old women disguised as men. It has no strategic value whatsoever. Captain, the general is just using you to create a diversion."
Could it be true? Was he really expendable? No matter.
Blunt would march on as he had always marched. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right.