"Listen, Wilberforce -- Corporal -- you and your people are going to have to hold the ford and keep those Hottentots over on the far side of the river," said RSM* Hepplewhite. It was a measure of how completely her Majesty's forces had been caught by surprise by the dawn assault of the enemy that Hepplewhite had shown up on the riverbank with his uniform jacket unbuttoned, and without his pith helmet.

*Regimental Sergeant-Major.

"If they get over the river, we don't have the people in place to stop them. It'll only be a teensy hop, skip, and a jump for them, then they'll get in among the supply wagons. If they do that, there'll *really* be Hell to pay. Without ammunition, I wouldn't be surprised to see everybody in the whole bloody army panic and run away like so many quail. So you've *got* to hold."

Richard -- who had taken the Queen's Shilling under the name of "Wilberforce" (the Recruiting Sergeant jeering that he had no intention of signing the newcomer up under "no namby-pamby double name"), nodded his understanding. "I got it, Sarn't-Major. Hold at all costs."

And they did. The natives -- who were defending their homeland -- fiercely charged forward again and again into the rifle fire laid down by heavily outnumbered Imperial troops, but the thin red line held. Over the course of the day, Hepplewhite sent forward whatever reinforcements that he could find in dribs and drabs. But to paraphrase the remark of a famous British general about a different battle in a different place and time, it was a damned close-run thing.

In the end, the Imperial troops managed a hard-fought, bloody draw -- not a bad outcome on that particular field of battle, given the way the day had begun. The army high command was anxious to craft a silk purse out of a sow's ear and save as much face as possible; so they cast about for a potential hero, one who might hold everyone's attention (especially that of the press), and cause them to lose sight of how close things had come to a disaster.

As a result, Richard Quembley-Wilberforce was first awarded a promotion and a commission as a leftenant for his efforts that day at the ford across the Green River, and was later knighted.

---

Richard's father, Basil Quembley-Wilberforce, was a notorious rakehell in his time, so much so that he had died in debtor's prison, with the family name and resources ruined beyond redemption. Richard's mother had tearfully gone back to "her people", making it clear that she wanted nothing more to do with either Basil or their only child (whom she referred to as "Spawn of the Devil").

And so it was that through no fault of his own Richard had fallen upon hard times and enlisted in Her Majesty's army as a common soldier, where he found himself assigned to the Wombly Rifles. His career was unremarkable . . . until, on one memorable day, it became rather remarkable, indeed.