Indian Prize Ch 01

She was a rare blossom, dark and delicate, perched on a smooth rock in her private bathing pool. She sat naked but fir her dark made up eyes, a heavy gold necklace that sat invitingly between her small plump breasts. Around her delicate neck, golden and silver strands loopedabout her. The Princess, just eighteen, the flower of womanhood. Her belly was flat, her arms toned and strong sat looking into the trees, pretending not to notice the three uniformed officers, who stood some distance away, all gazing upon her nakedness, through through their telescopes.

The Year was 1797, the officers were being permitted to view the prize, should they be successful in their quests.

The tall bejewelled Maharajar, resplendent in his bright silks and brocade smiled,

"My youngest daughter, the Princess Anijj Barycorym Singh, is for the one amongst you whom delivers not only the most fighters to my banner but the strongest, most powerful recruits. I must assemble a great host to subdue the encroaching foreigners who attack my caravans and plunder my land for it's wealth,"

The first officer, a disinherited French cavalryman, Captain Henri Trudeau, eyed the girl hungrily, for he was new to the Indian climate but eager. He imagined forming squadrons of formidable lancers and light sabre wielding riders to cut a swathe in the battles to come. The second officer, also taken by the beauty of the young Princess, her taut firm body, with a pleasing black bush of pubic hair between her supple legs, made him smile. He was Englishman, and an artillery officer. His career has been cut short by

circumstance and gambling debts, and now forced to a mercenary life, he had already set about improving the Marthraja's cannons, and now looked for men to man them expertly. He felt his chances, of being matched with his beauty, were better than the last officer: a gruff American in green and silver, who carried a long rifle at his shoulder and a black look.

However, Captain Cornelius Barrett was an infantryman, and a condemned man, if the new United States or the East Indian Company find him: a musketball would be his reward. He'd been fighting for coin for ten years and won every engagement. He had come to this life after the war of independence, the loss of his family and his dislike of the greedy middle classes had driven him to take stop to fight in wars of other nations and then found himself in Assam, fighting for belligerent Indian prince's.

The beauty of this woman was breathtaking and he wanted this woman for his own. He glanced at the two other men, he didn't really want the English man to take this native princess to his bed: after all he was English and the enemy of his blood.

The smirking Maharajar beckoned the trio to him

"Gentlemen, the Princess will await the officer who receuits the most effective fighting force, " His voice was a mere whisper

"And how, may I ask, will you judge whichbof us has succeeded in this task?" Marriot, the English artilleryman asked, his moustache brustling with annoyance,

"Ah, Captain that will.on the field of battle. When you have your forces assembled, I will instigate a skirmish wuth my

Mysorean neighbours next month, and then judge who contributes most to the fighting, and who will win the Princess "

With little reason for further discussion, the officers departed fir their respective duties.

By the month's end Marriot had forged a battery of ornate but aged bronze cannons onto stout carriages, equipped them with horse for swift movement and assembled enough men to man the artillery. He prayed that the battle would be in dry weather, fearful of rain and muddy tracks in which to traverse his enormously heavy ordinance.

Trudeau, had also exoended himself on assembling two squadrons of lighthorsemen, both equipped with two meter lancers and wicked curved Indian sabres. He had drilled the men fir weeks, and all knew how to move and charge in a straight line. They were a fearsome sight, resplendent in blood red jackets, red turbans and white sashs at their waists. He was proud of them, and they looked fearsome. He had only lined up the best of his riders, those lacking the necessary skills were formed up in the cream, to swell the numbers, he prayed that these men would not be called upon too soon. They would be fine at harrying broken troops, slashing wildly but as a disciplined squadron, they lacked the necessary cohesion of French Chassaur or Hussar.

Barret had not been seen for the full month, he had taken his single detachment into the bush, and bivoacked out to the west of the fortified palace: away from prying eyes and secretive whisperings. The artillery and cavalry had kept to the palace precinct. He had installed spies inside its walls that would keep him informed of his competitors.

Barrett had a secret weapon, he had secreted over 500 American long Kentucky rifles, a far superior but difficult weapon to master and also purchased european muskets rather than the native extended length barrels and the highest quality gunpowder, which had exhausted his savings. Barrett had been busy prior to the Maharajar's enticement selecting the best of the native infantrymen, who were the best shots. He had cultivated a collection of these men, combining them with experienced European mercenaries acting as sergeants, to maintain discipline and training. Barrett now spent his time working alongside his men, building a tight-knit unit that could out shoot both as skirmisers and in volley line. The final training had been spent on bayonet drill. Barrett had equipped each musket had the strongest socket bayonet which added to the effective hand to hand fighting.

With promises of wealth, land and glory in battle, Barrett had built two full regiments and a skirmisher detachment that were trained to a fine edge to scout ahead and snipe at enemy officers, or sergeants.

Barrett had sequestered his troops and made them into an elite Corp, with khaki and green tunics, simple but effective camouflage to match the native terrain. His supply sergeants had been busy securing lead ball and cartridge paper and had been made hundreds of cartridges ready for use in battle.

The wily Maharajar had called each officer to a private audience, with the attendance of the Princess Anijj. When Barrett was summoned, he saw how truly magnificent the young woman really was.

As the dawn of battle came upon them, the cavalry squadrons had ride off to form a screen ahead of the slow moving artillery as instructed. Barrett, though he disliked the Englishman but success on the field needs the power of cannon.