Free Viva Jacquelina! by L. A. Meyer

Belle Jeune Fille Sans Merci, as well as a bloody one from Bloody Jack herself, should be enough for any young ensign, I figure. Sucking in my breath, I plunge into the room.
    Everything is in turmoil. Junior officers fly about the room. Charts and maps are being rolled and stuffed into tubes. Papers are stacked, wrapped in oilcloth, and tied up with twine, and in the midst of it all stands General Sir Arthur Wellesley, ramrod straight, and in a state of obvious rage.
    â€œStupidity! Rank stupidity! The braying jackasses of Britain have done it again! Hurrah! Hurrah for rank asininity!” he cries, waving his arms about. “Stand up, ye gods of misrule! Stand up and cheer because Britannia bends her knee to you!”
    If I did not know the man was of an abstemious nature, I would swear he was blind drunk. I duck down through the crowd and find Higgins with Mr. Scovell, collecting their own papers into folders.
    â€œHiggins! What is going on?”
    Higgins looks up.
    â€œGood to see you, Miss. You have something of a nasty scratch there. We must see to that.”
    â€œLater, Higgins. What’s up?”
    â€œGeneral Wellesley has been relieved by General Burrard.” Here he lowers his voice. “A man of very little experience in the field. That is bad enough, but . . .”
    â€œBut what?”
    â€œInsult to injury, Miss. We have just been informed that General Dalrymple, the other gentleman you might have seen hanging about of late, has just signed the Treaty of Cintra.”
    â€œAnd that would be the surrender of General Junot’s French forces?”
    â€œAh, no, Miss,” says Higgins. “The treaty states that the defeated French forces, with all guns and all of their loot, are to be transported back to France in British ships.”
    â€œWHAT? Oh, God! And then?”
    â€œAnd then they’ll be let go to do what they will do. They are to be debarked at Toulon.”
    â€œBut that is absolutely crazy! The French were on the run! They faced either complete surrender or else slaughter! Junot was ready to capitulate!”
    â€œI know, Miss. We all know. Most of all, General Wellesley knows.”
    Seething with indignation, I say, “I have been ordered to report to him. I must go.”
    â€œCareful, Miss,” warns Higgins. “I have been ordered to accompany Mr. Scovell back to Britain. As for you—”
    That’s all I hear as I plunge back through the crowd to worm my way to Wellesley’s enraged side.
    â€œSir!” I say. “You sent for me?”
    He looks down and sees me standing there, filthy, dusty, and a bit torn in the face.
    â€œAh,” he says, calming himself a bit. “Here’s one who looks like she’s been through a battle, rather than lounging about here at headquarters and taking her ease like the rest of you sorry lot.”
    â€œI’m sure all here have done their duty, Sir,” I reply. “The shells fell all around us, and we know they are not at all selective in whom they hit.”
    He looks at me curiously. “Well said, girl. I’m beginning to think . . . but never mind.” He crosses to a desk and points at a spot on one of the few remaining maps spread out thereon. “Here is the city of Madrid, in Spain, of course. You are to go there . . .”
    With sinking heart, I realize I will not be going back to England with Higgins and I will not be any help to Lord Allen, beyond what I have already done.
    â€œ . . . and gather information on the forces and the political climate you find there. I must perforce go back to England to clean up this mess, but I shall be back, believe me, and I will need all the good information I can get about Madrid. Information that will be obtained by
you,
Lieutenant Faber. Comandante Montoya has agreed to take you there, under cover of night, and he will be your contact during the time you spend in that city. Do you