Sharpe's Challenge

Troops approaching. Open the gate.

All right, lads. Fall out.

-Davi, get some grub going. -Yes.

Master Richard sahib.

I have to tell you that we have no grub.

We haven't, no. But they have.

That would be stealing, sahib.

How am I to be a good British soldier if you make me into a thief again?

It isn't thieving when you're hungry, Davi. First thing any soldier learns.

Now go on, get on with you.

Davi, mind you watch the eleventh commandment.

Yes, sahib.

Company troops approaching, sahib.

Well, who the hell is it?

Not sure, sir.

Sullivan, perhaps. Breaking in a new company.

I've never met Sullivan, sir.

Subed ar!Call out the guard.

Better give the bastard a salute when he arrives.

Tell him he can join me for dinner.

-You too, I suppose. -Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

Welcome to Chasalgaon, sir.

Major Crosby's compliments and you're invited to dine with him, sir.

Squad, attention.

Present arms!

-Is that stew about ready yet? -In a jiffy.

A bloody camel could do it faster.

I'm going for a piss.

Front face!

Order arms!

Should I have your horse watered, sir?

All in good time, Captain. All in good time.

Fix bayonet!

Present!

Oh, my God.

Come on, boys.

Fire!

Christ all-bloody-mighty.

There! There!

What's the matter, Captain? Cat got your t-t-tongue?

King's men, to me!

Well left!

Well left, Captain...

Who the devil are you?

Major William Dodd...

at your service.

Subedar!

Two good men to guard the pay chest if you please.

Major Dodd, sir. Everything is loaded, sir.

-And the enemy? -All dead, sir.

Not quite all, subed ar.

(CLASSICAL HIN DU INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING)

Chasalgaon has fallen, Your Highness.

We left not a man alive.

-Colonel Richard Sharpe, late of the South Essex? -Mmm-hmm.

Sir Samuel Rawlinson, President of the Board of Control.

I'm told you've a talent for bruising your betters, Sharpe.

Saving the man I've come to see,

and a certain Irish sergeant of my acquaintance, have done such.

Now, will you take me to Wellington or shall I dig the bugger out myself?

Splendid.

Splendid. This way.

What's this nonsense I hear?

You've turned swords to ploughshares and become a farmer in France?

Aye. It's true enough, Your Grace.

Suits you, this life?

Well, no bugger's trying to shoot me the livelong day so, aye, suits me.

There is a young tiger loose in India, Sharpe.

A Maratha princeling with a heart for rebellion and a taste for English blood.

I thought we'd put an end to any threat from the Marathas in '03.

So had we all. Divide and rule.

Simple enough policy, but one that has served us well.

Who is he?

Khande Rao, the Rajah of Ferraghur.

Since he came to power, attacks on our forts and hill stations have increased tenfold.

And with each success, more Pindari bandits come to his side.

How come this man has succeeded where many others have failed?

Though Khande Rao ascended his father's throne last summer,

he's not yet in his majority.

It seems the late rajah's favourite concubine is ruling as regent.

-A woman? -Just so.

Albeit one acting under advice and guidance of a renegade East India Company officer.

Our intelligence officer in Agra recruited a horse master

supplying the Company with mounts to discover the renegade's identity.

Alas, nothing's been seen or heard of the fellow this past six months.

We need someone who knows the country to determine what's become of him.

And, if the worst has befallen, to see his mission through.

You want me to go back to India?

This uprising must be stopped, Sharpe, by whatever means.

One resourceful man may achieve what an army cannot.

Your Grace, my soldiering days came to an end on the ridge of Mont St John.

Damn it, Sharpe. The rat is in the bottle. No one else will do.

India is a very tinderbox that waits upon the merest spark.

That may be so, my lord.

But what happens in India is the business of men of influence and great import

and not of a farmer.

I regret I must respectfully decline.

That is your last word?

I'm sorry I cannot prevail upon you to change your mind, Colonel.

Mrs Harper, my apologies for having kept you waiting.

-Ramona. -Richard, thank God.

An acquaintance of yours, Sharpe?

A good friend.

Mrs Harper's husband is the Irish sergeant of whom I spoke.

What are you doing here, lass? Is Patrick with you?

Alas, Sharpe,

Mrs Harper's husband is also our missing agent.

You're Patrick's only hope.

You will find him, won't you, Richard?

I'm assured we'll be on our way again presently, ma'am.

It's a poor bloody spot for a tea party, Captain.

Bandit country.

And not one picquet posted along the track. Some of us might call that reckless.

And you're whom, sir, to be giving orders to an officer?

Come, sir, state your business.

My name is Richard Sharpe

and my business is with General Burroughs.

You're off to join his 3rd Army on the Northern Plain, are you not?

You have experience of India, Mr Sharpe?

Experience?

Aye, some.

I was at Srirangapattam and Assaye.

There were no riflemen here then.

You wear the green jacket of the 95th, do you not, Mr Sharpe?

I do, ma'am.

And you're right. There were no riflemen here then.

I was at the time a private soldier in the 33rd.

Sharpe.

Good God, I mean, not the ranker that saved Wellington's life?

Well, it once fell to me to help him out. Aye.

Captain Lawrence, sir.

And this is Miss Celia Burroughs, the general's daughter.

Ma'am.

Unless I'm much mistaken, it's rightly Colonel Sharpe, isn't it?

Retired, Captain, retired. I've... I've no commission here.

It'll be an honour to have you travel along with us, Mr Sharpe, of course, but as...

I'd wait, if I were you.

There's someone up on that ridge. May be nothing but...

I'd send a scouting party forward.

Alas, sir, our cavalry vanished off to the west to find forage some two hours since.

Two hours?

Then I'd best go and find them for you.

Not long dead.

An hour at most.

You must be the cavalry Captain Lawrence sent me to find.

Captain Mohan Singh.

I command these lancers.

Richard Sharpe.

And I command no one here.

Pindari?

A raiding party,

acting on orders from Khande Rao.

I thought this was friendly territory.

It was.

What brings you to India, Mr Sharpe?

I'm looking for a friend. A man called Harper.

Patrick Harper.

-You know him? -The Irish horse master?

-That's him. -Yeah.

I knew him.

There was a raid, uh, six months ago.

The column he was travelling with was massacred to the last man.

Most likely by the same dogs responsible for this.

I'm sorry, Mr Sharpe,

your journey seems to have been in vain.

It would appear your father has sent a Company escort, ma'am.

Good day, Captain Lawrence.

-It is Captain Lawrence, isn't it? -Sir.

Which would make this...

delightful creature Miss Celia Burroughs, daughter to the great white General.

-Could I ask, sir, who you might be? -My name is Dodd.

General William Dodd.

Formerly of the honourable...

Honourable East India Company.

Now, happily Commander-in-Chief to his Highness, Khande Rao,

Rajah of Ferraghur.

-Do you joke with me, sir? -Joke, sir? Why, sir, no, sir.

But I do have a paradox might amuse Miss Burroughs.

Present!

I'm sorry, Mr Sharpe, but we really must get back to column.

What the hell are you doing here?

You're supposed to be dead.

Sure, I can't watch your arse if I'm dead, now, can I?

By God, Pat.

I don't think much of your new tailor.

You're a long way from home, Richard. Are you lost?

Ramona sent me.

What the bloody hell were you doing running off and leaving her?

I've been too long a soldier. You know how it is.

Mr Harper?

Well...

it would appear we have all been premature in our prayers at your passing.

Luck of the Irish, Captain. You can't beat it.

Damn it.

There is one comfort, though.

General Burroughs' daughter does not seem to be among the dead.

Nor is Captain Lawrence.

This looks like the handiwork of a Pindari war band

I've been tracking for the past four days.

This column was taken by surprise.