Sergeant Hall leaned back against the stone wall, taking a long slug from his watter bottle. He threw the creature into the bushes, wiped the bottle and took a drink. A dust cloud approached the remains of the platoon, scouts shouted 'Friends' and men stood their guard down slightly. Hall staggered to his feet, exhausted by the recent fighting . "Who is it?" "Heavy dragoons." "Eh... there's none within a hundred miles of here. Who are they?" Hall walked out of the shade and looked, then swore under his breath, he knew who they were, magnificent, but possibly unsuited for fighting Martians, the Shropshire Yeomanry ! Farmers, lawyers and gentry... Their Sergeant was well known to Hall, mostly from mess dinners, a twenty year veteran with the Buffs, who had inherited a portion of money and had retired up to Salop, Lovell had whipped his section into shape in recent years, this would be more like it! Figures are Lancashire...