He left the brothel with a smile on his face and a confident, jaunty stride. His friend Alex Tremaine, another newly promoted corporal, was waiting for him on the other side of the cobbled Porto street. They were both wearing the dark green uniforms of the 95th rifles.
Tremaine and Robert were the same age, twenty, and they looked so similar that several officers and fellow soldiers had actually mixed them up or even thought they were brothers. They had met 3 years earlier when the same recruiting sergeant, a fat red haired veteran of the American war, had offered them the King's shilling on the same day in Winchester.
Robert, after running away from home, had travelled around the south of England getting work wherever he could find it. Eventually he found himself in Hampshire and after hearing the recruitment sergeant giving an impassioned speech about the evils of Napoleon's empire building, he decided to volunteer. Next to him in line was Alex and they struck up a conversation.
They both joined up and in basic training they had both proved to be excellent shots. Alex had been a poacher in his teenage years and had been using rifles since he was 12. Robert had learned to shoot at Eton, but did not admit this to anyone as public schoolboys didn't join the ranks.
After basic training they were assigned to the 95th Regiment of Foot, otherwise known as the Rifles. The unit was manned by specialist soldiers who were trained as marksmen, scouts and skirmishers. Most other British soldiers wore the traditional bright red uniforms. The 95th were the first regiment to wear the dark green and they were also proud to wear the black sash on their arms that meant they were chosen men.
"Come on Robbie" Alex said in a loud voice, "You can't shag every whore in Portugal by yourself. The rest of us will go crazy."
Robert smiled at his friend. "I know, can't help it if I'm pretty."
"Pretty ugly" laughed Alex and they strode down the street laughing together.
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