Waterloo Battle Report, re: Yinglets
Commission for who requested, and I quote: “A Column of Redcoats from 1812 marching across a dirt road with a human master sergeant tasked with getting the 1st foot regiment of yinglets to the battle of Waterloo.”
I love you guys.
Capt. Barnabas Kinsley
1st Regiment of Foot (Yinglets, experimental)
Field report, June 18, 1815
SIR DUKE OF WELLINGTON,
It is with great distress that I pen this report, as the sounds of battle echoing over yonder mountains leads me to believe that the battle at Waterloo is underway, and my unit may be too far away to participate (and furthermore, entirely unfit to the task).
At the very least, I may say with absolute certainty that the human-led yinglet unit experiment has produced a clear result; that of utter failure.
Though earlier experiments with yinglet-captained units had produced complications re: following direct orders (as the yinglet captains showed a tendency to “interpret” orders in their own ways), the yinglet infrantry at least fell in line with their yinglet-captain’s orders.
It seems that without one of their own leading them, they have lost all pretense of cooperative action. They bicker, wander, fight and play only moments after being given orders otherwise. Some claim to be attempting to cooperate, but I am now hesitant to accept anything they speak as truth.
My unit has suffered an appalling 7% fatality rate upon our short march, resulting entirely from self-inflicted/accidental injuries. The use of bayonets was forbidden after the first day, following glastly incidents of catastrophic mishandling. Shortly after, all musket balls and black powder were confiscated until arrival at battle. Yet somehow, the injuries continue. Only the Good Lord knows how, and He has not seen fit to share it with me.
Morale is low, and desertion is an ever-looming menace. I have suffered many indignities (often painful) in vain attempts to hold my unit together. In doing so, I have assumed unexpected duties, which are more fitting for a nanny of a rowdy orphanage (a woman’s profession which I now respect immensely).
They disturb my sleep, require constant attention, and I firmly believe one of them has b een eating our supply of black powder for at least a week. My musket became jammed during a test fire this morning, and when ordered to see it safely unloaded, my armorer chose to place the (loaded) weapon in his mouth and suck out the contents. He has been attempting this for nearly an hour, and I suspect he is now simply enjoying the taste. Perhaps I have located our powder-eater, but it matters naught at this point.
I firmly conclude that if we are to integrate yinglet infantry into His Majesty’s armies, they must be led by one of their own. From observation, I would highly recommend against integrating them into an artillery division, for the resulting destruction to our great nation would be without limit.
I hope the battle runs in our favor, with or without the assistance of my disgraceful unit.
God save The King, and God save me