Central Portugal, 30 kilometers west of Viseu.
Two French Hussars rode around the hill ahead, reined in one after the other, and tipped their hats to a Captain mounted on a Gaul Horse. "Company commander, another British cavalry squadron has arrived. It looks like they could attack at any moment."
The Cavalry Company commander nodded. "What's the situation in town?"
"They've scraped together four or five hundred Guns," one cavalryman said. "But I observed them through the Telescope. They're a complete mess and probably have no fighting strength. Oh, they also seem to have several dozen cavalry, most likely Mounted Police from nearby."
"I understand. Go rest first."
The two Hussars exchanged glances. One of them asked, "Company commander, are we still going to ignore everything like before?"
More than ten days ago, British cavalry had begun riding out everywhere, driving away villagers from the surrounding areas and setting fire to their farmland.
This French Cavalry Company had been ordered to keep a British cavalry squadron under surveillance. Yet the latter had already attacked three villages, while they had done nothing but trail far behind.
Two days earlier, they had followed them to the vicinity of Dusal Town.
As expected, the newly elected town Parliament had rejected Lisbon's "scorched-earth" order.
The British cavalry apparently feared being repelled by this town of over 3,000 people, so they had summoned another squadron—normally, they carried out missions dispersed into groups of fifty riders to a squadron. After all, this area lay within the supply lines of the Franco-Spanish Allied Forces. If their forces were too concentrated, they could easily be wiped out. Yet the French Cavalry Company commander smiled. "No, our 'vacation' is over."
Dusal Town.
Laplaisir, the Militia Battalion commander, nervously stared through his Telescope at the open ground to the west.