[ no matter what the reason -- money, meals, or magistrates -- sharpe likes to think that a man in the british army has the great capacity to become brave. perhaps not every man and perhaps not right away, but eventually a soldier may find his path has brought him a-knocking on bravery's door and it's up to each bastard to decide for himself whether he's ready to take up that mantle.

for sharpe, it had been a quiet moment in seringapatam when he decided that desertion wasn't what he wanted for himself. the moment hadn't found him in the heat of battle nor in the clash of ideologies but in a dank cell under the sultan's palace. it had come to him in the form of a page ripped from revelations. but it wasn't bible study what saved his immortal soul; it was reading. or, more accurately, the drive to learn how to read. because learning to read bettered his chances of becoming a sergeant and -- all at once -- sharpe had a goal. and he had a springboard for bravery.

years later, though his reading is still barely up to scratch, he carries that courage with him. it isn't the courage to throw himself at every enemy, for behaviour such as that is foolish and suicidal. no -- it's the courage to damn well be the best soldier he can be. and it's the courage to be patient with the men he commands and help them do the same. for as he'd already intimated, his battles are won on the strength of thousands of men manoeuvring together. sharpe doesn't like taking men into battle unless there's more than an even chance of getting them out alive. it's a promise he makes to those who follow him. it's the way in which he defines victory and bravery. throwing mens' lives away could never be brave. ]

Some of'em are, lass. [ his voiced answer is much simpler. ] And some of them merely never knew what they was getting themselves into. The recruiting sergeants paint a prettier picture of the army than they've any right to.

[ but can sharpe blame them? ]