Sharpe What are you smiling at, Sergeant?
[stops smiling] Nothing, sir. Sorry, sir.
A good soldier should have a reason before he suffers himself to smile. Name!
Rossner, sir!
Do you know what makes a good soldier, Rossner?
Yes, sir! The ability to fire off three rounds a minute in any weather, sir!
[Sharpe walks back over to Frederickson, smiling a little.]
What are you smiling at, Fredrickson?
I'm not smiling, sir. A musket ball broke my jaw. I have false teeth. The sawbones stuck on the smile for free, sir. He also stuck on my hair. Hair belongs to a horse, sir.
Do you know what makes a good soldier, Frederickson?
Yes, sir. Keeping his mouth shut when he's asked damn-fool questions by a superior officer, sir.
[smiling] You don't give a damn, do you Frederickson?
No, sir. I just do my duty.
You'll do fine.
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