Arthur Wellesley appears in the center of the room behind his table, pointing a flintlock at the doorway. Once British soldiers came in. He slowly lowered his weapon, realizing he’s dealing with his own troops.

“Scum, scum of the earth really. Here after all the true gentlemen deserted their post?”

Briton: Scum? Who are you supposed to be?

“Arthur Wellesley. I don’t suppose you are taking the nightwatch?” Briton: No sir. How do we get out?

Wellesley gestured his pistol towards south-east amongst the wall. “The Westminster bridge. It’s a ten minute walk normally but with those shambling monsters on the streets I don’t suppose it would be more than fifteen. Albeit they’ll blow it in twelve. Luckily for you, theres a few men of the Royal Waggon Train down stairs, with luck you’ll make it.”

Wellesley sat down on his wooden chair, as he lend out his pocket watch and placed it on the table. “Here. If any of you can read it.” Wellesley said, standing up and facing towards the window, arms crossed on his back, looking into the night sky. “Your only way out of the city is lost at midnight.”

He grabbed a pole of the king’s colours, offering it to the men in front of him. “The king’s colours. Save it would you?” He paused, as the British soldiers took the flag, he stood back in front of the large posh window, looking back into the night sky.

“Go on, save yourselves.”

Briton: Aren’t you coming with us sir?” “They couldn’t forgive me for Belgium. They won’t forgive me for London! Go on, save yourselves.”