2 June; Whistle while you work

The biggest complaint McIntyre had about being permanently land-bound was the need for constant movement. In order to get from place to place, one had to march. He supposed he should be used to it by now, but somehow every day's endless marching was almost like a brand-new experience. It served to remind him that he should have gone back into the Corps sooner.

Couldn't be helped now, though. Besides. For the time being, he had it pretty easy. Sticking close by this grasshopper officer until he was well enough to look after himself was not a bad duty, all things considered. McIntyre was going about the business of attending that duty now, taking advantage of a halt to tramp back toward the cart the grasshopper had been given. He'd left his canteen with the cart a while ago and was on his way to retrieve it, with the thought that it would most likely need refilling.

Despite the old superstition against it, he found himself whistling. It was a good day, all things considered.

Hearing someone coming Hakeswill did his best to get out of sight, though he knew that it was highly unlikely that he wouldn't be noticed. For one, he was away from where he should be and there was not much of a legitimate reason for him to be lurking around the temporary baggage of Vickery's company. He was here, primarily and possibly against all better caution, to see if he could find another opportunity to cause damage to either Cotton, his sweet little Maggie - or even the good captain himself, as since Lisbon the sergeant had learnt that Vickery was an acquaintance of the (he supposed by now) late Captain Jonathan Padstowe, who had been a guest at Vickery's meagre lodgings on the night he met with his fatal accident. There, Hakeswill supposed, was an opportunity of some sort for the taking; if only he could discover what.

Present matters delayed one strategy for a while though, as the news was that Cotton had been captured by the French in the skirmish and Vickery, wounded, was being served by a temporary batman. There might be the opportunity he was waiting for, but he wasn't sure. Not yet.

As it often did when he was away from a ready supply of rations, McInytre's thoughts were centred on food. More specifically, the acquisition of anything that could be cooked so his officer at least did not go hungry. He had used up the last of the aging pork cuts that morning and the cheese in his breadbag was going mouldy. The bread too would not be edible much longer.

Which meant he would have to improvise, or beg, borrow, and steal whatever he could. This was not going to be an easy thing, with plenty of other men doing the same. At least he had a dog that could hunt. When the blasted creature was around, anyway. He'd not seen the animal since the morning, in fact. Damned fickle beast...

McIntyre paused to hitch his musket sling a little higher up his shoulder, not really paying any mind to anything around him. It seemed quiet enough in the train today.

Hakeswill had managed to conceal himself around the other side of the cart and the soldier, whoever it was, didn't seem to have noticed him.

What Hakeswill had noticed, though, was the glimpse of another red coat. Now what was another redcoat doing here, when he himself had precious little to be - and he a sergeant! It was a question that Hakeswill felt needed answering. And then he saw the dog.

The dog was sitting a couple of yards away - Lord knew when it had arrived - and was watching him carefully. As they made eye contact the beast growled, and then it started barking.

An outbreak of barking from close by caused McIntyre to look up, as much in surprise as curiosity. Was that his dog? It was possible. Just as it was possible that it was some other dog that hung about here.

"What's all that daft noise for, dog?" He called out, moving toward the barking. For the moment, he assumed it was his own dog, which meant corralling it was in order. "If you ain't found somethin' for eatin', you'd best shut it."

Hakeswill swore and lashed out a kick in the dog's direction, never with a hope of connecting at that distance, but then stopped as the redcoat came around from the other side of the cart, telling the creature to shut up. Swiftly Hakeswill took in the colour of the man's facings and thanked his mother for his good fortune. He pulled himself up to his not inconsiderable height and leered at McIntyre.

"This beast yours, is it?" he growled.

There was somebody else there too. Another redcoat - a sergeant. From his own regiment at that. McIntyre stopped short and straightened his back.

"Aye, Sarn't," he replied, having ascertained in a glance that the dog was indeed his. "Was just lookin' for him. He don't mean no harm."

Or maybe it did, as it had subsided from barking but a low growl still rumbled in its throat. Stupid mutt.