9 June; Roving

Mean-spirited sod. Some people just couldn't be helped, though. They must be nearly there now, he thought. The 60th couldn't possibly be bivouacked leagues past the rest of the army.

Scratch that. Being Rifles, of course they could be.

"Quiet yerself, laddie," Burr rumbled, shaking off his lethargy enough to correct the hard-faced private.

They were passing camp fires now and curious soldiers stared at them as they shuffled along.

Pye kept his gaze low, ignoring the faces, the curious glances and just walking along, obeying Burr's order with great eagerness. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and then the other, tugged at the front of his coat and then relaxed his arms against his sides again. He dearly hoped that they would stop soon, and that during the wait for the captain, the others would have a change of heart.

Finally. Some familiar faces. They were back where they belonged.

One of the German Riflemen came up to the group and naturally, in Cotton's opinion, addressed himself to Sergeant Fischer.

There were new humans in the camp. The dog picked his head up from where it had been resting on his paws and looked toward the newcomers, ears pricked with interest. Where had these ones come from?

This wanted investigating. He got up and approached the new humans with an obvious bounce in his step. New things to smell!

The ball of fur wasn't hard to notice in the dark, with his pelt lighter than the general surroundings. It's curious nature was something that Pye had loathed as it brought the beast closer. What cruel luck had this creature so close? Pye shuffled his feet and began to move towards the side evenif the dog was not even zeroing in on him. This made McCoy give the lad a harsher warning. Don't try anything.

"Ah leave it alone, Pye. It's only a dog, ain't goin' to hurt anythin'," Cotton muttered, though it was somewhat amusing, seeing Pye afraid of a little friendly dog.

Easy for Cotton to say! Easy, when he was ignorant of the evils of such a beast! Pye prayed that the dog might keep his distance, and run along towards the sergeants instead - especially if it meant to attack. "s' not." Was his mumbled reply.


"'ere doggy. Come on' over!" Pye would have smacked the bearer of the voice if that would not have triggered a full out blown attack onto his own person.

Judging by the general stir amongst the men, there was something happening. McIntyre looked up from the shoe he was mending and realised there were more Riflemen coming in. A weary-looking bunch of them - and with two redcoats escorting them at that. He set the shoe aside and stood up.

"Sir," he said, poking his head around the tent flap. "There's some lads just come in under guard, seems."

~



Most of these humans were friendly. Hands and fingers were held out to him to sniff, so he made the rounds amongst them happily, his tail wagging as a sign of his pleasure at being made of.

"Go , scram!" Though it was an attempt to appear tough and to instill fear in the mutt, Pye was ready to scram himself. His voice was... safe to say, not all that threatening either.

McCoy reached out towards the dog to let him sniff his fingers before he was to pet him behind the ears. Sweet thing.

Gerold chuckles as Pye tries the shoo the dog away.
"good war shout, Zack will scare plenty frogs with it...once voice broken, ja?"

Pye stiffened, glancing towards the rifleman, whose accent was easily distinguishing him as not originally English. Way to draw attention to oneself all after wanting to keep it directed towards the injured.
The blue Frog coat he had been made to keep, was luckily not so obvious in the dark, but it was still better not to stare at it directly. Not until he would get it off. If... he would, which is something he did not know when it could happen, especially considering the other fellow escapees.

No retort came, notinsomuch as a glare followed. The pursed lips allowed an incoherent mumble, which however got cut short pretty early into its making.

He paused and peered closer at what pye was wearing. Before stepping away from the tree her had been leaning against.

"Zat is no green jacket zack, why for you not wear green?"

He eyed Pye suspiciously, not really knowing where the group had been.

Pye turned to look at the man, quiet for a few moments. When he did speak it was curt and quick. "Shut it. ..long story. Will explain later." He did not want to speak when the notion of his present state could well mean his early death. Who could take care of his chick, was he to be killed so suddenly? With the present lack of friendship with Cotton and the rest of the escapees, he could expect such a kind act from noone.

Truth be told, he was not quite sure he would get a chance to explain, but any time was better than the present. Perhaps in a very short few moments the riflemen would decide that this was unfair, and foolish and let him finally take his place as he was destined to, earlier.

He could hear various people talking outside; a tent only had thin canvas walls to offer privacy, and of course that didn't cut out the sounds from outside.

He couldn't sleep, and sat up, pulling his jacket towards him and shrugging it on before shoving his feet into his boots and heading towards the tent-flap.

It didn't sound as though there was an attack or something going on, but then, it didn't sound quite like the normal sounds of the bivouac, and the strangeness had Vickery's senses on alert.

Here came the grasshopper now, looking a bit heavy-eyed. McIntyre lifted the flap aside for him. "Evenin', sir," he greeted. "Seems some of your lads've come in under guard."

"Under guard? What on earth for?" Vickery asked, ducking out and hastily buttoning his jacket. He ignored the twinge in his side; it was definitely improving after over a week, but it still pulled if he moved too quickly. "Do you know who? And where are they?"

Why could his men not stay out of trouble?

"Don't know, sir. They're just near the fire now." He pointed toward the newly-arrived gaggle then, for some reason feeling it his responsibility, led the way toward them.

And there was Captain Vickery... and a redcoat? What the hell?

"Captain!" he called across, unable to contain himself. It had been over a week, which was far too long to be away from the Rifles.

Captain? Pye cursed inwardly. Of all the.. He glanced at McCoy then at the floor. He'd missed the opportunity to get muddy enough not to be recognised. But wait, what was the captain doing with a redcoat?... Was this his new... His gaze shifted to Cotton. He considered the strange apparition only momentarily, very quickly realising that he was in a pickle. All thanks to the others. If he was able to dig himself a hole, he would have been sitting in one right now.

They were back. It nearly defied crediting. Newbury set his feet and, clenching his jaw, slid his arms free from the shoulders of the two lads who'd been half-dragging him along. Once suitably unsupported, he managed to lower himself to the ground in a mostly-controlled fashion.

"Huzzah," he grunted and was glad to be stationary again.

Having spotted the captain he snapped to attention with drill square precision slapping the the stock of his baker in salute.

He wondered if the group would explain its absence out in the open or if the Captain would take them into his tent. Either way gossip was gossip and the Hanoverian was eager to listen in.

Vickery returned Hartmann's salute, though he was more concerned with the newly-returned Riflemen.

"Newbury, do you require a surgeon?" he asked. It wasn't like Newbury to end up sitting on the ground in the presence of a superior officer without permission, but he had been under the surgeon's care recovering from a severe beating when the baggage had been over-run.

"Thank you for bringing my men up to us," he added, addressing the redcoat escort.

Surgeon? Newbury blinked and looked up at the captain. The hardship of the past days was definitely catching up to him, and heavily.

"Oh no, sir," he said blithely. "I'll be up in a minute."

The two privates offered salutes. Bell said, "That'll be all, sir?"

It was interesting how their captain never had come up to join them either, he thought.

~

A surgeon sounded like just the thing to Burr. The question had not been put to him however, so he was content to stand quietly by until the group was dismissed. Then he had to find his own regiment and report himself as being returned for duty.

~

"Hey," Zeb Palmer said abruptly. "Sir. What's he doin' here?" He was pointing at the redcoat standing behind Vickery.