22nd June - Engaging the Locals

Frowning, Jarreau squinted at the newcomers. "Dutch, by the look of 'em." He shook his head. "All that's missing are some musicians and we'd be as patchwork as the damned Portuguese."

His own sergeant, he noticed, had broken from the men and was heading in his direction. When the man recognized that he had the officer's attention, however, he stopped and brandished his canteen. Jarreau nodded in assent to the unspoken question, watching as the well ordered ranks of his half company dissolved into a far more natural state of unhurried chaos the moment the sergeant confirmed their release.

"Thirsty?" he asked, turning to the young sous-lieutenant.

DeChagney swallowed, looked around whether his colonel was needing him, then nodded eagerly.

"Yes, Sir! A sip of water would be ... good!"

He was looking around wide-eyed again, trying to take in what was happening. He had never before seen Dutch (frankly, he had only a rather patchy idea where they came from anyway).

"Uh ... do they speak French? The Dutch, I mean? Because ... I don't know any other language. Only some Latin phrases. Oh, and ¡joder! of course."

Jarreau laughed out loud at that. "Of course. I don't know. Their officer, at least, ought to speak French." His grin turned rueful as he glanced over at the Dutch captain. "At any rate, I hope he does. Because I don't want his food and I don't want to **** him, and that's about all I ever learned of their wretched language."

The young lad blushed at Jarreau's words.

"Uh, hm ... yes?"

He swallowed. This was a topic he hadn't any experience with ...

"Yes," Jarreau replied, noting that the sous-lieutenant's face was markedly redder than it had been moments ago. Trying unsuccessfully to hide his amusement, he added,"Let's see, ah...neuken. There. Now you know it in three languages."

"Neu-ken!" the young man repeated with a very serious face, commiting the word to memory. Then he grinned up at the lieutenant. "Thank you, Sir! I hope I will need it soon!"

The last bit was said wistfully, but with a good measure of trepidation as well. To hide his blush, the young officer looked around, searching for 'his' men with his eyes. A bit uncertain about the correct proceedings, he asked:

"Uh ... Sir ... do we have to watch the men now? I mean, should we stay here or go down to the river? I think the Colonel has gone there."

"No, Sergent Gauthier knows his business. But I wouldn't mind getting out of this blasted sun for a moment. Some fresh water wouldn't do any harm, either. You got a canteen?"

"Yes, Sir! Here!"

The young lad held up his filled canteen to the lieutenant proudly.

"Should we go over there? It should be cooler under the trees, and ... well, perhaps Terence - my horse - can graze a bit."

The animal had nodded off behind him, but briefly flicked his ears now. It certainly looked as if it wanted to leave the heat just as much as the men.

"Might as well. C'mon." He ran his eyes over DeChagney's horse as they started forward. It was a fine looking animal, at least to his eyes and he found himself envying the young officer. "Is he really yours?"

DeChagney nodded proudly and patted the horse's neck.

"My godfather gave him to me when I came here. He is a very good horse."

Perhaps not in terms of speed and breeding, but his Renardeau was patient and friendly, and had more than once proofed a good companion for an insecure, lonely boy.

"Do you ride sometimes, too, Sir?"

Charcot came ambling up to them, a canteen held in his hand. "Here y'are, Monsieur Jarreau," he said, handing it to him.

What the devil? Jarreau looked down, but his own canteen was right where it ought to have been. Masking his confusion, he nodded curtly to the other man. "Thank you, Charcot. I have all I need, though."

Charcot frowned with confusion, looked at the canteen in his hand, and wandered away.

Jarreau watched him go, then shook his head, trying to recall what he had been about to say before Charcot's arrival. Something about horses? Yes. Damn. He was reluctant to admit to lacking the means to furnish himself such a creature, but answered truthfully enough. "Sometimes, aye."

They were under the trees now and Jarreau lead the way until they reached the place on the riverbank where his own men had congregated. Unceremoniously pulling off his shako, he knelt on the mossy overhang and, hanging onto a sapling with one hand, leaned forward to dip his canteen into the lazy current.

He didn't bother letting it fill completely, but instead rocked back and upended it over his head, cursing softly for the pure release of it.

DeChagney's horse whinnied and and turned towards the water, but his young owner, looking almost fearfully at the men, steered it downstream until it was past the last man of the group before allowing it to step into the water. The gelding snorted good-naturedly and bend his neck to drink, allowing the cool water to run around his fetlocks.

DeChagney left him standing there, filled his own canteen and wadded back to Jarreau.

"How long do you think we have before we have to march, Sir?", he asked, unconsciously keeping the lieutenant between himself and the soldiers.

"Damned if I know," grumbled the lieutenant, refilling his canteen and slipping the cord back over his shoulder. "It had better be soon, though. We've wasted enough daylight scrapin' this mess together."

His wish seemed to have been heard, because just then Colonel Beuret appeared again and dismounted, allowing his horse to drink as well.

"Lieutenant, please have the men make ready to set out. Hopefully this will serve as an example for the other parts of our troop as well. I shall accompany you for a bit."

Duuring was lying, half asleep. His shako and musket were on the ground next to him, his jacket open. The rest of the company, even the officers, were resting in the same manner.
A few men had lighten pipes, one sergeant even a cigar, but most of the Dutch soldiers found it far to warm to smoke.

Duuring half-opened his eyes, and saw a Dragoon trooper riding up to the captain, saluting. He closed his eyes again. He knew what this meant.
There were no shouts this time, only the sergeants waking up the men and telling them to get their lazy bottoms up. The company was into 2 platoons, each 4 files thick. In a few minutes, two little squares of 60 men each were formed, one behind the other. The captain was in front, looked upon by the four pair of eyes of the soldiers in front.
Which meant, Duuring quickly calculated as he took his place in the back of the 2nd platoon, that the company now occupied about 2 meters in front and more then 15 meters from front to end . Undoubtedly, as they marched up the hill, they would form in a battle line of 3 ranks. Everyone looked up the hill, towards the village, looking for a sign of the enemy.

(OCC: Excuse me if I got the formation wrong. They are in something close to marching order.)

Jarreau straightened up with a curt, "Sir," only just managing to restrain a snort at the colonel's reference to the "other parts" of their troop. Satisfying himself instead with exchanging a rueful glance with DeChagney, he went in search of Gauthier under whose bellowed directive the half company dragged itself into something resembling formation. Their Dutch counterparts, it appeared, were doing the same.

"All set to move out, sir," Jarreau reported, returning to where the colonel stood watering his horse.

"Good."

The colonel slung the reins over his horses head. DeChagney immediatly went to hold the animal while the colonel mounted it.

"Lieutenant, I'll be here only to enjoy the landscape, so please take over our contingent in the troop. M. DeChagney will stay with you, help you in any way he can and observe closely."

The young man nodded eagerly, then remembered his manners, bowed to Jarreau and said a bit awkwardly:

"I would very much like to learn from you, Sir! I hope I will be not in your way."

"Yes, sir," he acknowledged, then jerked his head at DeChagney. "C'mon," he said gruffly, unsure how to react to the boy's deference.

"Anything I should know about your lads?" he asked the sous-lieutenant while they were still out of earshot of their respective companies.

"Sir!" Charcot cried, interrupting once again as he came running toward the two officers. "Sorry sir. I got them mixed up. I had the wrong one before, but Lanlaire says that this one is yours." He held a canteen out to Jarreau.

"Soldat Charcot," Jarreau snapped, "Get back in formation."

"Uhm, I'm not sure, Sir. What would you need to know?", the boy asked doubtfully. He didn't know 'the men' very well yet - truth be told he was rather wary of them - and had no idea what was important and what not.

"They have not been out on patrol, fighting or on fatigue duty for three days?"

Hopefully that was an important information, as it was the only thing the young Sous could think of. But as it meant that they were considerably less exhausted than their Dutch counterparts, he offered it up anyway, even if it sounded more like a question.

---

The Colonel raised an eyebrow at the eager, but somewhat missplaced offer and had to hide a smile while he guided his horse back to where the cavalry officer was standing. The whole episode had reminded him of the guignol - and he had quite enjoyed not playing a part in it, but watching for once.

Charcot blinked back his surprise and then hurried to obey the order, still confused. But sometimes Monsieur Jarreau was impossible to please.