27th July, evening; Relentless Mischief

The coming of twilight afforded him the perfect opportunity. He'd had his eye on his prey for a couple of days now and this evening was the perfect time to strike. Tonight, when most of the men were tired after the day's hot fighting and were thus interested only in sleep. He crept along, expertly weaving his way through the as-ever-orderly lines of the regiment's makeshift bivouac. There were a coupe of men he needed to collect before beginning the early evening's work and he hoped they were awake and still game.

"Here, you lads," the drummer hissed, once he'd spotted his comrades. "Rouse up then, wouldja, we ain't got a whole lot of time."

If they dallied, they'd lose their opportunity, and that simply would not do.

"Sod off," Nickerson grumbled, curling over onto his side.

Lazy swine! The drummer prodded Nickerson with his foot, none-too-gently. "C'mon! You promised!"

A heavy tread approached from behind him. The lad glanced up - craning his neck back, in fact - to see who was coming. A grin blossomed immediately on his face. What grand timing!

"Here, Young Peters," he said cheerfully. "This'n's bein' a git and won't rouse. We'll miss our chance if we don't crack on!"

The grenadier grinned. "Can't have that! Shall I grab him up for you?"

"Poxy little snot," growled Nickerson, trying to kick back at the drummer. The arrival of Peters, however, made the question of staying where he was on the ground something of a moot point. Nickerson sat up, glowering blearily up at the shadow towering over him. "Don't you bloody dare."

It was child's play to dance backward out of Nickerson's range. Stupid bugger was too slow by half. "Oh no?" The lad asked with a broad grin. He was so very tempted, but it wasn't any fun if Nickerson didn't stay lying down. And what should the bastard do but sit up? That was no fun.

"Sitting up is a start," said Young Peters. "I wandered past where the little lamb's settled at. He's out like a candle. Silly child."

That meant the time was perfect for getting a move on. "C'mon then! Let's go," the drummer urged.

"I'm up, I'm up. Jesus." Nickerson rolled onto his knees and pushed himself up, nudging one of the still forms close by none too softly. "C'mon, Dan."

Hawley groaned and rolled over, covering his head with his arms. "I told you 'no'," he mumbled, then something which sounded vaguely like, "Heartless bastards, the lot of you." 

Nickerson rolled his eyes and aimed another kick at his mate for good measure, then turned to the others. "A'right."

He was all but bouncing from foot to foot in his eagerness. "Quit dawdlin'! We gotta get to him before he wakes up for anythin'."

Grumbling under his breath, Nickerson fell in with the other two. "Where's he stowed himself anyway? Not near the captain, is he?"

"Nope. About as far from the officers' tents as he could get, I think. Not a good showing for a batman, is it?" Young Peters sounded as though he disapproved.

"Means nobody'll stop us," the drummer said happily. He led off without a backward glance. They had wasted enough time standing around and flapping their gums. Best to get on with it before their quarry woke up.

No officers. That was what Nickerson liked to hear. "What happens if he wakes up 'fore we're finished?" he wanted to know, hurrying to keep up with the other two.

"That's what Elijah's for," was the lad's reply, with a nod toward Young Peters. The grenadier simply grinned.

Nickerson grinned back at the grenadier. It was practically foolproof! "How much farther?"

Young Peters nodded toward a small lump of blanket not far ahead of them. "He's just there. Gone to sleep in all his clothes. It couldn't be more perfect."

"Oi, hold up a minute. We should get the thread and needle sorted beforehand, yeah? Gonna need a glim or some'at."

He produced the necessary items, having already taken care to thread the needle. "Best I got's a candle," he said with a shrug.

Nickerson grinned. "Give it here, then," he said eagerly, taking the candle and fumbling for his own tinderbox. Once a small flame had taken hold, he shielded the light with his shako, blinking as his eyes tried to readjust to the darkness.

Good lad! With a grin, the drummer readied his needle and thread, while Young Peters knelt beside their unsuspecting target's shoulder. He'd be the one to restrain the poor sod should he wake up before they were done.

"Right," he said, once he'd arranged the sleeping man's hands into the necessary position. It was vital for the jacket sleeves to be touching, or else he could not secure them together. He grinned up at his two companions and got straight to work with his needle.

Hunching forward, Nickerson held the candle as near as he could without getting in the drummer's way, trying simultaneously to shield the light so it did not shine on their victim's face. He sucked in a faint, hissing breath as a rivulet of hot wax ran down the candle and across his knuckles. Damnit, he should have wrapped the base in something. But it was too late for that now.

"Shut it," the lad hissed, his whole focus on working the needle in and out of their target's jacket cuffs as quickly as he could. This would only take another moment or two. Once he was done with these, he might try his luck at stitching the silly sod's trouser legs together.

"Well, hurry up!" Nickerson hissed back and froze as the sleeping form beneath them stirred then grew still again. Christ that was close!