Fifth Night in Camp

She squeaked as a very muddy Hagman made a lunge, and she threw the ball as deep into the melee as she could, away from herself.

"What a mess!" she laughed joyously, smiling up at Cotton and showing her hands.

Edrington started to get to his feet, then fell flat again, arms over head, as everyone charged past in pursuit of the ball, thrown back in from the crowd - by Maggie Evans, of all people. Only the thought of what Private Abernethy would say stopped him from laughing - no, that made it even funnier. He picked himself up and stood for a moment, gathering his wits and his breath.

Cotton grinned. "Be more messy if so be you hadn't chucked it back at 'em, lass," he said. "Can't believe the Colonel's playin' an all. Who'd have thought it?"

"Captain Vickery should be in there! Or no - General Wellesley."

Willoughby was holding in laughter at the sight of his lordship. Covered in mud from head to toe, he more resembled a bog monster than anything human, let alone of rank. And his antics of falling flat again, just amplified the amusement. He blinked when he realised the mass of bodies was coming past in the direction and began struggling to his feet, to get out of the way.

Nice throw that Cotton's lass had done. A good strong one!

"The Captain's been known to join in, but not when it's muddy like this here." He laughed at the thought of the General playing with the men, though. "Can't see Sir Arthur gettin' all muddy though, can you?"

(OOC - I'm having an early night tonight; I've got the OMG o'clock shift tomorrow...)

[What??? I don't ply any of the men, thank you!

OOCL Nightie night! Sleep well.]

Someone had scored, but it was impossible to see who, or ... But there was not time to wonder if anybody was keeping score as the ball emerged, thrown hard out so that it bounced twice before the mud caught it and it rolled soggily towards the spectators. Harris, on the edge of the pack, got there first, scooped it up and turned to throw it towards Lieutenant Sharpe.

[OOC - have a good night!]

He saw the ball snatched from the ground and lunged himself at its possessor - a frontal attack -, though his aim was more to get the ball than the man. "Down with you!"

"Damned horse-boy," Harris growled as the hussar threw himself at him again. The ball slipped from his grasp but he managed to get a foot to it, and kick it away, which took him off balance... He wrapped one arm round Willoughby to bring him down with him.

Try as he might, it was a given thing that he would fall under the force and weight of the rifleman. He landed atop Harris with a loud oomph.

"Damned as he is, he's still got you down in the mud!" He reached up to wipe some of it from his (own) face, but it only smeared it further.

"Oh, 's you again!" He grinned triumphant at Carty's teacher. Since twice he's been rolled and turned and yanked, it was finally the other way around. Still chuckling he looked up to see where the ball had gone, lost in the chaos of bodies and mud.

And with everyone distracted, Perkins easily grabbed the ball and broke into a run. Why was there no one near the kettle to pass the ball to? Well, he would just have to do it himself. With a shout, he hurled the ball into the pot with such force that it bounced out again high into the air. But that was enough! "Yes, yes! Ah ha!!!"

Edrington saw the ball bounce high into the air, and ran to place himself underneath it. Like catching the ball in cricket, only you couldn't do it one handed. Someone unrecognizable under the mud was running towards him and he leapt up to seize it out of the air.

"No fair!" Perkins yelled when he saw how easy it was going to be for the colonel to score another goal. While someone was lunging for the colonel, Perkins lunged for the kettle and dragged it several feet away.

(lol, hey that's an idea! Why be satisfied with getting the ball when it's the kettle everyone wants XD)

A score for the mud covered team, winning the goal against the other mud covered team! Oh not that it mattered at all. Willoughby pushed himself upwards in a valiant attempt to disentangle himself from Harris. He eased his weight from his other foot and shook his head bursting into laughter at the sight of the kettle dive. "Kettle on the run!!"

"Hush, shut it, you! I'm on your team!" Perkins cried in a mock whisper. "Ben Perkins. Hello!" before running off knock Carty into the mud.

Harris released him, and swore. His team had the ball, but Perkins - the young rapscallion - had taken the kettle. The Colonel was bound to be brought down before he could reach it. Carty was already down.

Ben Perkings. Another name to remember, with .. hardly a face to connect it with. The voice would do.

He broke off into a run, free from the rifleman. The ball, ought to get that one now, before his lordship - if that was even him under there - could get to the kettle. He saw muddy faces to the left and right, not quite sure if any of them were on their team, or they were rushing in to help their own.

The mucky floors made the most amusing kind of sounds when feet crossed them. Almost there. He reached for the ball with one hand, trying to get it past Edrington's to knock the ball out of his grasp.

"Argh! Gerroff, Ben!" Carty struggled, giggling as he hit at his friend, trying to slide out from under him in the mud. He looked back, and upside down saw Edrington sprinting with the ball, the Hussar gaining on him. "Go on, Colonel!"

There was no one up on their feet to help him, and Willoughby was too close, and reaching for the ball... Edrington used his shoulder to shield the ball and to knock the hussar aside. The kettle was lying beside Perkins, who was still in the mud with Carty.

Putting the ball in the kettle was probably one of the most satisfying things he had done.

At the dull, splattering clunk Carty finally managed to push Perkins off him, cheering, praising the Colonel in highly eloquent Irish, comparing him to Cormac Mac Airt, Fionn Mac Cumhaill, even the great Cú Chulainn himself for such a feat, his voice raising in picth to a shriek of gleeful excitement. "Chomh haerach le rí, chomh láidir le Goll mac Mórna, chomh gasta le gaoth! Hurrah!"

Harris limped up, grinned at Carty and said "Well done, sir, that's what he means - I think." He took the ball back out of the kettle, lifted it up, and as the other players began to move back towards the edge of the muddy patch, threw it over their heads.

"No more hurrahs!" Perkins grumbled as he pushed Carty into the mud again and scrambled to his feet. "Ha!" he shouted, throwing a wad of the muck at his friend. It splatted satisfactorily on his chest. "Goal!"

He'd made a good splat when his lordship had knocked him aside but now he was back on his feet. Slipping and sliding as he made his way back in the direction of the ball that was passing overhead. First one of the mud covered men caught it, he had it knocked from his arms by another, who's lost hold of it to the third who slipped and fell. Then the first and the second had dived for the ball, which made the third near disappear in the mudd and the ball sproing from under him with a rather odd sound.

It was picked and passed over a few heads, and one of the brown men caught it, slipped on the mud and wend splashing back to the earth. Willoughby had been at last closest to him and snatching the ball from the mud, he threw it with fair force towards Ben Perkins, or atleast the last time he'd followed him running, that figure belonged to that name.

If it was anything to judge by, by Perkins' and Carty's exchange, a mud fight itself was approaching dangerously.

Edrington was still laughing as he caught Perkins' arm, drawn back to throw more mud, and pulled him away from the Irish boy. "Carty! Get the ball!"