60th's billet

Still not in English Weber replied: "Observing it infront of a sergeant of some foot Regiment who've you just met when.. Today?.. Yesterday? What do you know of him? He's awake, last I've seen, egging you on like hounds for the kill. All ears, and not one of us,if my eyes don't fail me."

He didn't particularly agree with some things, but he preferred that any trouble and ill sounding conversation remained in their lines and was not shared with strangers, least those who were not mere privates even, nor friends.

"The wretch there's asleep. What could he do?"

"I'm sure he's real asleep," Mommsen grumbled, looking over at Pye.

"But, Meister did suggest our talk befits the ears of a sergeant, why such worry then?" Weber's tone was only mildly sarcastic.

"Because the sergeant is not in the 60th. Because the sergeant might know something about Pye. Because the sergeant is from the 33rd, which I hear is where Evans has been sharing her wares," Meister said, soft and harsh. "Because the sergeant has been joining in this talk, and thus is just as likely to get in trouble if he is discovered, or if he speaks of it - he cannot say 'Yes, I got drunk and bad-mouthed officers for several hours, thought you should know.'"

Stubenrauch tapped the pipe against his boot, and began to refill it. The Sergeant didn't have it in for them, after all, but for the Englishmen, and that was no skin off his nose. Pye was another matter, and he was happier now they were speaking in German, even if his Schwabish ears had difficulty understanding Meister's Frisian voice, and Mommsen's Platdeutsch. "Perhaps the Sergeant knows enough to silence Pye," he said. "But I do not trust him - straight into Fickery's good books - probably licks his boots clean after each march."

"And his arse," said Meister, to a round of laughs; he ignored them, and translated the jest for the Sergeant, before resuming talk in German. "Were Fickery not obviously doing for Evans, I might suspect..."

"And he cannot say, he had only ever overheard us? That he had come when we've already had a deep conversation of complaints, of near mutiny against our own officers? Who'll they believe? " His voice betrayed less, than his words did.

" I don't trust him, Meister. That's all. Find what you can about the new guy, but let him do the talking. Especially about them complaints and hope he's a good sort. As for Evans.. I'll reserve my judgment on that."

(this part after Meister's last talk) He glanced at Stubenrauch and nodded in response. Then looked up at the outburst of laughs and jest with an arched brow at what was said next.

Meister slapped Weber about the back of the head. "You stupid bastard! No one ever mentioned... that word, and if you want us to live you won't either. Damned stupid idiot. If that were the case, we'd have been speaking German from the start, and the rest all saw him come in." Meister bared his teeth in what could be called a smile. "Shall I say that, will I? Say to the sergeant that you don't like the look of him? Think he can't be trusted? He's a big man, Weber."

"Never hurt to be cautious, Meister." Weber looked at the man, but judged him somewhat drunk so there was nothing further than a shove and a smile, which could be translated as anything to a man who wouldn't understand them. Braun looked between the two and muttered something along the lines of: "Take it easy, boys." And turned back to his cards, placing the shuffled and counted pack between him and his friend.

"Anyway.. there won't be a case where the word should become a reality, I'll hope you agree." He lifted a portion of the carts and placed them to the side, Braun taking the pile left.

"Never hurts to be cautious?" Stubenrauch said in utter amazement. "Gott in Himmel, what sort of soldier are you? A shirker, like the English: no wonder you defend them. You'd probably be happier travelling at the back, with the whores."

Weber was quicker than Braun, his fist clamping down on Stubenrauch's collar, his eyes ice cold. "With your words, idiot!!" He hissed, his knuckles white. "I am not a shirker and you bloody know it!" His hold tightened.

"Weber, knock it off! Stubenrauch, watch your ficking tongue!"

Weber released his hold taking a step back.

Several times he caught his name mentioned, but they were speaking in a foreign language. It sounded odd and he strained to understand, thinking it was just muffled English. The more he listened though, the more he was certain it wasn't. His arm was falling asleep, standing in that forced position, so he shifted it a little, wiggling his fingers.

Waidmann, who had watched the petty squabble with the air of a father indulging his children's antics, commented dryly:

"You know, the bint is really not worth the trouble."

"Waidmann's right." Braun agreed observing the two.

"...We've got him there. Let's hear what useful things he has to say." And then he switched to English: "As we were .. sergeant.." He nodded to Hakeswill.

Meister glared around, but turned to Hakeswill. "We were wondering about your opinion on other things, sergeant. Pye, for one. Snitch, is he, do you think?"

Hakeswill sat back and grinned. It was amazing how little he'd had to contribute to start the accusations rolling.

"Now, lads," he said, in a good impression of calming reason. "It's not for me to start pointing fingers, is it?"

"You might," said Meister with a shrug, taking a swig out of the bottle.

Hakeswill gave him a leering smile.

"Don't bet on it, mine hair," he said. Now was the time to back off; push a little, then don't get caught in the act whe people started asking awkward questions.

"We're not asking you to point fingers, sergeant. Just'.. offer a little of your knowledge. Facts. " Braun shrugged.

Weber turned and sat, his attention on the cards, sparing a glance at the sleeping rifleboy.

Hakeswill tilted his head to one side, as if considering.

"Well, I don't know as if I've got facts as right," he said slowly. "But put it like this; he's sneaked off to you lot without permission, but strange, is it not, that our colonel's not desperately keen to drag 'im back? If you gets my meaning."

"'Cause he's a workshy little bastard, like the rest of them," said Meister.

"...seen him bringing water for tea early in the morning more than once.." Weber commented, his eyes on the cards.

Braun looked at the sergeant. "What I heard is, he transferred. Would be called desertion if it were anything else." He didn't care much for the brat, but some things just didn't add up, as much as he hated to admit that.

Hakeswill shrugged in a non-committed fashion, and took another swig from his bottle.

"You'll know more about it than me, lads. I thanks you for your hospitality, an your wallop, but I shoulds be gettin' back to me colonel. Sergeant's work is never done..."

Weber looked up, Braun looked at his friend and at the cards which lay between them. Some use the sergeant was. Came, stirred trouble, helped them get drunk so that their tongues would be more eager to speak, luckily they all shared the more important part of conversation in the language he could only hope was not known to the old man, and was now going, leaving them none the wisest. Trouble. Just as he'd thought.

Pye was still wide awake and listening. They should've been ashamed of themselves speaking so poorly about Captain Vickery, about Cotton and about miss Maggie, Cotton's lass.

He sneezed and covered his nose, quick to close his eyes and lay as he did earlier. Be seen as if he'd sneezed in his sleep.