The Riflemen's sheds

"You chatter too much - you need to think more, before saying anything. Like - " Mommsen hesitated and then said: "I think you misunderstand Captain Vickery. A rifleman obeys orders always - or he gets flogged. It is not a choice - you are not more clever than the man who gives the orders. You obey. Understand?"

"I ..I think he meant that you can think and tell what you think, but..." He turned quiet again and just listened and thought and then waited as if expecting Mommsen to continue with his train of thought. It took him a few moments before he opened his mouth again.

"...I'd follow ..always anyway. ..it's how re..redcoats are trained."

Mommsen shook his head. "Captain Vickery does not want you to tell him what you think about his orders. You think that the Rifles is the French Republic, and you can chop off the Captain's head if you disagree with him? Or even argue when given an order? No. The rifle company is no different. Only, when you are out on your own, you need to think then. Not to march straight on when you see the French, but to report it to the lieutenant. Then you obey him." Gott in Himmel, did this fool really think that Captain Vickery would want Pye's opinion on his orders?

It was clear that there had to be a gap in communication and understanding between what one and the other had thought the other had said, but Pye did not think it needed any explaining or pressing of the matter. Instead he just nodded, then shrugged and nodded again keeping his peace and silence.

He glanced at packs to their left then looked again at Mommsen. "When do we start learnin' the skirmishin' more?"

The silence was so brief as to be no more than a breath. And then another stupid question.

"It is the middle of night, Pye. And tomorrow there will be no times for you to have lessons - we may catch up with the French. If you do not know enough - the bugle calls, or the drill - then you must stay behind, walk with the column and not get in the way of those that fight."

Why did everybody always think that if one would ask when, he was asking in the same day. Could they not think beyond that day. When did not mean only the hour but rather the occasion, maybe even the day the part of the day in the future. A general question too, as nobody knew what the future would hold. If the French came first, then there would be fighting, but upon the occasion that they did not or that they had peace for a few days, when then.

He had already taken part in a skirmish. Following with the two English he'd done what they did. He'd moved when they did. He wasn't in the way then, and earlier too, in the semetary he and Carty had shot a French man. Being in the way? He did not understand the hostility. What did he do wrong again? He remembered Carty being able to ask anything and there'd be everybody understanding what he meant and nobody looking down on the boy.

He shrugged. People played favourites. Turning to look at Mommsen he added only: "I don't know them enough.. I've only been with the rifles for a very short time. Captain Vickery sent me to fight though a'ready n' I wasn't in the way then." It wasn't a self confident pat on the back, but a statement. He wouldn't have boasted about anything ever. Not his style, not in his manner.

"N'.. I didn't ask now, I asked in t' future.. tomorro', after that..whenever..." He shrugged. Hostility from the Germans, why? Well he wasn't going to dwell on it, just to good when it counted. Whether it be fighting, firing, cleaning his rifle or bringing water back to camp.

"First lesson - now, while we are here, and the French are not." Mommsen sensed the young man's resentment. Well, they had transferred him to Sergeant Stierli's squad, and he was meant to keep an eye on him. Because, Stierli had said, he had a lad of his own!

"You chatter too much. All the time, even when others try to sleep. If we are skirmishing or on picquet you must not chatter. Use your eyes, your ears, your nose even. Your mouth - much less. Did no one tell you that? In the 33rd? or Sergeant Roper?"

"I know that and I wouldn't.." He tried to understand the man though. This man didn't know him, his background nor the 33rd much probably. Just because he had started for the first , actual time to speak some more, he may have let it go a bit out of hand or maybe, he did not. It didn't feel like he talked any more than all the rest of the men, but then, people always judged others, especially the new.

"..wos' under sergeant Hakeswill. Didn't talk." If it meant he had to be around these German people as he was then, that was easy to do. Just go back to doing as told without the 'having a friend' part, during the off duty time. A friend 'cept the feathery sort he now held under his jacket.

The lad shrugged. Living amongst the sort who deemed him just one of the scum wasn't something new. In the 33rd that's what soldiers were. Good to drill into perfection, but always nothing more. He looked at Mommsen and waited. If there was no more to be said he could go to sleep. Wake up early tomorrow, have all of the things ready before the rest woke, do the usual really, and be ready, as silent as a mouse, for when the march started. He yawned and reached into his coat. It would have to dry on him or else shrink, but he would be warm enough, probably. He began to move towards the spot where he could curl up and sleep, in silence as demanded.

Well, it was as he expected. The end of the day and so as earlier intended he slowly walked back to his corner, dry enough in comparison to the outside world. He yawned and tucked the small animal so that he would not roll onto it, but that it would be warm enough. He yawned, and curled regretting his moving from the English rifles to these. He didn't know what he'd done wrong exactly and he decided that he ought not have cared. People had their opinions and often made up on wrong grounds, on personal agendas. He did not serve in the army for that. He served to shoot the Frogs, obey his officers and do his best while he was at it.

He pushed his pack under his head and used it as a pillow, laid his hat to the left of him, rolled to the side and closed his eyes. Tomorrow he could do the usual. Fetch water, get back, clean his kit and make sure that the rifle wasn't wet. The weapon, he gazed at it with a smile, would receive it's proper attention yet again at that time. Just as he was learnt. Take care of it, have it clean and ready, and it will never fail you.

He wasn't sure if he heard snoring from the other men or if they would remain awake, but frankly to each his own. He wasn't going out, so at best he was going to sleep it off. Maybe regret just that his egg didn't turn out to be food. Bloody luck in that.