The Riflemen's sheds

Pye stared at Hannsen for a few moments not sure what a man and a woman's own thing had to do with food, rabbits or boiled beef. The gesture was not hard figure out, but how it had any connection to eating, hunting, food? It left him shrugging slowly and nodding again, but looking quite blank no less.

"..I guess." He murmured and looked to his rifle. "Why don't you like the English?" He asked softly for he'd heard a complaint enough about it.

Mommsen looked up. "I'm married to an English girl, legal and proper. But that don't mean I have to like all of them, any more than I like all Germans ..."

"So... so is not all that you dislike?" He asked, surprised that Mommsen was married to a lass that wasn't a German , even more so that she was English. "I'm sorry.. I've thought too hastly.." He frowned and added. ".. I don't .. know much..'bout things."

"Dat's vhat he said. He efen married an English girl, god knows why, she can't cook at all. Fine figure of a voman, dough." Hanssen ducked and thus avoided a rap on the head by Mommsen's fist.

"Hey, that's nothing but the truth! And you know it!"

Pye hadn't understood a part of what Hanssen said after he ducked, but the first had him chuckle and so did the attempted manevour to avoid a rap on his head. "Is she 'ere with the army?" He looked curious as he adjusted the front of his coat. His egg still sat comfortable wedged between it and his shirt. He looked at the two sergeants, then moved back against the wall. He felt comfortable there. "Who's your partners?" He asked, meaning that of the rifleman. Perhaps the Germans weren't that bad. If only they had some more food too.

Outside the rain still poured down on those unfortunate enough that they were either on picquet duty or had been unfortunate that they were going to or fro their billet.

No animal was in sight, not a chicken nor a wild creature, all having sought and found shelter somewheres. There was perhaps one unfortunate owl that had been standing atop a branch of a tree and hooted. Shaking her feathers, water dripped from her head and her wings, tail and back, leaving the bird in a sorry wet state.

With a scrambling of claws above them, not as silent a landing of the very bird, her arrival was announced. She hooted once more, before tearing into a small body of a mouse that she had caught. Gazing down at the men she did not seem as fearful. Not even so that she would not shake her wet weathers and some were thus sprinkled with water. Just then it hopped again, further into the dark.

The smile faded. "No, she is not with me. There was a ballot, ja? And she was left behind, my Peggy. Like Stubenrauch's Renele, and Schwalbach's Johanna, Klingsöhr's Anna ... And others, left behind while ... "

His pale blue eyes were full of unresolved anger, like the swell on a sea, and then he shrugged, and turned his attention back to his pipe. "But I write to her ... although I have heared nothing since we left Lisbon."

"Don't vorry about dat. I dink it is just dat de ship vid da mail sunk. You know, I've been talking to the Jäger of the Königlich Deutschen Legion, dey have been sunk any number of times."

He watched the emotions playing over Mommsen's face and knew what he was thinking, but kept his tongue.

Pye observed the two men and wondered if the anger stemmed from the fact that the Germans have been made to leave their girls back home while it looked as the English were picked and prefered by taking their own with them. He did not know how many were taken. One girl that he knew was not married yet and if he understood right she'd not been with the riflemen from the start.

"Germans can all write?" No, probably not. After all not all Englishmen could! Just officers mostly and some of those, that were such rankers as corporals or sergeants. He heard another hoot and sa bits of stray gently swaying to the ground. He felt sorry for Mommsen and his lass not being there but dared not to say it.

Hannsen looked disbelieving. "Of course ve can. You vould have to be really stupid to not learn dat. And you'd get caned a lot."

It was Pye's turn to look disbelieving. All Germans would have to learn to read? They were caned if they didn't? He waited expecting Hannsen to burst into laughter or indicate in any way that he was just teasing him. No such luck, it seemed.

"Why do you learn it? ..does it take.. long? When do you start?" He bit his lip. The man spoke a bit funny with his accent and the way he said some words, but it wasn't all that hard to understand him, once one got used to that.

"Well, I dink the girls don't learn in de catholic countries, dey are terribly backwards about dat. All de children go to school. For six years at least. But how can you live and not read and vrite and do numbers? You can't do anyding vidout dat."

"..Well it's not hard. You do need to know how to... get food and water to live. Writin' wouldn't sate your hunger." He looked up. He lived without knowing to read and write and had survived so far, it was what made him so stunned to imagine every German be able to do just that. Even if he had stayed at the place, he knew he would have known how to do petty work, not write.

And then, for the first time feeling out of place with his lack of that knowledge:" ...I don't know how.. but.. many don't either."

"It is fery strange dat de English don't go to school."

He had known that a lot of the English soldiers couldn't read, but it eluded him why. There had been schools everywhere in his homeland. True, sometimes they were nothing more than a room and a teacher, and the children learned all together, but that just let the better ones help the others. Perhaps the English taught only the most promising children? But that was clearly nothing he could ask Pye about.

"Not for me." That is, it wasn't strange for him. He shook his head. "..I find it.. strange that it's all of you who can read and write. No... no offense meant." He added quickly and tried to imagine how it would be if he could make sense of those scribbles and lines. He could stare at papers for as long as some officers did and not use book paper just to wipe his arse either.

"..but .. it must take ages that you make sense.. of .. any of that!"

Mommsen tapped his pipe, and looked across at Hanssen. "Some English read - my Jackie goes to school, and he'll read the letter to his mother."

"They do. Of course. Some are even real educated.. like t' Harris from the 95th." He didn't know many other than those of higher rank, but of course they could be. They just didn't talk about - oh hey, I can read and write - unless it was someone asking who could write them a letter home, if there was those who couldn't write. He knew that even if the family couldn't read, someone could be found to read for them. Well, that's what he heard , never really seen it happen. But then he was in Portugal and the most he could see is a man reading to a man. Or Cotton being taught to write.

"My boy is being taught by the Methodists ..." Mommsen said in German: "They are like Lutherans - more like Lutherans than the English church, anyway." Then he returned to Pye. "I have seen some reading - reading their bible, or books to improve themselves. Not only ignorant men join the Army. Some quite clever ones too."

"Harris is de red head vho is alvays reading a book, ja? No German books to be had here..."

Hanssen thought about the little group of 95th rifleman that had somehow gotten themselves attached to them. They were good riflemen that knew their work, even the very young one. Privately he thought that that boy should be in Regimental Scholl and training with a fusil, not sharing the men's hardship and carrying a rifle, but he supposed that the boy had proven himself. Children playing at war... he supressed a shudder. It wasn't right.

"Clever, desperate, or t' sort that had gotten a wrong streak in life..'s all sort of people." He didn't understand a part of that speech but decided that if he were to talk with the Germans he better get used to it. He doubted he could learn it.

"It's all sort of them. Though..ain't those that can't read to be lackin' either in other ways. Can be real smart just not having someone to teach 'em to read before." He shrugged. "N' some.. they've just gotten drunk at t' wrong time. Could've been perfectly able to do all the studies.. and did them, " Stories that were as plenty and as varying as the blades of grass and plants in the field. ".and.. could've signed themselves with their whole name, while we others, jus' make a cross. It isn't 'zactly writing that."

Thinking a bout it a moment. "Yes a redhead. He reads different books I guess. He knows to write , that's for sure. And speak some languages, not just English or so I've heard."

Stubenrauch looked up from the pot he was stirring. The young English rifleman had been put into their squad - someone had to take him and teach him the right things to do. Mommsen had ... volunteered. But Stubenrauch had not realised just how ignorant the boy was. Mommsen would have his work cut out.

But now the dinner - the usual stew - was ready, and he slid a flat skillet onto the fire as he hooked the large stew-kettle off. When that was hot, they would have eggs...

Glancing at Stubenrauch and at his pot of soon to be dinner, not only awoke his hunger anew but also drew his attention to that egg he'd gotten and he thought to use and share for the night. It was as good time as any to have it add to the feast and perhaps a better one when it would make the number of eggs greater.

He stood up, stepping carefully over his pack and his rifle and made his way to Stubenrauch. Reaching into his jacket he produced the egg. But there was a tiny crack on it. Right at the side somewhere. And the crack was getting bigger. The other eggs might've been fresh, but amongst them was one, which had been 'cooking' up more than just yolk. And it was his misfortune to get just the one. "Uh.."

Stubenrauch glanced down. "You vill need a bowl, bubele - not a .... Ach, it is broken. Do not mind - bring your plate here, and have stew!"

Pye placed the egg down on the table and turned to fetch his plate. A bit of the egg shell fell from the rest and an odd sound came from it. he hadn't heard it though, shuffling around to get to the kettle, just to think to step aside, if the other men meant to come first.

"I'll wait,.. if them wants to get the stew first." He might've felt as hungry as the devil, but if there was a pecking order in the German group, he did not want to disrupt it.

The egg in time lost some more of the shell, though albeit very slowly.

Sgt. Stierli was the first to recieve his fill and Stubenrauch, tonight's cook, quickly distributed the contents of the small French kettle to the rest of the squad.

After the food had been distributed and the men were silenced by the food which they eagerly consumed Pye seated himself by his rifle and closer to the table where the disappointing bit of egg remained, broken. It hadn't leaked any yolk, surprisingly. And in a few minutes it began to chirp or make the squeakiest noise an egg had ever done, reminding one more of a small chick than it did of anything. Not very adorable looking, with it's body still looking as if it was in one form or the other wet, the animal struggled to come fully out of its shell.

Once it succeeded it lay there, trembling, exhausted. Pye took the small creature from the table, still baffled as to what exactly just happened - though not by the fact that chickens come from eggs. He held it warm in one hand, for a moment then tucked it back under his shirt, not to stifle its breathing but to keep it warm, and continued to eat, with a chirping at his chest.