25th May Coming early

"Ah, Maggie's... Maggie's the best lass in the world an' I'm the luckiest man," Cotton replied. The road was horribly 'claggy' with heavy, clinging mud, but it was no worse, really, then walking behind the plough back at home. "Mebbe you'll have a lass of your own one day, but there ain't no-one as fine as my Maggie."

They were marching 'easy' and Cotton shrugged, switching his rifle to his other hand. "You done any scoutin' yet?" he asked, glancing up as a circling hawk caught his eye.

Cotton was smitten with Maggie, and there was no doubt about it. True it was too, that she was a good lass, as he was a fine man. There were hands taken in marriage, and not all were good, nor were the people of such grounds that, though without love, they could still remain together for their own benefit. Here though, Pye could have wondered how any man could find a better match. Men boasted, Cotton did not, but one glimpse at his face and he could be assured that the lass was in good hands.

"So is she m' so's she." He smiled. "She's a fine lass.." And he hurried to add, for some men could be somewhat protective when another made a statement of the sort. "Your lass." He grinned. "N' she's lucky too, Gabe." He looked at the large puddle up ahead. How fortunate that it was in their way, he thought with some irony.

Splash, and out he was again, some mud dropping from the side of his foot. "Got you for her man. She's lucky n happy as pie!" With a grin he rubbed his left foot against the other as he made the next step. It didn't work best for his balance, but it dislodged some mud on the way. Which was also good.

To the comment of a lass he shrugged faintly." Dunno. None would want me." He followed Cotton's gaze and thought about his question. "Just gone over some thorn n' bush.. n' did picquet duty. No scouting yet, no." The bird was majestic even if nowhere near as large as an eagle. It swooped easily on the winds, exerting little effort to make a slow descend. It must've used the winds blowing from the ground up, as it gained height again.

Cotton nodded as Pye spoke. He wasn't the sort to get jealous if another man noticed the good qualities of his girl; he knew Maggie was his. She'd come back to him, hadn't she, and let him wear her locket again. He reached up to feel where the warmed metal lay against his skin, under his shirt, and smiled.

He sighed a little as their path took them through a puddle. He didn't particularly like going wet-foot, but he wasn't going to show himself up, especially not in front of Pye. The water loosened some of the mud clinging to his shoes, and he shook it free.

"Got her for me wife, ain't I. Reckon I'm the lucky one," he said, adjusting his grip on his rifle a little. He winked at the younger Rifleman. "You ain't found the right lass, then. Dunno who wouldn't want you. You'll be fightin' 'em off if we get to stay more'n a night or two in one place."

"Ye are so then. She's a fine lass. Good heart, real good." Of what he'd seen he could not have an ill word about the girl not that he'd have wanted to anyway. The water must've seeped some in his shoes, the damness amplified by the soggy cloth that was stretched over it. As long as his trousers were warmed by his own body heat, the moist wasn't as felt, but if they were left to cool and he would be sure to notice it at each step.

He blinked and covered his laugh behind the back of his hand. It stifled it enough not to draw attention of the other men, and Cotton could still hear it. " You're real kind Gabe. To say that." He shook his head, and his hand dropped to his side again , it left a muddy smear on his cheek.

"Don't got what the girls want." Given he had some penny worth of fortune on him but he honestly didn't expect a girl to see much on him, willingly. He wasn't about to make a lass do anything much though. He'd seen the men do it, knew a certain sergeant too, and it wasn't the sort of thing that would fit him.

He glanced up. The hawk was gone, probably perched on a branch somewhere. It wasn't till he heard a rather unnatural squeal that he could pinpoint the bird again. A sickening crunch that was barely heard, with the slosh of feet across the muddy path. One bird to be fed today, he reckoned and adjusted his coat a little, protectively. Birds of pray did eat chicken, didn't they?

"There goes..a rabbit." He smiled, pointing his hand in the direction of the earlier crunch and cry. Up to their left the bird was tearing away at the fur.

"You got summat a lot of girls'd like," Cotton said, even as the hawk spotted its prey and dropped towards it. "No that I've got much o' anythin' to offer a lass, neither."

A horrible squeal pierced the air, bone-chilling unless you knew, as Cotton did, what it was. "One less rabbit for us," he said, glancing p the hillside to where the hawk was tearing at the dead rabbit. "Might get time to lay a snare or two this evenin'. We'll have to see how long we'm goin' to be all in one place. Mightn't have long enough o' course, an' then it'll be ration beef and biscuit."

"Oh, what's that?" He inquired curiously and squinted at the shrillness before it died away. The animal was dead, and it was not coming into the pots of the rifleman, regretfully. The cause of the circling hawk was revealed thus, what was less logical was the few birds much further ahead, which could be seen at the distance only as they were circling in the air and then dropping low before most of them were gone.

"Snare? Could you show me?" He asked more timidly. "Might catch a frog that way sometime...never know." He quickly added, a grin spread across his face.

"You'm a Rifleman, ain't you. Plenty of girls'd like that, us bein' the best there is," Cotton replied, and grinned. "Show you how to set a snare? Aye, I can do that. Used to have ferrets at home, too, though I was lucky Squire never found that out, or he'd've had me for poachin'. Not that I ever went on his land. Well, not deliberate-like I didn't, anyhow."

He looked up and studied the birds circling in the distance. "That looks all... kind of strange, that," he said, trying to piece together what it could be.

"We is." His chest was thrust out a little in pride. He listened on, giving a nod here and t here. Cotton was a poacher then, a sort at least. He was not caught, so that was all well and his knowledge would proove useful for the bellies of those that it might additionally fill.

"..What birds are they?" He asked glancing at the flock again. They were dark and seemed to be quite interested in what they have found. Rising every so often then disappearing from sight. Whatever it might have been, it was not running. "..Eerie." He muttered under his breath. The gloom and the rising of a mist, which would pass them soon, did not improve on it.

"They look like vultures. Horrible things." He'd seen them before, after Rolica and Vimeiro, scavenging among the dead bodies. They'd done their best to keep the birds away, of course, after the battle, but it had taken a while to bury their dead. They'd buried their own dead, of course, with a proper service and everything, and rocks piled on top of the graves to keep the birds off.

He wondered what they would find... if this road went anywhere near where they were. "Either we'll find out, or we won't. Either way, there's no point wonderin' and worryin' just now, is there?" He checked the flint in his rifle anyway, just in case.

Pye gave the birds another glance. That's why they looked so big even from the distance. He adjusted the strap of his pack and felt a chil at the thought of what the birds were probably pecking at. It could be something not human too, of course.

"Can't... can't be ours." He bit his lip. " ...we'll know." But he hoped they would not. Remain ignorant about the vile creatures that thrived on death. "Met Dan.. in t' morning." It was for the benefit of himself that he attempted to change the topic, even if the birds were given another glance of morbid curiosity. Even the 95th weren't that far away, so luckily it could not be them neither.

"Oh?" He hadn't known Pye had gone anywhere that morning, though of course someone had filled all their canteens. He was glad of the change of subject though. "He's a good man, is Hagman, real decent sort. An' a fine marksman, too. Don't reckon there's none better in the 95th than him."

He was pleased he'd won the shooting competition, though he wouldn't have minded if Hagman had won it. The older man had deserved to, of course.

"Is." Pye agreed. "By the river. He's been up early." He shook his head. "Been takin' on water.. for, for t' march today of course." He hesitated. " Helped me solve a little problem." He grinned sheepishly and gazed ahead again. It was just in time. The path had gotten more slippery and caked with mud and though it wasn't raining and making it hard to see, more care was to be taken with the ascend.

Horses and cards must've certainly passed where they were going. And feet, plenty of feet, equally caked in mud as theirs.

The way was getting slippery now and Cotton had to concentrate on his footing. Even a blind man could probably notice an army had passed this way, Cotton thought, trying to stay upright as his foot slipped on a slick patch of mud. "Blow it," he said, regaining his balance. "So what did you two talk about, then?" he asked, once he was a bit more certain of his footing.

"'bout Rifles.. n' .." He lifted his rifle a bit higher just when he slipped. He caught himself with the other hand pushing out and into the mud. His hand with the rifle was up and well away from the dirt. The boy grinned. "And 'bout the importance of keepin' it clean." He wiped his hand on the lower part of his trousers, which were dirty anyway. Now his knees too had a brownish smear.

"And about the importance of having water too." He rubbed his hand against the fabric and lowered his rifle again. "..that and...I've got a chick, needed ter ask how to.. uh.. feed it." He smiled sheepishly.

"Aye, they won't fire if so be they'm covered in mud and what-all else." He patted his own rifle. "Look after your rifle, and she'll look after you." He grinned. "You'll match the rest of us soon enough, you keep doin' that," he said, indicating the new brown smear on Pye's trouser leg. "And you've got a chick? You want to be careful with that, then."

Pye looked at his trousers, dirty now if they weren't enough earlier and scowled. Needing to be all sorts of perfect when he was in the 33rd, the fact that he not only could, but would get rather dirty more often than not seemed to be a thing he needed still to get used to. Again even, as when he'd first started, the young mongrel looked anything but presentable to the recruiting officer.

"Wasn't on purpose." He said apologetically and then noticed the grin, which was soon matched by his own. "'least the rifle's clean." He nodded and patted her, now that it was secure at his side again.

Threading more carefully he smiled, glancing at Cotton and then at the land behind the man. " I am, tryin' not to fall on it or nought.." He spoke sheepishly. "Is quiet though..swear I won't have it with me when we's anywhere where's t' quiet that's important." He hurried to add.

"It don't matter so much if you get dirty, just so long as you keep the rifle clean. Captain Vickery's much more worried about that than the state o' your trousers, I promise." He grinned. "He'll check the lock, reg'lar, make sure it's free of rust. I don't know what the 33rd's like with things like that, but I'll show you ways of helpin' keep it clean. You don't have to do it my way, of course, so long as it is clean."

He whistled again, a few bars of 'The Girl I Left Behind Me' and wondered how Maggie was and what she was doing, and grinned, a little self-consciously. So this was what being in love felt like... Pye probably thought he was mad, or moonstruck. He wasn't far wrong, Cotton thought.

"You'll have to show it me when we get to stop for a bit," he said. "Where've you got at the minute, anyhow?"

"That's good to know. Though.." He glanced at his rifle and patted her gently. If he were really able to cut down on the cleaning of uniform - which , judging by the places that the riflemen liked to squirm through and climb over, were not the cleanest - he could certainly have the rifle near shining. He decided that having her shine would not be the best when the enemy could be so
easily alerted by an obvious flash of light, but clean was also just as good.

"Check t' lock." That was a bit of advice very worth remembering. If there was a haste , which he did not want to allow, the lock was first to clean. Still, he decided, the whole of his rifle would be tended to and the chance for a scolding not permitted. It was his life on the line, if the weapon did not work properly, and the life of the man at his side, and possibly even of others.

"Be glad if you do." Any trick of the trade not yet learnt, or one that was not in the manual might be of use. If it was something he had done before, he would be assured he'd done it right, and if it was not, then he'd see if it can help him and use it if it did. He had to keep himself from chuckling at the merriness of the rifleman at his side. Cotton was as much in love as a man could be. He looked happy. Pye grinned and shook his head. " 'careful you don' whistle t' enemy to attention." He teased gazing ahead again. The birds were coming closer, and the first bits of broken wood belonging probably to the carts came into view as well.

"Will do." He looked proud if not a bit protective of the creature that he had and it was all his own. He knew it wasn't stealing, as he had gotten the egg fair and square as reward. It wasn't his fault that instead of a fine meal a chick came from it.

"Um.. have it here." He pointed at his bread bag which was somewhat protected where it hung against his hip, and which he had made a present habit to rest his hand against. "It's small 'nuff now..and I could've crushed it, were it here...." He pointed at his chest where the buttons held the fabric together and over it the straps were held in a tight grip.

"Don't go polishin' the barrel... it's brown like that for a reason," Cotton said. "It just means the sun won't go reflectin' off it and go givin' your position away, y'see. That's the same reason we don't wear white cross-belts and shiny brass badges and things. Less work an' all, of course."

He kicked at a broken bit of wood. "I don't reckon they'm more'n a few miles in front of us now," he said. "Dunno how they'm goin' to get their cannon and supply wagons through these here hills, though. Wouldn't be surprised if they have to leave 'em behind."

He smiled. "You take care of it, won't you? Wonder if Maggie'd like to see it, when she gets to come up to us."

(if there's anything to change , just say! )

"Less work fer those, is, yes." He smiled glad to have it explained. It was better than if he was just told, it was so.
He did notice that ever since he had gotten into the rifles, the work on his things had somewhat changed than what he had done in the past. There were no belts to need to make white as the newest snow, the barrel - which he luckily did now learn quite quickly - was not to be made to shine for obvious reasons and even the coat and trousers would need much less of a brush down than before where white also tended more eagerly to show when the man had stepped but in the smallest bit of mud. His collar was still a much stronger red than the faded one of the rest. But if anybody would claim that because of this the life in the rifles was easier, he thought, that he'd be very mistaken. It was just different.

He watched as the broken branch bounced and tumbled to the side, it's break must've been fresh, as there was still some spring in the wood. Pye laid his hand back on the bread bag and nodded with a smile: "I will. Best I can..n'.. know how to." Of which the later was very little, and he even looked quite anxious as he said it. His expression changed again at the mention of Maggie and he spoke then: "With your permission, I'd show it to her. N'..if..if it gets loud, would you permit that t' chick if Maggie says yes too, sometimes stays with her? Just so it don't betray our position because these, when young they just don't know that they should be quiet. But.. if it will be quiet, it won't need to. No." He looked at the ground, not used to asking for something like that. It already felt like he'd made a terrible demand.

As if to echo to Cotton's thoughts, in a short few minutes later, there was a dull sound that came and went with the suddenness of an explosion. Pye jerked his head up. The sound though, came further ahead from the birds and probably where the animals were, some things lay abandoned already.

He looked at Cotton. "...If they run now.. will the war be over?" Ahead of them a few of the men must've noticed some baggage discarted. A bag of linen filled possibly with some loot, that was too heavy to carry. It was covered with bark and with dirt as if the man was still hoping that he might return to recollect it.

"I'm sure she wouldn't mind lookin' after it for you, though you'll have to ask her," Cotton replied, and looked up, frowning, as a dull sound came from up ahead. He couldn't think what it might be. Unless, maybe, the French had tipped a cannon over the side of the road into the river or something?

There was a lot more discarded stuff along the side of the road now... various boxes and bags that might have been thrown off a baggage wagon or something, left by the side of the road.

He shrugged, kicking aside a bag that was stuffed with clothes or something similar. "Don't reckon it's all over, no. Portugal's full of mountains and they've got to get through Spain before they get home - and Spain's a big old place, too. There'll be more'n one more fight afore we can say it's all over. Though I don't s'pose it'll last too much longer. It can't - we've bin fightin' the French for more'n ten years already, and they'll likely be jus' as sick of fightin' as the rest of us are."

"I will, tho'.. I'd prefer best not to burden her, if I can help it." He glanced at the bags and it was clear that he was indeed tempted to kneel down and to pick at what was inside, see if it had any worth and was barely containing himself but to pay more attention to their surroundings and the mean infront than to the possible treasures on the floor.

He looked at one of the boxes from which he believed he saw something glimmer and averted his gaze quickly again, then he looked to it , for some light was again caught on the contents which must've spilled as the thing was left to lie.

He looked up, and then at Cotton, and seemed to mull over his words. He was silent even as the man finished with his last word. Still a few steps more, which took them rather close to the box, before he spoke. "..What do yer mean to do, once it's all over?"

"If she don't want to help you, you'll know soon enough," Cotton said and glanced aside at some of the jetsam that now littered the side of the road almost continuously. "When it's all over? Dunno. Prob'ly I'll go home to Kent, get work on a farm again. The Captain might want to keep me on, though. If he does, I'll likely go to his home with him, if he don't mind Maggie comin' too. How about you? Got any idea what you'll do, once all the fightin's over and done with?"

To their left was an upturned, yet empty cart, with all of its wheels broken, and the floor boards broke in. It had been rendered useless, whether by an accident or a spooked horse, or perhaps the intent of those who had used it after a wheel had gone bad. Nobody would know for certain, yet it remains looked eerie enough.

Sounds of fire was heard, but it could've been that the French up ahead had been nervous and shot at something that was not there. Whatever the case, they were still too far that they would be able to see.

"..Don't know." Pye answered honestly, momentarily silent again as he considered the question. "Don't know nothin' useful." He looked at the dark clouds that lazily moved above their heads, every so often letting out a few drops, but as yet only threatening with their presence.

"'cept I'll know to aim better now." He shrugged. Streets could possibly have been his return home, if the army wouldn't have needed him any longer. Other, he couldn't imagine really having. Streets and stealing.

It was spitting... a few fat drops landed on the dusty road, kicking the dust up around them. Not raining yet, but it promised to rain hard within the next half-hour or so.

"You'm young enough to learn useful skills, though," Cotton said. "Mebbe the Captain'd help you find summat you can do after this is all over." He shrugged and slung his rifle butt uppermost and grinned at the younger Rifleman. "If you carry your rifle like this, it'll stop the rain goin' down the barrel, see," he said, and indicated the wrecked wagon, smiling. "Plenty o' firewood over there."

He adjusted his pack a little. His back was much better now, a week or so after the flogging, but it would be a while before all the welts scarred over properly. The deeper welts were still a little tender, and he felt them most when wearing his pack. "So, Zack. If you could do anythin', what sort o' job would you like to do?"