30th May, Early morning: A morning as any other

The chick observed the lanky, old rifleman curiously. She stood, chirped and ran up to him, tilting her head a bit to see him better. She then proceeded to make the rather excellent display of a young bird, terribly starved, chirping and opening her little beak, her dark beady eyes most pleading. She recognised Hagman enough to know there was a source of food there and because Pye was not back, and Cotton had already fed her, she decided to give it another go with the new arrival.

She turned to Cotton after a moment and looked the image of innocence. Wreck a pyramid of sticks, a poorly made nest? Never!

"She'm bin fed this morn'," Cotton said, observing her antics. "We keep feedin' you as much as you want, you'll get fat. An' then Pye won't want the bother of carr'in' you 'round and we'll get to eat chicken for dinner." The words weren't serious, and he reached for some of the kindling as he spoke, to start building a fire.

The chick did not appear to care for Cotton's scolding, and chirped a couple more times, as if she was intent on putting Cotton's words down as lies. She looked at Dan, and began to scramble up his coat, to get onto his knee. It would've been a higher perch and allow her to see a lot more from there. Now if her little feet had been able to carry her onto his shoulder or even the top of his head, she'd certainly had gone there to see the camp slowly awake. Men thirsty, some just to sleepy to care, and others already taking from their packs the first bits of breakfast.

"That lad should get his priorities straight." Braun muttered, easily one who wanted atleast his tea, when he awoke, if nothing better was at hand. And being thirsty and made to wait was not playing well with his already sleepy state. "..Get the kettle here, and then wander of with whatever bloody friends he has in the 33rd."

Bachmeier chose to offer his bit of wisdom in that, even if a moment ago he had been the main culprit and scolded for his antics and an empty canteen. "Those men are probably still asleep, what with them being redcoats. But maybe he's with that lass o' his." He grinned, earning a few surprised looks from his camerades. "Pye ain't got one." Schreiber looked convinced, while Weber was wondering why they were still even talking about the brat.

"Sure he does." Bachmeier may have seen him talk with Lucy, but the rest of a conclusion he drew up himself.

"Go get your canteen filled up, Bachmeier." Weber waved the man away. "There's more sensible things you should be thinking of than what lads' got whom. It's girl's talk.. that. Girl's jabber, and I hope you ain't one." This he spoke on purpose in English although both men would be more fluent in their mother tongue and less accented. It had its effect though and silenced the lad.

"Ja, iche gehe schon." Bachmeier spoke and fished his canteen out of his pack. He glanced back at the selected group, where a greater number of the men finally came awake, shrugged and went in the direction of the river.

He checked his canteen for any drop of old water, though he knew it to be as dry as desert usually was. Indeed not a drop came from it, and plugging it again, he walked on.

By the river, it was a small bit of surprise, he did not find their fellow rifleman. He knelt at the shallower end of it, dipping his canteen into the water to have it filled. Looking about as he were, he yawned. Rubbing a temple he checked his canteen. Three quarters full. That would do. Plugging it yet again he placed it on the ground beside his feet and splashed his face with the cool water. That felt refreshing indeed.

Where was Pye though? Must've missed him on the way there, he reasoned and slid his hands both into the water cupping them together. He drank some of it, splashed his face again and rubbed it clean. Washing his hands he slung his canteen over his shoulder and looked along the stream. Peaceful, as this was, it made one almost forget that there was a war going.

He did not notice the strange log of wood, under the surface of the stream, where the water was not as shallow, wedged inbetween rocks. Nor did he notice the slight reflection further along the stream, where some boulders made the water foam. With a grin, expecting the tea to be finally made, he turned on his heel and ran back to camp.

"Hey! Tea's finally ready now?" He inquired upon reentering the group.

"No," Jed Palmer snapped. "On account of we ain't got no water yet. Weren't Pye down at the stream with our kettle?"

"Have not seen him there." Bachmeier shook his head. "Nein." He looked over his shoulder at the path that he had just taken. Even now, Pye ought to have come if they had missed each other on the way. But he was not there, nor was he by the river's edge. He would not have gone to that lass would he? Not with the whole heavy kettle of water being chugged around, that was for sure.

"..I thought he was here..." He started. The chick peered at the newcomer and chirped. She looked at Cotton and then also at the path, before running up to the Pye pack and pecking it. The darn boy was taking too long!

"Well he isn't. And the bugger'll hear it when he does come." The man sounded rather unconcerned. And why should he be? If the new lad deserted it would have been only a pity he took the kettle with him. It would be no surprise if he ran. He came from the 33rd and no amount of convincing would make him believe he was not more trouble than he was worth. He had managed to get the 60th to a bad reputation or would have, had the not intervened. It did not appear as if he had learned anything either. Not about subtlety, not about doing what was right, and forgetting his personal vendetta against the provosts.

He was actually hoping that Pye would not return. It would save them much trouble.

".. Bachmeier... hand me your canteen." To that the lad looked very reluctant to do. "...Hand me your canteen now." He demanded more harshly and the lad scowled, holding it out to the man. "... Not full." He had uncorked it.

"Hey," Mayden said, approaching the group of Riflemen from the direction of the stream. He held a dripping rifle in one hand. "This belong to any of you lot?"

Several looked at Bachmeier who scowled and held his own rifle up. The rest seemed all to know the wherabouts of their weapons, which were clearly in their hands or laps, by their sides or propped against their packs, their locks protected from the moist.

"No. "Braun said, seated, cross-legged beside the would be fire. "Where did you find it?" He leaned forward a bit. "sure none of your 95th lost it?"

Mayden shook his head. "Found it in the stream back over there. Just past the shallows, like. Was tryin' to wash my spare shirt when I seen it."

"Stream?...Did you find anything else with it?" Weber had returned earlier and now approached Mayden holding his hands out to take the rifle. Although soaked, it did not look weathered as most. "Did you see anyone there?" The chick ran up to Mayden and pecked at his shoe and gaiter then withdrew back to the safety of her own riflemen, chirping.

It was odd. No rifleman would abandon his weapon, let alone let it be lost in a stream.

"Nope." But he hadn't exactly looked, either. It was odd enough to find a rifle abandoned, as this one had been. Mayden surrendered the rifle, then jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. "Can show you where it was, though."

"It was in the stream?" Jed Palmer repeated incredulously. "Pye went to the stream to get water, but he wouldn't just..." He looked at his brother and scrambled to his feet. "Show us."

"Just what I said." Mayden turned away, wondering if he hadn't been understood the first time he'd said it. "Back this way."

He led them to the part of the stream where he'd left his half-washed shirt draped over a rock.

"..Maybe he deserted. If that's even him."

"Shut it.." Came Weber's snappy reply.

"Just saying. The bastard took our kettle too." As the rifleman finished, Weber shrugged past and followed Mayden's lead. Upon the approach, he could find no man lying left or right to them. The stones may have been disturbed, but whether any part of it was a struggle, a run, or just a man standing there, could not be pointed to exactly. The water had done it's own little stir to cover the traces up.

"..Where exactly did you find the rifle? " Already the German was gazing at the opposite bank. He could not see the ground disturbed there at all. There was no blood on either side. Still he was cautious. But the enemy's presence was very unlikely. He looked along the stream and then noticed something reflect light more evenly than the running water.

"There."

"He wouldn'ta left his rifle," Zeb Palmer said. "Steal a kettle and leave a rifle? That's daft, even for a new lad like Pye." He looked in the direction that Weber was pointing. "What?"

"I think I found something...." Weber tugged his shoes of his feet and made a half hearted effort to get his gaiters off, before wading into the water. He splashed about, nearly slipping on the wet, round stones. When he reached the area where the water ran faster, he stopped.

"Found it!... Don't need to worry about our kettle." He lifted the thing up, after emptying it of water so that it was lighter.

The Palmers both rolled their eyes in identical exasperation. "Bloody hell. Well fill it up and give it here," Jed said. "May as well take it back and get it boiling. Why don't you lot use your tracking skills and find that man. He can't have gone that far. I doubt if he's drowned, and he ain't not off hunting rabbits without a rifle. I'll... go and tell the sergeant." He nodded at Mayden. "Thankee, mate."

"You'm worried about a kettle an' not about our missin' Rifleman?" Cotton couldn't believe them. "Bachmeier, you fill your canteen up - brimful, or I'll want to know why. The rest of you, start lookin' for Pye. If his rifle was round here, he ain't goin' to be so far off - he ain't stupid."

Though Cotton didn't think he particularly wanted to know what sort of trouble Pye had managed to get himself into now, but he also didn't think the lad had done anything as stupid as run - and without rifle, pack or his chick? Nobody would leave their pack behind, and Pye fair doted on that ball of fluff; he'd not leave her behind if he could help.

Mayden shrugged. "I dunno's I wanna know a lad what loses his rifle like that," he said, then turned away to pick up his half-washed shirt. "But I'll follow 'long with you lot, case there's somethin' doin'."

Weber handed the filled bucket to one of the Palmers and went on to wipe his feet dry (considerably so) and slip them back into his shoes. He nodded a thanks to Mayden. He had not found their man, but atleast he had found things belonging to him and threw doubt that the boy was either in company of a pretty lass, or deserted.

Bachmeier scowled at Cotton. " I did that.." He protested and looked at his canteen. Well, perhaps it would do with some more water. But that would only make the canteen heavier! It already rode uncomfortably into his shoulder. "You sure he didn't just run? Spur of a moment thing?.. He is with the 33rd." The young lad supplied, venting his dissatisfaction on what he could.

Weber turned around then looked along the left side of the riverbank then the right, searching for telltale signs of broken bits of grass or foot indents in soft mud, cursed that there were stones there more often then not. "..If he hasn't run.. and considering what was left behind we are not to believe he has, we better find reason why he is missing. Don't think he crossed the river here. So lets search this side first." They had to be quick, as soon the army would be leaving. It would not wait for a single rifleman.

"Pye!" Zeb Palmer bellowed without preamble. "Zachary Pye!"

Nobody answered his call. The wind may have ruffled leaves of the trees, and the water continue it's soft hum of one running, but as of a human voice so familiar to the men, none was heard. "...If he'd run, calling him, won't do good." came a comment from Bachmeier.

"But.. we don't think he had." Answered Weber in his accented English. "...Unless he's a complete fool, at leaving everything behind."

"Maybe if we was to spread out some...?" Mayden suggested, looking up briefly from his own study of the ground around him.

"Good idea," Cotton said. If Pye didn't show up soon, they'd have to leave him... and Captain Vickery would be furious. Cotton didn't want to have to face that, not after everything else that had happened over the past two weeks or whatever it was.

"You go that way, there, Weber and Bachmeier, you go that way, I'll go this way." He hadn't run, Cotton was sure of that... but the fact he hadn't come back yet was making him worried.