1 June; Aches and pains

"Aye." Newbury gripped the hilt of his sheathed sword-bayonet, hoping he wouldn't have to use it unfixed. The hoarse shouts of French troopers seemed to be gathering and coming closer.

The question slowed Polly somewhat. She wasn't entirely sure where the main column of the army way, just that they needed to get out of the way of the shooting.

"Mayhaps," she replied, quickening her pace again, heading towards the side of the road where many of the other women has run to. "Them other folk's got out o' th'way - they likely knows where we should be, aye?"

With the rammer still in her hand, Jenny handed the rifle back to Newbury and watched anxiously lest it should explode of its own accord. But cartridges. She should get the another cartridge ready.

Maybe, even though in the present circumstances, Charlie doubted that.

"Sure," he said, his short legs moving quickly so he could keep up with his taller companion. "They's sommers 'head of us, anyways."

Another Frog, this one trotting intently toward them. Newbury took the rifle and aimed. Stupid arrogant bugger thought they were easy pickings, probably. Well. The Baker cracked as he squeezed the trigger back and the smirking Frenchman abruptly stopped smirking.

"Free horse there," he observed, passing the rifle back to her. She really should get the hell out of here.

She looked behind in time to see a sutler taking her horse and riding off with his woman, which made sense in the circumstances. "Not any more," she said, handing him the cartridge that she had ripped open. "You prime it. Give me your pouch. What happened to your company? I thought they were behind us, and the 95th."

Christian was going to be annoyed about her losing the horse, but they would find it when this mess was over. It was only Woodmarsh's horse after all, and at least she still had Christian's bayonet. She would make sure not to lose that.

"That one there?" He didn't look around but assumed she meant the now-riderless Frog horse.

His next thought was of how he shouldn't spill any powder while fumbling to prime the pan. She wanted his cartridge box too. That'd take a moment. "Primed," Newbury said, passing the rifle back. Getting the cartridge box unslung was no easy feat but he held it out too once the crossbelt was over his head and free.

"You'd best scram, too," he added.

She did not know what he was talking about, so she chose to ignore the question. It had not occurred to her to run out into the fray to seize a loose French horse. Instead she watched him intently as he poured the small amount of powder into the pan. Just that much. She could manage that.

"Go in a minute," she answered as she rammed the ball home and handed the rifle back to him. She immediately set about tearing open another cartridge.

A minute. Right. Newbury took the rifle back with a slight shrug. The steady fire from the wounded redcoats seemed to have driven off the Frogs for the moment, which was something to be grateful for. He took advantage of the lull to move forward as quickly as he could manage, hoping to grab the riderless cavalry horse before it could spook and flee. In his present state, he could muster the attention only for a few things at a time.

"C'mon," he said, hauling on the trailing rein. The encouragement was meant for both of them. "Not gonna be much longer'n a minute left 'til we're overrun."

As if to prove his point, a pair of troopers rode determinedly through the redcoats' faltering defence. It was definitely time to go. Newbury brought his rifle up sharply and fired. For all the good it'd do. "Prime an' load, quick!"

She grabbed the rifle from him and loaded as quickly as she could. Please God she had primed it right. She had seen men tap the butt of a musket or rifle on the ground instead of using the ramrod when they wanted to be quick. She did so now. "Right?" she exclaimed, ready with the rammer or ready to let him snatch the rifle from her hands.

"Ram," he grunted. "Taploadin' don't work so well with rifles."

He dared not try firing with the rifle in such a state. Nor could he leave it to her without being properly loaded. And they were nearly out of time.

"Agh!" she exclaimed, ramming it home and shoving it at him.

Too late; Newbury's fingers gripped the rifle in almost the same moment as a French trooper came cantering at them, sabre drawn. If he'd thought ahead enough to fix his sword-bayonet, he could deal better with the Frog.

The best he could do was fire quickly. It didn't have much effect, but he hadn't exactly aimed so well either. His ribs were ablaze with pain when he tossed the rifle back toward Jenny and drew his sword-bayonet. This was so beyond stupid and he was guaranteed to lose this contest, but strangely he could see no better way to go.

Jenny loaded as quickly as she could, looking up in horror as the trooper came bearing down upon them. He was raising his sabre to strike. Joe was armed with a sword bayonet. She braced the butt of the rifle against her hip, pointed the barrel in the horseman's direction, and pulled hard on the trigger.

The horseman shouted something in French, which sounded pointedly unpleasant. Newbury had just enough time to realise Jenny's shot had struck home before the big horse was almost on him. He struck out half-blindly with his sword-bayonet and was relieved to feel the blade plunge into the horse's flank.

It reared in pain, sending its wounded rider toppling, and Newbury found himself knocked sprawling. His bloody sword-bayonet was still in his hand, somehow. Amazing.

"Damned cavalry!" He cried, feeling insulted by the whole situation.

Jenny herself had fallen to the ground, and there she dropped the rifle, its cartridges and ramrod scattered around her. She grabbed instead her bayonet - Christian's bayonet - and tossed the sheath aside. She screamed when the horse reared and threw off its rider, the man landing almost at their feet. She drew back the bayonet to take a swing, but the man was already clutching a bloody wound. His sabre had fallen a few feet away. He did not seem inclined to harass them just now.

She recoiled a few steps and then stood frozen, staring and staring at the injured man.

Both horse and rider were down. Good. There were plenty more around, however. Newbury struggled to his feet.

"Think you oughta be goin' now," he rasped, feeling like he'd just been run over by a dozen horses. He wasn't going anywhere too fast, in his state, but she was more than fit enough to run. " 'Fore more of 'em come visitin'."

She was still simply standing right there in the open. She twitched and then turned her head to look at Newbury, though her mind did not process what he had just said. But then she saw that he was bleeding too. His side must have opened up again. She dropped the bayonet and crossed to where he was, pulling on his free hand with her own frozen pair. "Joe, come on. Let's go. Please, let's go."

Go. Not a bad idea at all. Newbury squeezed her hand, deciding suddenly that it would be best to get as far from that spot as possible.

"Aye. Just..." the Rifleman in him rebelled at leaving his firelock behind, especially in this situation. "Cartridges, quick!"

Without them, without the rifle, they'd be in real hot trouble.

Oh. She retrieved the items that now lay scattered on the ground - rifle, ramrod, bayonet, cartridge pouch - in a heavy and awkward armload.

Despite himself, Newbury grinned. "Here, give the rifle and ramrod to me." There was the cartridge box too, but she could carry that just as easily. He slid the ramrod back into its brass tubes, then clicked the sword-bayonet into place.

"Now let's get outta here."

She slipped the strap of the cartridge box across her chest. Studiously avoiding the Frenchman, her eyes fell on the bayonet scabbard. She had almost forgotten it, and that would never do.

The continued sounds of gunfire, shouting and horses had Polly completely disoriented. She stumbled slightly going up the embankment beside the road, nearly dropping her basket. Charlie was likely right, however - the army had to be ahead of them. As long as they got out of the way of the guns, and kept moving they'd be fine, right?

Except, she was no longer entirely sure which way was ahead of where they had been.

Run. It hurt like the worst fires of hell, but Newbury stirred his legs into a slow, almost hesitant, trot. Getting out of there was more important than paying any mind to pain.

"Army won't be too far ahead," he remarked, doing his best to sound casual about it.

He glanced back when his older companion stumbled. "No time for sittin' down!" Charlie admonished, as if it was not loud, terrifying chaos all around them.

Really!