1 June; Aches and pains

"Not sittin' down," Polly retorted, pushing herself back up. "Jist tripped!"

Hurrying to catch back up with Charlie, she offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "We'll catch up to th'army soon, like."

"Better do," he grunted, not sure his legs could hold up if they had to run the whole way.

A French trooper thundered past, his drawn sabre flashing dully as it flicked out a lone redcoat with a musket. Charlie tried hard not to hear the unfortunate soldier's scream. Run. That was the only thing to do.

Polly tried not to cry out at the sight of the downed soldier, though it was a near thing. Instead, she reached out for Charlie's arm, and pulled him faster along. The last thing she wanted was to see the same fate befall either of them. She felt sick as she ran. Somehow, in following Johnny to the war, it had never occurred to her what war really meant.

"The road's blocked up ahead," Jenny explained, in case Newbury did not know. He had been riding in the surgeon's wagon, after all, and may not have known the reason that it had stopped. But now she could see further along the road. Why were the people now running back this way? "Joe!" She stopped and pointed. Were those French up ahead? They would be able to herd the baggage like sheep - or slaughter them, if they chose.

"Stop, stop!" she said, grabbing a young woman by the arm as she scrambled past with a boy. "There's French that way too!"

Maggie had picked her way up the side of the hill and back down again to where it met the road beyond the wagons that were blocking their path. But now there were French up ahead of the wagons, between the baggage and the rest of the army. How had they managed to do that? And where on earth were the rifles? It was too much to think of in this moment, and Maggie decided the best thing to do now was hide. It would be difficult for anyone to move the wagons that were jammed in place, especially now that people had unhitched the mules, so Maggie dove underneath, making herself as small and as invisible as possible next to one of the wheels.

"That's the way to catch up to the army, too," Newbury pointed out, feeling the first stirrings of hopelessness in his gut. "They ain't blocked that way, have they?"

Jenny felt a chill run through her bones and through all of her joints as she stared down the road. She moved closer to the rifleman. "What should we do?"

Polly stumbled to a stop as Jenny grabbed her arm, staring at the woman uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then, her brain caught up. French ahead of them as well? Polly could feel herself shaking. Getting back to the main column had been the only idea she'd had. Blocked off from them, she was simply afraid and lost.

She looked to the woman who had stopped her, and the soldier she was with, and hoped they had something resembling a better idea of what to do.

They were all staring at him expectantly, as though he had all the answers. The reality was that Newbury hadn't a clue. He didn't know what to do next or where to go toward safety. If indeed the French had cut them off from the main column...

He let out a long breath and looked at the useless tangle of wagons cluttering up the road. There was no continuing on the road itself, either way. "Over the hills," he said, not knowing what else to say. "Cavalry won't be able to follow so easy."

It would be hard going though. If the Frogs chased them, there'd be no hope at all. Newbury was the only one amongst them with a firelock... or not, maybe. "Grab that fellow's musket and cartridge box," he added, pointing at the dead redcoat a few yards away. A rifle and a musket. Not much at all, but it'd be better than nothing at all.

Grab that musket and cartridge box. It was a calmly-spoken order but Charlie stared at the man for a long moment before scuttling toward the dead redcoat to obey. He was operating on pure instinct now. It wasn't easy to unbuckle the crossbelt and tug it out from under the dead soldier, but he managed. The musket was heavy in his hand and he had to grip it both hands to keep it from dragging on the ground. He ran awkwardly back toward the little group, hoping some other French cavalryman wouldn't come along to cut him down too.

"Newbury! Hey!" Pye yelled. He had his rifle slung over his shoulder and his bayonet sword smacked against his side where it was left to hang unchecked. His injured hand was pressed against his shoulder, his other holding onto the rifle so it did not slide of his shoulder.

Lucy was nowhere to be found, Davy too was out of sight. He had been walking with the other wounded soldiers, when the French cavalry attacked. He had been close to the tail of this camp follower's heaven and of the baggage wagons lining the road, up until now.

"Have you seen Lucy and Davy?" He yelled the question advancing towards them. Behind him, behind them, the French troopers appeared to be acting almost like shepherds, bringing their 'sheep' to run in the only direction they had left or be slaughtered.

Was it true? Did the French come around and they were blocking their escape? He tripped, fell and was fortunate that he did so, as a French trooper missed his back and his head, slashing his blade at the rifleman but finding thin air. The horse stomped his feet, halting momentarily, and began to move toward its next target. Pye released the hold of his rifle and grasped at his bayonet sword and jerked it free. His trigger hand remained pressed to his chest, while the other took on the main role. He thrust the blade into the side of the horse's leg, jerking it back as the animal kicked and leaped suddenly.

He was unable to reach up for the man and pull him down without releasing his weapon. Damn it all. The trooper turned to stab his attacker. The boy ducked, released his own bayonet sword and pulled the rider with him. They landed on the ground. Pye first, the trooper next and rolled in a tumble a bit further from the horse. There was a struggle, during which a knee ended in the groin of the trooper. An elbow dug into the lad's chest. A leg pushed the French attacker away, the boy gasped in pain as he landed on the hand with his fingers broken. He reached out for the bayonet sword, curled the fingers of his good had around it and blindly stabbed back at the Frog.

A fortunate strike got the man right as he was hefting himself up. The bayonet sword sliding into his neck, just about where his head ended and his throat began. The horse limped close by, throwing his head in irritation at the pain coming from the wound in his leg.

Jenny wordlessly put the strap of the cartridge box around Newbury's chest and reached to take the musket and its cartridges from the boy. With momentary difficulty she wrested the bayonet off and handed it to the girl, saying only "Take that," before she set about trying to load. She looked up when she heard someone calling Newbury's name, but she could not see who it was.

She should have left on the horse when Christian had told her to. "We're for it now, aren't we," she said, sounding numb. And it was her own bloody stupid fault.

That was Pye's voice. What was the younger Rifleman calling to him for? He oughta be making his own way out of here. If he didn't know where those two - whoever they were - had gone, there was not much chance of finding them in this chaos.

"Run for it!" Newbury shouted to him, his gaze turning outward to find a possible route of escape. Anything would do, he thought. It helped that he was the only unfit one in the little group. If matters became truly desperate... "Ain't over yet," he said to Jenny, unnerved that she seemed to have given up.

"Over that hill." He pointed, thinking that it would be a close-run thing even for them. But they had to move now or the opportunity would be lost. "Move it!"

Jenny shoved the rammer into the young boy's hands and threw the strap of the cartridge pouch over her own shoulder. It was difficult to run with the musket. She was afraid she would drop it and it would fire on its own. Then she would have to spend precious moments loading again. She hugged it to her chest and ran as best she could without looking back to see if they were pursued. She could not run very fast in her present situation, but neither could anyone else in their little group.

Maggie meanwhile remained in her hiding place beneath the wagon. She had heard Newbury's name called, and his voice shouting a response somewhere near, but her paralyzing fear kept her from crawling out to find him. She did not dare move a muscle for fear of being found. She would not move from this spot until the battle was over, for battle was what she considered it to be. The rifles would soon clear out the French, and then Cotton would be here and her donkey and the mule. She just needed to stay hidden and quiet until then. She would be as still and quiet as a rock, barely breathing, though her heart felt like it might explode.

That was one of his charges making good of the chance to escape. Newbury gestured sharply at the boy and his companion, urging them to follow as close behind Jenny as they could. He would be last, as much because he was slower as because it mattered less if he failed to make it.

A pair of French troopers bulled their way through a terrified group of camp followers, their sabres edged with scarlet. They'd been hunting - and successfully, by the look of it. Newbury turned to face them. So much for him getting away, eh?

"Keep going!" The others had best not stop or turn back. Not when they were so close to getting a hill safely between them and the French.

He had only one shot, but it'd count. How could he miss? His rifle was at his shoulder and he settled his aim on one of the smug-looking Frogs. This would teach them, he thought, and fired.

Jenny heard his shout and the sound of his rifle, further behind her than she had thought he was. She whirled around and saw him down there, along down the slope of the hill, two Frenchmen descending on him, now just one, furious and bloody with sabre in hand. Johnny all over again. God, help. She should have given him the loaded musket. What bloody use was it to her when she couldn't aim the thing? If she fired from here, she would never hit a thing, or she might just as easily hit Joe.

She began running back down toward him. She would toss him the musket and let him fire. Her boots skidded on the rocks and she fell, sliding still from her own momentum. She let go of the musket and put her hands out to stop herself. It clattered harmlessly to the road.

"Stop!" she shouted to the angry bloody trooper. "Assez. Je me rends. Il se rend. Je me vous rends. Arrêt." She could not remember where she had heard the phrases - certainly not the polite drawing-room French lessons of long ago - but the words came pouring from her mouth now as she willed the man to turn his attentions towards her instead of killing Newbury where he stood.

Polly gasped as the other, whom she had readily let take charge, fell. She'd been uncertain as to what to do with the bayonet, which she still grasped tight and desperate in her hands, but hurried to grab the fallen musket. If only she knew how to fire the blasted thing!

But, the Frenchman was turning to look at her companion, as she shouted at him. In French. Shaking, Polly took advantage of the man's distraction, swinging the musket with all her might at the Frenchman's head.

Jenny stared in amazement and surprise as the man stumbled, flinging out his arms as he fell forward. For a brief moment she stood there, stunned and staring, her hands clapped over her mouth in surprise and belated fear. Why had the musket not fired? The girl could have been killed! The answer came to her in a flash. In her haste to load, she had completely forgotten to prime the pan.

But the man was not dead yet, nor incapacitated. He still had his sabre, and now he was pushing himself up and glaring about for his assailant.

"Joe!" she shouted.

One down but one still alive and very dangerous. Newbury's one shot had done its work. The second Frog's quick advance left him with no time to reload though. Not that he had expected he'd have that much time.

He was just starting forward, ready to try his fixed sword against the Frog's sabre, when he heard Jenny shouting something in French. It sounded almost like a command. The unexpectedness of it baffled him. Where had she learned French?

Then the other woman appeared, using their musket as a long-hafted club. The brass-capped musket butt connected solidly with its target. It worked to daze the Frog, but not enough to take him out of the fight. Still no time to reload. Damn!

Newbury charged, rifle and sword-bayonet levelled, hoping to get to the Frog before he got back to his feet.

Pye moved up. He shoved the dead man off of him, grabbed at his rifle, checked that he still had everything on him, and then started off. Newbury told him to run, and run he would. Though, could he try, desperately or not, to load his rifle just in case they needed it? Load even when his one hand was useless. He bit on his lip and dropped onto his knee. It was a fool's thing to do. Load a rifle instead of running.

But. Just in case.

He reached to his cartridge box with his right hand, cursed and yanked on it with the other ,slipped it in, got a cartidge out. he squeezed the rifle between his legs, still on his knees. So awkward. But the pan was filled first, closed. He'd already set the rifle to half cock. His injured hand remained as a sort of support, to keep the rifle from moving when it should not. Then it pushed it up just so the barrel pointed fully upwards.

Once he finished loading he took the ramrod with his uninjured hand. Awkward again, but he pressed the rifle against his chest with the wrist of the one that had fingers broken. He forced the ramrod in, gave it a few jerks, pulled it out again and returned it to its place.

Ok. Good... now if he could only figure out, how to fire the rifle with actually hitting someone, things would be excellent. He looked up. He'd already lost a lot of time doing all this. When he had seen Newbury and the girls before, they were still in progress of running away. Now a trooper had gotten dangerously close to them. He lifted the rifle into his hands. It hurt. The weapon rested in the palm of the bandaged hand, the sole two fingers still usable. He curled the ring finger against the trigger, biting on his lip so hard that it bled. He knew the rifle would kick back and that would mean additional strain on the fingers. The other hand tried to ease as much weight off as it could. The rifle was brought into his shoulder, while he was still crouching.

He took aim and fired, after his breath had steadied.

BLOODY BLINDING.. OW!... He'd kept the rifle steady just long enough that it fired and the ball left the weapon and then released his hold of it.

The Frenchman had just pushed himself up onto his knees when he abruptly toppled over. Newbury had not yet reached him. Jenny realized that the man had been shot. Not by Joe, and not by the girl.

Hit. It was a bloody hit! Pye reached for his rifle and could not help if the grin on his face was broader and the thrill he was feeling greater than the pain that the firing had caused. He picked his weapon up with the good hand, pulled his injured against his chest again and began to run. "Miss Jenny! Joe! " He did not know the other girl or the boy. He did not know why he called to them, except that now he was running in their direction.

But then he remembered again. "Did you see Lucy?... Did you see Davy?" How he hoped that they've already escaped and that they were safe! Behind him a band of troopers approached, a small group tagged by the foot soldiers to their left.They shouted at them, and seemed to think that they were easy pickings. two riflemen - obviously injured else they would not have been here. Women, hardly a sight to fear.

That was the second of the pair dealt with. Newbury managed to avoid tripping over the dead Frog as he came to a sharp halt, but there was no time to waste on idle chatter.

"Who cares? Run!" They wouldn't get many more chances to escape. Even now, their luck may have run clean out. There were more Frenchmen bearing down on them swiftly. No time at all to worry about people who weren't anywhere in sight.

Jenny started to scramble up the hill but then remembered that blasted musket. It lay next to the trooper where the younger girl had knocked him on the skull. "Musket!" she shouted to Polly, but then returned to grab it herself. If she could prime it, it would be ready to fire, and she could hand it off to Newbury