June 6th, Early morning: What goes bump at night

The young former rifleman covered his mouth. He pretended to yawn. Then after he stretched his arm and shoulder, the latter had begun feeling quite stiff. The picquet duty hadn't been an eventful ordeal that night. It had however suited Pye just fine, revealing to him a few landmarks that he had not known of before. One of the early discoveries raised his hopes at success. Other than that, there was a scared of rodent that made one of the other men jump, another bird, perhaps an owl, flew so low above a couple of heads, that it appeared as if it chose them for its meal. The sky was cloudy, with very few stars. Even the moon seemed to have chosen to hide behind the dark veil that promised rain for the next day.

His company was not as pleasurable as he could have hoped. The fellows he had spent the night with were Bright and a Frenchman he learned to call Rosy. He almost preferred the Frenchman as company to the English deserter. Abandoning the pair after they were all dismissed, he made his way back to the his own little patch of dirt, where he ought to have slept through the night.

Only when he was certain he had not been followed had he made a slight alteration to his course, and then several more. He was glad for the many men who had found their place and now snored away in peace, unawares.

++

It was a couple of hours later that he stood again, having returned to his pack once his preparations had been completed. He tugged at his straps nervously. It was time. Dusting his coat again, checking his new knapsack and then his canteen.

+++

It was another half an hour until he stood and began towards the prisoners the second time. His first visit had been made with an intention to share some of his drink with the two men. He made a good calculation not to visit a pair that would not stand guard when he was to return. Still, it had been harder than he'd expected and he wished he had known more French.

He walked making but the slightest of sounds, a natural gait that did not betray his want to sneak, but only his habit to walk as if he meant to. A gray coat was half folded in his arm and in its folds something he deemed solid enough. Upon nearing the familiar little group he checked for the guards. Two. One appeared restless at his post, the second bored and quite tired. Pye smiled. Good.

"Bonsoir." He approached the men with an air of indifference. The restless one muttered something in turn. Pye raised his canteen as if in invitation. If he remained quiet long enough, and kept himself in the dark, he could pass for any fellow Frenchman. He pressed his finger to his lips.

The man moved away from his post reading the invitation for what it was. He could spare a moment. It could not be harmful when the riflemen too were fast asleep. Least they were, last time he looked their way. The Frenchman looked again, and was convinced that his earlier evaluation was correct. He needed to relieve himself as well anyway so going now could be afforded. They'd be close enough that if anything did happen they could still sound the alarm and halt the men from an escape. Not that he believed they would attempt it.

The two disappeared. One returned his gait light and near soundless.

The constant ache in his knee and ribs kept him from decent sleep. The best he could manage was fitful dozing. It wasn't at all the sort of rest Newbury knew he needed - and indeed wanted - but he had not seen a sawbones since they'd been captured. Pain was becoming something he could almost tolerate as part of natural daily life.

A ruffle of movement from where the sentries stood caught his notice. It was dark and there was no way to estimate the time, for moon was obscured by clouds. Newbury kept still but listened to the sounds of the night. It almost sounded like the sentries were moving off. Or one of them was, anyway. No it was two. Slack bastards, the Frogs.

He relaxed slightly, as much as he could, and closed his eyes again. Maybe he could drift off to sleep again if he tuned out everything. That was not possible, however. Not that he was in the most comfortable position for sleep anyway. Never mind that, in the back of his mind, he realised something was different. There was a very light pattern of footfalls nearby. Only one, where two had passed a few minutes before.

Now what, he wondered in weary bemusement, were these hoppity bastards up to?

Cotton was curled up asleep, grateful to still have his blanket. He missed holding Maggie, although they hadn't spent many nights together since their wedding day.

He wasn't dreaming, wasn't conscious of anything going on around him at first. Something changed and he shifted, his sleep pattern changing a little, though he still didn't wake.

More movement, this time much closer by. Newbury held his breath, then reached very slowly over toward the Rifleman who'd twitched in his sleep. He had no idea who it was but he was convinced now that the Frogs were up to something.

His hand brushed against the slumbering Rifleman's sleeve and he hoped the sentries were oblivious enough to not notice.

Something brushed against his sleeve and Cotton was instantly awake, a skill learned years before and honed since he'd joined the Rifles. He turned to look at Newbury questioningly, aware that he shouldn't say anything in case of alerting the French.

The arrival slowly and silently approached the second sentry. The man looked sleepily on at him. He did not feel as though the lad's presence was anything to feel alarmed by, nor that the second man's disappearance was worth of concern. The smaller silhuette turned and looked towards the riflemen. It turned so abruptly, that first appeared they young man noticed the movement of the injured man and might have seen him awake when he should be asleep.

True to this, he waved the older man to come and see, and pointed at something obscured from view, low on the floor. The man muttered something at first, unwilling to bother himself with moving. When the jerk of the lad's hand was more persistant, he cursed the young bloods and pushed himself forward.

He brushed his coat, and spoke something to which the shorter silhuette failed to give answer in word, but did shrug. The man's back was now facing the second 'sentry'. He leaned forward just a bit, thus making himself bend lower. From a gentle goading for the man to look closer, the lad's motions were suddenly quick, efficient and... hostile. He struck out, remarkably like a serpant, and from under the great coat the solid object was revealed. Whatever it was, it was too dark to see, but what it did was clear to the eye. The man made no sound, but sagged silently into the dirt, the thump no louder than the snore of men, and the hoot of an owl.

He had only begun to lift his arm just a fraction to point toward the sentries, when one of the buggers turned sharply, the movement visible even the dark. Had one of those fly-eating sods spotted him? Hell.

Then one of the shadows that marked out a sentry was gone, dropping like a stone to the earth. Newbury stayed frozen, not sure what he'd just seen. Had he even seen anything? It was difficult to be sure.

The unconscious sentry was propped up a bit, and taken under the arms to pull across the ground. the smaller figure looked about hastly. Once it made sure that no alarm was raised, it pulled to shift the heavier man. He checked to make sure the man was not only dazed but truly out of it. Propping the shako on the man's head, he did not take long to have the man concealed enough in the dark, but should he be spotted, look as though seated and awake.

With that out of the way, the man bundled forward, stealing away through the night in greater haste than he had been. "...wake up." He whispered a hushed order. "Quietly, wake up." He gently grasped at the arm of the closest rifleman, sleeping. He had a mind to cover his mouth else he might make a sound when startled awake, and reached forward to do so.

Wake up? Quietly? What in the hell? Newbury frowned. That was Pye's voice. The no-good little...

One of the lads nearer the turncoat gave a shiver, coming awake and uttering a low curse when he realised who had roused him.

"Piss off outta it, why don't you?" That Rifleman hissed.

Zeb Palmer awoke at hearing his brother hissing insults to someone. "Shut up, Jed," he mumbled, rolling over.

"..Get up so's we can leave 'fore they come runnin', why don' ya!" The lad retorted back harshly, but still in whisper. He glanced over his shoulder. The guard he'd disposed of, was still unconscious. There was no other to come take his place. Not yet. If he had made a good estimate, there would be nobody to replace these two men, for a while now.

"Move your damn arses..we's going'." He reached out to stir another man into awakeness.

"Go to hell, Pye," Jed snapped.

Now what, Newbury thought, was that jumped-up little traitor on about? He levered himself up into a sitting position and glared toward the talking shadow that was Pye.

"The hell're you on about, 'we're goin'?"

What was this now. The riflemen were never so eager to remain and sleep as they had to be just on this night. Bloody good time to pick for being late sleepers. "We're goin' back ter our army. 'scaping if you will." The lad answered in a hushed tone tempted to offer some retort to the Palmer before thinking better of it. This was taking too long. They ought to all have been up and moving!

"That's unless you 'beauties' don't want ter loose your sleep n' want t' stay 'ere with t' frogs 'stead." And he dearly hoped that they did not suddenly have a change of their imprisoned hearts.

Newbury frowned. "I'd've reckoned stayin' with the Frogs was your job," he grumbled. The notion of escape was only passingly tempting to him, since he could barely roll over without pain.

"Oh sure," Jed Palmer snarled. "We'll take you back to the army so you can hang."

"We don't got time ter argue!" Were they impossible or what. He was not asking them whether they would prefer tea or coffee. They did not have an unlimited supply of time to decide, at their leisure, whether it was time to lift their holinesses of the ground and move. Not many men passed through camp at night, but with luck never thinking to favour the right people, he did not want to risk being found out.

"Joe, can you walk?" He knew he had to take care of the injured first, then onto the reluctant. "Come on now, thought you all wanted t' get 'way! Or were ye all jus' yappin' yer mouths?" Not that he had the time to argue with them right now either.

"What, so your friends can shoot us in the back?" Zeb grumbled. "Thought we told you to bugger off, frog."

"No," Newbury replied curtly. "I can't."

"Good luck to you makin' him," added Cotton.

"Lissen, Zeb. They ain't m' friends.. and I 'm comin' with yer. If'n you hadn't noticed everybody's damned 'sleep. Now n'less you stall 'ere for too long, I've tried to do my damnest we get 'way fore they notice us gone." He was loosing his patience.

"Better you make yeself useful and haul 'im up. Either o' you be best o' helpin' 'im." He indicated Newbury, who had just given him an answer he had hoped not to hear. He did not want to think to leave that man behind.

"Damned right you are coming with us." It was Sergeant Fischer speaking up now. "But if you are so sure there is a safe way out of here, you should go on first."

Newbury stayed silent, content enough to scowl in Pye's direction. The boy just didn't understand, did he?

Without warning, Zeb Palmer lunged and knocked Pye to the ground.

Jed gave a quiet cheer as his brother tackled Pye. He'd had half a mind to do the same. Little traitor did not seem to know when to quit. As though they were all going to walk straight into whatever Frog-trap they'd cooked up now.

"Aye!" Jed encouraged. "You show'm, Zeb!"

One yell and Pye could have his hide saved from this, and the men put under close watch again. Since neither of the two French soldiers saw his face exactly, he could claim fair innocence on the part he took in this. It would be a matter of self perservation to yell, but he stiffled his his own cry of surprise at best he could. Even after the wind had been knocked out of him and when he began to gain his composure he still did not yell.

"Git off! I'll lead t' way out! I meant to!" He managed through gulps of air, whispering harshly.

"An' you Jed, keep your voice down! You'll raise t' alarm with yer 'yellin'" He shoved against Zeb with his good hand. He was well aware how dangerous the situation had become for him. Atleast the chick did not get squished in the attack, though the little animal felt like it had a mind to get herself free very soon to fly at Jed's face and show him what she thought of his attacking her master.

"Please, we're wastin' time here. You don' want t' have t' women waiting, do ye?" He breathed in sharply again staring up at his untimely attacker. He hoped that this would have some sense knocked in the heads of these men.

Zebulon backed off slightly at the mention of women. "What do you mean, women?" he asked warily,still keeping hold of Pye's filthy jacket.

"..I'll 'splain when were on t' move. Meanin' you off me.. an you lot followin' me." He eyed Zeb warily. "Will you be of mind ter actually want t' escape?"