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

"An' how do we know we can trust you after the trick you pulled, puttin' that Frog coat on?" Cotton wanted to know, reasonably enough. Though of course if they were planning on escaping, they would have to move soon, or risk being caught in the act.

"..Yer can ask me that after we're at a safe distance from them." Pye answered stiffly.

"Don't know why else I'd dispose o' two guards in t' middle o' t' night..hurrying you on." He added harshly. His patience was wearing thin. He had expected many a thing to happen, but never had he anticipated that the hardest problem to solve, would be, actually convincing the riflemen to escape.

"If we are going," Sergeant Fischer said, "we should go."

This statement was seconded a moment later by a low rumbling, "Aye. Or if ye ain't, maybe ye might keep yer noise down some?"

Aye, sergeant." The lad spoke and jabbed his finger of the hand that remained uninjured at Zeb's side.

" Means... up and off with you." He said with a small smile. "Yer heard'im." He indicated Fischer and craned his neck to see who the owner of the less familiar voice was. ".....if'n you'm a prisoner.. join us."

Cotton got to his feet. "Fair enough." He turned on Pye. "Though as soon as we're far enough away, I'm goin' to ask you again, an' you will tell me."

The new arrival crept closer, distinguishable as a sturdy man by the size of his shadow. Even in the darkness, the white of his shirt stood out. Equally clear was the fact that he only had one functioning arm - the other was bound across his chest.

Sergeant Fischer's endorsement seemed to be good enough for Cotton, which in turn was good enough for most of the others. Except for Newbury.

"I ain't goin'," he said.

Pye gave Cotton a curt nod. He knew the time would come, but felt his own conscious clean. He looked towards the new arrival, noting his injury in the poor light. He was not a rifleman but he was a redcoat, and not a deserter.

"Joe. You'um goin' with us...We'll 'ave summon' who's strong aid ye." His eyes narrowed on the man. "But I ain't leavin' you 'ere."

"Joe Newbury, I ain't left a Rifleman behind yet if I could help it," Cotton said. "We'm in this together - we'm partners, you an' me." He wasn't sure how they would get Newbury back to their own lines, but he was equally sure that they would do so.

There was a grunt from the new arrival, followed up by, "Sling him 'cross my back, or we'll not ever leave here."

"I ain't," Newbury repeated. "What 'bout the women, anyway?"

"..The women're safe." A wounded man to carry another wounded. Pye did not think to argue with the sergeant, nor did he intend to protest, if the help was plausible, possible and would get them moving.

"When I tell yer ter wait.. you'll stop n' wait.. and duck down low. An' when I give you the signal, yer goin' ter start forward again. S' that clear? No fightin' if we can help it." They could not run fast nor far. That he was sure was clear to them. So it was with stealth rather than speed, that they meant to escape. And something else too.

"But what do you mean, the women are safe?" Zeb asked, still highly wary of the strange situation and the young upstart telling them what to do.

This was not good enough for Newbury. "Safe don't mean nothin'. Are we leavin' 'em behind?"

"I ain't leavin' my wife here with the Frogs," Zeb was hasty to say.

"They're waiting. I tole you." He answered and eyed Zeb annoyed. "Mind getting yer arse of me now?..s' awful heavy." his confidence grew remarkably when the plan appeared to be starting to unravel at last.

"I owe you a broken nose," Jed hissed, pulling Pye up.

"Shut up, Jed," his brother said. "I'll break it first if he's lying about my Sarah."

He didn't know if he wanted to believe Pye. Why should he? Never mind that he was in no hurry to do in his other leg trying to drag himself along after the others.

"If you lot are goin', better get goin',"

"..Threaten later, walk now." Pye muttered in a hushed tone, glancing at Newbury and the man that promised to help move him. He stood slowly with the help of the offered hand and dusted himself. His uniform would not have passed inspection. He checked for his chick and was glad to find her squirming and well. He had done so in a subtle manner though, unwilling to draw attention to it.

"Come." Was all he said next, starting forward and then rather quickly he veered to the left. Picking his pace and his path carefully, feeding of the knowledge of where he saw many and where he saw few men.

That looked to be that. Newbury had to admit he wasn't all that distressed to see the others go. He would not be the one to slow them up and cause them to end up getting re-captured. He'd stuffed things up enough lately anyway.

The greenjackets looked to be on the move at last. Good. They had been making enough noise arguing amongst themselves to have awakened a whole company, really. The coatless redcoat grunted as he approached the Rifleman who was obviously wounded and, without ceremony or even a warning, knelt down and hauled the man up across his good shoulder.

"Keep quiet," the redcoat muttered, "an' ye'll be fine."

Pye glanced over his shoulder and grinned. Newbury was coming too and though he was not walking on his own, he was not being left behind. He hesitated upon hearing a sound and raised his hand in warning to all that were behind him. Without much hesitation, clearly knowing that part of camp, he motioned them inbetween several of the larger tents and there he needed not say that they all ought to crouch and wait. So far, a pair of men in hushed murmur, could not pose some great danger. They stumbled a bit and Pye smiled again. Drunk. Something very much in common with the French and British.

A couple Frenchmen looming close in the dark had the redcoat cautiously slowing his step, but there was no danger from these Frogs. He caught the familiar whiff of liquor and was relieved.

The greenjackets were nearly impossible to see ahead of him owing to their dark jackets, and he wished he had his own jacket. That was long gone, however. Out of all of them, he was the one most likely to betray them by misfortune of his white shirt - even with the wounded Rifleman and his own dark clothes slung across his shoulder.

Just as long as they got through the French line and away into the country. He would be a little more at ease then. Maybe.

Cotton was keeping an eye out for the French. He wasn't entirely sure what they would do escaping soldiers, but he had a nasty feeling it would be something along the lines of lining them up to shoot them.

He turned to see the coatless redcoat with Newbury over his shoulders, the man's shirt looming palely in the darkness. "Put a blanket or something over yourself," he said, and ended up thrusting his own blanket into the man's arms - somehow he'd scooped it up when he realised what was happening.

His grateful nod was impossible to see, but he dared not speak. It was enough of a chore shaking the blanket out and then getting it draped over the man slung across his back, with only one arm to work with.

Eventually, however, he managed. Later on he could thank that greenjacket. Assuming they could pull this escape lark off.

Pye averted his gaze, watched Cotton, nodded and then stepped forward again. The two soldiers were gone, and they had to hurry across the next part for it was open ground and though it was the narrowest in close proximity that he could find, it was still open.

" A'right... quickly 'cross there. Stop there and then.. there that direction." He indicated with his hand. "....i might be challenged there.. I know t' answer.. but this 'ere.. when I'm challenged you will be movin' forward a'round the tree, ter t' left.. I'll be makin' nough sound so that they'll not hear ye...'s clear?"

It was hard to breathe with the blanket now covering his head. Not that breathing was all that easy, with this brute's shoulder digging into Newbury's stomach like it was. He did his best to suck in as much air as he could every time the man carrying him paused or shifted.

"Bloody flaming hell," he muttered, fighting back the prickles of fear that came from being unable to see anything that was going on around him.