June 6, during the escape

Roux came running up towards them, slipping slightly as he came to a halt. He gulped at the glare St Laurent had trained on Charcot, worried that it would be aimed at him next.

"Corporal!" he said, panting. "A count shows that we're missing at least 8 of the prisoners."

St Laurent swung on Roux. "Eight? Jesus Christ almighty! Bielieux!"

A young soldier with all the body mass of a scare crow in uniform stepped forward timidly.

"My compliments to Lieutenant Goyette and would you please inform him that we've just lost 8 prisoners. Now! And you two---" he rounded once more on Charcot and Couture, "I'll deal with you later. Couture, fetch Montreuil. Charcot.... You and Roux stay with La Salle and Devereux, see if there's anything you can do for them before the surgeon gets here."

"Yes, corporal," Charcot gasped, relieved to be given a duty that he could reasonably do. "Roux, grab that light. They're over here." On second thought, he really had no idea what to do to the poor fellows. He decided to start by loosening their stocks. That was always a good idea, for breathing, wasn't it? They did seem to be breathing at least.

Holding the lantern over the two fallen soldiers, Roux frowned. They did not look at all good, not even stirring as Charcot set to work.

"You sure they're not dead?" he asked worriedly.

"No I'm not sure, shut up!" Charcot snapped.

One of the nearby prisoners, his face bruised and streaked with dirt, spat on the ground.

"Dead soldiers no loss," he said in broken French.

Roux nearly dropped the lantern, fumbling for his musket. "Shut up," he told the Englishman angrily. "You lot are in big trouble just now."

After reassuring himself that LaSalle and Devereux were not quite dead yet, St Laurent strode off a little ways. He drew in one gulp of air, then another, balling his hands into fists to stop them shaking. This promotion had been a bad idea. Miserable, godawful idea.

He looked up at the sound of someone approaching and recognized the cut of an officer's uniform. It was not Goyette though, a lieutenant from one of the other companies. " 'tenSHUN!" he bellowed, drawing himself up as well and saluting.

"As you were," the lieutenant spoke hurriedly, almost cutting him off, "Caporal. Lieutenant Goyette was unavailable. I have sent your man Bielieux to inform your captain. I have also sent a runner to one of the cavalry regiments. Report."

St Laurent relayed the details of what had happened as best he could, shifting uncomfortably under the officer's intent stare. When he had finished, the officer grunted something indistinct and stepped past him, regarding the scene before him critically before rounding on the corporal, "See to your men, caporal. Then make and official count and have any seriously injured prisoners taken to the surgeon for care. "

The moment the word had been passed Goyette and Jourdain had fallen as one out of their cots and scrambled up to report to the Captain, who was chewing on a piece of toast by the time they arrived, glaring at it as if it was the source of all his problems.

"Good morning, sir," said Goyette, saluting smartly, Jourdain following in suit.

"Eight prisoners have gone missing, not long ago. They cannot have gone far; all our horses are accounted for. Goyette, you will organize a party to sweep the immediate area. You have half an hour. Bring them back alive, if possible."

"Yes, sir."

"Jourdain, secure the rest of the damn prisoners, will you?"

"Yes, sir."

Soon Goyette was on his horse, Jourdain speeding off in the other direction. His two sergeants looked tight-lipped and chagrined, perhaps reflecting his own mood. After directing them each to take twenty men and a direction, he headed towards the site of the escape, gathering his own group as he went.

It took a few moments longer, but the runner that was sent to the cavalry regiment appeared, quick and out of breath. The cavalry had been resting unsurprisingly. The moment that they were raised however, they went to get their horses. And there cursing and shouting was heard. The horses were not there. They saw one a bit further off, but more were scattered beyond their range of vision.

This is what the runner was sent to report. He barely caught up by the time, quite out of breath. "Sir! " He breathed in sharply and gave a curt salute.

"Sir. The horses..." He began.

"The horses are gone." He spoke after a few moments, in which he had managed to catch his breath. "The cavalry reports, that their horses are not where they had been tied." He had arrived early, should he have waited, he could have reported that they were not gone completely and that the first stray mounts were seen further away from camp. One had even managed to be located at the furthest end of their army, munching away merrily at one of the tent flaps.

What was the priority. A couple of escapees or horses? They could not ride men, but to allow them to escape was equally wrong as it might inspire the remaining prisoners to attempt the same.

Some more had been noticed as disappeared. A few redcoats stole away in the night, before the grand assault at them. Not leaving with the riflemen they still woke soon enough to discover their chance. They took it.