9 June; Roving

Was that all? Aimes huffed irritably and, setting down his bag, began to rummage in the small case he carried. "He is merely suffering the effects of a concussion. The symptoms do occasionally drag out like this. Nothing to worry about. A few days of proper rest should set him right. Here," he drew out a small bottle, "In the event of pain, a few drops of this mixed with a spirit of some sort should do the trick."

The coat had been shrugged off in a hurry, and had been folded on the floor to the left of him all during the time that it took Aimes to get there. Worry was replaced with some comfort that Newbury seemed to not come to as much harm. He shook his head. He would need to rest and that was all, what Aimes said. Good news, that!

He might have told them that, if they'd bothered to actually asked him. At least this sawbones was here to set them all right.

"Cheers, sir," Newbury said, unable to keep the gratified relief from his voice. Now maybe this lot would let him go back to sleep.

"He's gonna be all right?" Zeb Palmer asked, peering at Newbury in the dark. "D'ye mind takin' a look at my brother's nose? On account of Pye broke it," he added resentfully.

"It weren't nothin' I couldn't handle," Jed protested.

If the focus shifted to the Palmers and away from him, so much the better. He hadn't really needed a damn surgeon in the first place. Newbury clutched the small bottle the sawbones had handed him and wondered how long it would take for the others to go away so he could sleep.

"..fer'get them right now..Get Joe sorted." A broken nose might med at a bad angle but it would still leave a man alive. He was worried that Newbury's injury would not. He should have held his tongue of course and hope for his own good future. But....he knew his own was not looking bright at all, so Newbury's had to be ensured.

Sparing the boy with the scar across his face a distasteful glance, Aimes peered at the fellow with the damaged nose. The fading light did not help, but aside from the swelling, it looked relatively straight. Close enough, at any rate. "His nose is perfectly fine. Once the swelling goes down, it will look good as new."

"He is dazed, confused and seems unable to think properly," Vickery told the surgeon. Newbury's symptoms were worrying him, and the surgeon had told him that he had to be attended all the time when sleeping, and that was for what must have been a far less serious case than this, although Vickery couldn't remember everything that had happened - as far he could remember he had been in command of his men and then woken up in camp, in his own tent, although there were flashes of various incidents. The only other thing he was clear of was a sense of worry that pervaded the whole cloudy memory of that day.

"He was concussed already, from a beating he received at the hands of some of our own men, which was on top of a wound taken at Oporto and a wrenched knee." The catalogue of injuries received one on top of another did not fill Vickery with confidence... he was going to have to do something to ensure that Newbury recuperated and recovered fully before adding to his injuries.

An impressive list of ailments, Aimes thought. "Concussions will do that," he said shortly. "Rest will answer well enough for him. If he is kept to heel I expect he may yet recover."

Small chance of that, though. Soldiers.

Cotton was going to find a length of rope and tie Newbury to the pack-saddle of the nearest mule if it would mean he wouldn't go running off any more.

Well. The latest thing wasn't entirely Newbury's fault, of course... the French had over-run the baggage which meant they'd captured Newbury who, from the sounds of it, had done his best to defend Maggie and Miss Ross, and had helped Maggie get away.

If they could stop anything like that happening again, Newbury might be in with a chance of actually getting better.

"We'll do our best, sir," he said, addressing the surgeon. Newbury was more his responsibility than anyone else's, apart from the officers' of course, seeing as he and Cotton were partners.

To that, Aimes simply grunted. As near as he could tell, his work here was finished. Good! Now he could get back to more important things.

"That will be all, sir?" The surgeon asked, glancing at the officer.

Vickery nodded. "Yes, I think so. Thank you."

Now, how to ensure that Newbury did, in fact, get the rest he needed.

Then he remembered something. "Oh, not quite. When I was concussed, I was informed that I should not sleep unless there was someone nearby. I presume we need to take the same precaution for Newbury?"

Oh for heaven's sake.

"Whichever fool told you that doesn't know his business," Aimes replied, a little crisply. "Your fellow will do fine with a few drops from that bottle and undisturbed rest."

Hmm. Vickery wasn't convinced that this fellow knew his business, either, but it would hardly be politic to say so. He could hardly keep Cotton away from his wife by asking him to keep an eye on Newbury, and he looked around to see if there was anyone else who could be detailed to watch out for Newbury.

It wasn't as though he was talking about disturbing Newbury's rest, either, was it.

The drone of voices above him was lulling him to sleep. This state was helped by the feeling of heaviness settling about his brain again. It would be quite pleasant to drift off once more, so that's what Newbury did.

And some one was indeed nearby. The Hanoverian had sat under a near by leaned against the trunk, smoking his pipe, to make it look like he was not intentionally listening in, he had his back to the group and for all intensive purposes looked like he could be napping.

Ah. Hartmann would do very well, Vickery thought. The Hanoverian did not yet have a skirmishing partner, and could be detailed to look after Newbury for now without inconveniencing anybody else.

He called the lad's name. "Hartmann!"

He froze as he heard his name called out. he cursed quietly figureing he must have been spotted, sighing quietly he stood up, dusted him self off and knocked the tobacco out of his pipe before he slipped it into his pocket and trotted over the Vickery. Halting with a stop he snapped to attention with drill square perfection and saluted smartly.

"Herr Hauptmann!"

"At ease, Rifleman." He returned the man's salute. "Would you be willing to do a favour for me? I need someone to sit with Newbury." He indicated the sleeping Rifleman. "He has..." He tried to remember the German for 'concussion' and came up blank. "He is suffering from a blow to the head, and I cannot leave him unattended."

There was nothing more to be done here, Aimes decided. He had given his advice and it fell to these scruffy Riflemen to choose whether to follow it.

He nodded at the captain by way of farewell and took his leave. God willing, they would summon somebody else next time and leave him to his own regiment.

He widened his stance slightly but otherwise stayed ramrod straight.

"Ja, of course Herr Hauptmann, would you like me to carry him off some where? perhaps to a tent or next to the fire?"

"It would probably be better to build a fire here; he has been carried far enough today, I believe," Vickery replied. "Will you need someone to take turns with you?"

He nodded about the fire before he looked from the rifleman in question then back to the captain.

"if possible Herr hauptmann unless I can be excused from duties tomorrow to sleep?"

They were not likely to be going anywhere tomorrow, and Vickery nodded. "I will find someone to help you, and you may both be excused duties tomorrow."

"As you wish Herr Hauptmann, if you will excuse me I will gather some wood and return, yes?"

He cursed inwardly he had not expected to be singled out for a task, he would however attempt to make the best of it...how hard could watching over a half dead Englishman be?