9 June; Roving

And pigs might fly. Newbury had an engagement with the surgeon first thing in the morning, even if he didn't want one.

"Good," Vickery said instead. "Right, then, I think you need to get your heads down. You can tell me what happened first thing tomorrow." He turned to the two redcoats. "Yes, that will be all, thank you. And a fellow officer lent McIntyre's services during your absence, Palmer."

Cotton scowled. "Well, I'm back now, sir, so he can go back to his own officer."

He might have expected this sort of reception, all things considered. Not that it bothered him anyway. Ignoring the departure of the other two redcoats - and the nod of acknowledgment from one of them - was easy.

"I'll get me things packed away, sir," McIntyre said, directing the remark to the grasshopper. With the man's real batman now apparently returned, there was little use in him staying on.

One of the stubble-faced Riflemen persisted in glaring, however. "An officer outta the 33rd, sir?"

"What regiment he is in is neither here nor there, Rifleman." Vickery's words were spoken somewhat tartly. He turned to the redcoat in question. "Thank you for your time, McIntyre. Please pass my thanks to Mister Cobb."

"Aye aye, sir." That was good enough for him. McIntyre saluted and headed off. There were only a few things that needed stowing away into his pack before he could shove off back to his own camp.

The Human with the Shoes was leaving. The dog pricked his ears up a bit, curious as to why that one was going away. He could sense a shifting in mood amongst these earthy-smelling humans so maybe that was it?

He hesitated a moment before moving away from the man who was petting him. Maybe the Human with the Shoes was going somewhere that had Food.

~

"Sir," Burr said, breaking his customary silence. "P'mission to return to the Guards."

"No hard feelin's, mate," Cotton said and sighed. "C'mon. Any chance of tea, sir? I ain't had a cup in... days." His tea-leaves had disappeared with his ammunition, and not having a cup of tea had not helped his frayed temper over the past week.

Vickery turned his attention to the jacketless man. Guards, eh? "Are you in Captain Blackwood's company by any chance?" he asked.

Zeb Palmer was still looking resentful. "Mebbe not, sir, but that's the lot Sergeant Hakeswill come from. How d'we know he ain't - "

An elbow from his brother shut him up. Jed had been looking over the faces of their German comrades and decided this was a conversation best left alone until the officer was gone.

"That's so, sir," Burr replied, making an effort to lift his wounded arm to salute. He was a Coldstreamer after all, damn it.

"Will you need a ticket or anything?" Vickery asked Burr. If so, he would write a ticket for the man, and arrange to speak to Blackwood the following day, once he had spoken with his own men.

It took a moment before Burr was able to process the question, much to his private shame. Why did his brain seem so sluggish? "No sir."

In his present frame of mind, any man foolish enough to delay him would deserve what he got.

Pye felt like a spectator to the whole thing, but rather than resenting it, he was grateful for it. Now, if they would just all disband... and he could go and curl up somewhere. Get rid of his coat or perhaps sell the fabric to some of the camp followers who might benefit from the blue or.. anything really. He could even gift it to Lucy or someone, just get rid of it before it was noticed by Vickery.

He followed after when they moved and then yet again stood, in complete silence, urging noone and nothing.

Vickery smiled at the shirt-sleeved man. "All right, then. Dismissed."

He turned to his own men. "Right. You have people to see and some catching up to do, but first, I need a report. What happened to you all?"

The Hanoverian frowned as he heard the Captains words "report in the morning" what was the fun in that, the rumor mill could hardly start churning with such little detail. He cursed lightly in German but paused as he heard the captain change his mind and grinned and waited to hear the tale sure to be the first to pass it word on to his German compatriots.

That was perhaps the best news he'd heard in days. Burr headed off without a word, finding himself hopeful that he could make it back to wherever his regiment was bivouacked.

~

There was something going on above him. Newbury wasn't sure precisely what, though. Forming coherent thoughts was no mean trick. He was feeling decidedly lightheaded from fatigue alone. All he wanted was to sleep.

Cotton sighed. "We was cut off when the line broke - you wouldn't know about that, sir. I saw you go down - we thought you'd been killed." It hadn't been pleasant, knowing that.

"And of course we got surrounded by Frogs with no way of reachin' the line again, or the rest of the army, even with reinforcements from the Guards."

Having to lay down his rifle had been the worst experience of Cotton's life - including being flogged.

Indeed. They did think Vickery was dead. But he was not. Which was a thrill. He observed the man. Days they had spent thinking this man was no more, days he wished that the news were untrue and that Vickery was alive instead. Well, his wish came true. Though there was no miracle in it. Vickery had been alive all that time, it was them who were misinformed.

It was a bitter sweet discovery. Sweet, because the greatly respected captain was still among them, bitter, because he would not be happy to learn certain things, and he would learn them.. regretfully too. He hunched his shoulders and seemed to bend his knees just enough to make himself shorter, smaller.

"The Frogs was sorta all right for a bit," Jed Palmer admitted grudgingly.

His brother scowled. "After they pulled us 'way from the women you mean." Zeb spat on the ground. "Then there was Pye."

"Pye?" Vickery said, raising an eyebrow in surprise. He turned to look at the lad, and paused. The wasn't a Rifleman's jacket that the lad was wearing.

"Right. Somewhere more private, now. And I want to know exactly what happened."

Pye paled. All his hopes of an easy way of getting away before being noticed were now shattered. His throat became unnaturally dry, and he felt rather strangely faint. He made a step forward, and swayed then straightened. It was almost as if he hoped the captain had made a mistake and was thinking of wanting to talk with someone els8e.

".S...s..sir." He stammered, barely finding his voice. He was not guilty, but boy did he feel that it would be impossible to explain that.

There had better be a good explanation for why Pye was dressed as he was, but scaring the lad into dumb silence was not going to help.

"All of you, with me. It won't be too far, Newbury, I appreciate that you need to rest, and you will have a chance to do so in a moment."

Pye moved. Well. At first it was more an attempt to shuffle his feet, which had become rather heavy. He looked more eager to see others move before he needed to make a step forward. After receiving a jab in the side from McCoy however, he began to make progress in the direction that Captain Vickery desired them to go.

He wondered, momentarily, whether Newbury would be able to come along, or who it might be that would have to help him up and carry him across. Would he be excused instead, be allowed to head for the surgeon's. He felt jealous of that possibility. These thoughts however were all there to distract him. He gazed up again. He wished to touch his own rifle again and to sleep by the fire. They had been rather restricted for the past few days of the march. Being an escapee one could not exactly afford the luxury given to the others.

He was being asked to... get up? Again? Newbury willed his eyes open and only just was able to smother a groan. Up. Again. Right. He stretched his arms forward and drew his legs in, slowly, but the attempt to get his feet under him in this manner resulted only in his slow-motion toppling forward. Ow.

At least this meant his feet were a little freer to move about. Newbury managed after a moment to set both feet flat against the ground and was then able to shift himself into a crouch. From there it was easy enough to straighten up. This was, he thought, thoroughly undignified for a Rifleman.

"C'mon, mate," Cotton said, stepping forward to help support Newbury. "Ain't so far now."

"Twenty yards or so, that's all," Vickery confirmed. "And I'm sure the others will let you have a cup of tea."

He led the way across to the fire outside his tent. "There. Sit yourself down, Newbury. And someone had better tell me precisely what happened while you were with the French."

It was easy sitting down. He glanced at the Palmers. They were still sore about something. Better that they were to hold their tongues. McCoy ought to be quiet as well. Cotton.. he looked at the man. He did not know what to think about him.Newbury at least seemed quite tired and himself. Well he did not think to speak really. A few more glances around the group set him to rights and he folded his legs under him with a frown.

He shifted again, and only settled down whenl he sat on his side, his uninjured hand on his shako, his injured one in his lap.

That sounded easy enough now that he was standing again. With Cotton offering an arm, it would be no great task to travel twenty yards.

The instruction to sit once that distance was crossed, however, was more than welcome. Newbury did not sit so much as he sank down to the hard-packed earth. Hopefully he wouldn't have to get up and shift again any time soon...

It was Zeb Palmer who spoke first. "Ain't much to say, sir. The boy turned his coat, not a few days after we was took prisoner."

"And yet he is with you now," Vickery pointed out, mildly. "It would have been easy enough for him to remain behind, after all."

Things were looking black for Pye, if that were indeed the case, however.

"What have you to say about this, Pye?"