9 June; the lost, found

One of the lads had brought him a steaming mug of tea and a serving of the meal the company had managed to scrape together. It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot in the circumstances. Blackwood sat outside his tent, savouring both the tea and the food. If his men had little, so did he. But they were making do and cheerfully at that.

"Sir!"

Blackwood's sense of mellow ease evaporated at the note of alarm in Corporal Porter's voice. He stood up at once, his meal forgotten, and moved briskly toward the crowd that was gathering fast around the corporal. What the devil was going on? The men realised he was amongst them and gave way, which enabled Blackwood to see Corporal Porter tuck his shoulder underneath the arm of a very white-faced Sergeant Burr.

The Scotsman's appearance was as unexpected as it was worrisome. He had been in the baggage when the French cavalry had attacked and had, Blackwood knew, been captured. Yet here he was in the flesh and looking rather the worse for wear.

"Sergeant Burr," he said, striving to contain his relief and concern both. "Where is your jacket?"

"Sir," Burr said, endeavouring to straighten himself up and make a proper showing of himself. His jacket was miles away, probably now burned to ashes by the French. "The French nicked it, sir."

There was a ripple of laughter from the gathered men. In truth, his shirt was stained enough with blood to almost pass for a jacket itself. Burr felt the now-familiar chill of weakness passing down him from head to toe like a shower of ice-water. He would not faint away like a woman. He could not.

" 'Portin' back from Frog hospitality, sir," he added.

Ah.

"Well done, Sergeant. Corporal Danforth. Some tea for this man." Blackwood glanced toward one of the privates and with a more quiet word sent the man off to find a surgeon. He had little doubt Burr couldn't last much longer without being looked over.

"Sit him down, Corporal," he added, nodded at Porter. Discipline was important but adherence to it in such circumstances was foolhardy. Corporal Danforth waited until Burr had been lowered carefully to the ground before holding a heavily-steaming mug of tea to him.

"Thank'ee, sir," Burr said, grateful both to be seated firmly and to have a fortifying drink in hand. It was good to be back where he belonged. Doubtless the captain would want a report on the whole affair but he hoped it could wait. He was feeling damned tired.

Rest would not happen right away, though. The surgeon had been sent for. Naturally. Burr lifted the mug to his lips and, despite the tea's scalding temperature, took a hearty swallow. The liquid scorched its way down his throat, meaning that eating later would be uncomfortable, but in that moment he could not be bothered to care.

It did not take long for the surgeon to arrive, for which Blackwood was grateful. He stood aside while the tousle-haired fellow knelt beside Burr, aware of that all details were best gained from the sergeant himself.

"I hardly need ask how you were wounded," the surgeon said, a trifle dryly. "How long ago did you take this damage?"

Burr frowned lightly in thought. "Over a week gone, I think, sir."

"Was anything done for it?"

"It was bandaged, sir," was the reply. "After the ball got pulled out. Got 'tacked by the Frogs then, an' was rounded up by 'em."

"Quite. You've been managed poorly since then, by the look of it. That won't answer, surely it won't. It's a wonder you're still talking!" The surgeon was shaking his head. "We'll have you sorted soon enough, though."