11th June: Returning with gifts

Pye listened to the two men silently. Friedrich had been a rifleman longer than him. Cotton had been a rifleman for ages! A lifetime even. Well, three years did sound like a lifetime anyhow.

"..I.." He looked somewhat shy thinking about it. "...Been a rifleman since sometime las' month." Which would make him being a rifleman for a couple of weeks. "...Been in t'..." He looked at Friedrich, studying him for a reaction. "...33rd 'fore that."

After a few moment he thought to speak again. "Him, and several other riflemen.. , we were caught by the French and been prisoners. But we escaped!"

Cotton nodded. "Yeah, I was a prisoner. Wasn't for long though, we got away." He shrugged. "Should've bin here, though, 'cause the Captain was wounded. Hurt." He pressed his hand to his side to illustrate his meaning. "But he's bin looked after pretty good, so he's doin' all right now." He grinned. "You learn your job, an' you'll be good riflemen. The both of you."

Freddie nodded, a quiet determination in his eyes. He always had wanted to be a good rifleman, and he would do his best. But talking to Cotton had made this even more important.

Cotton cared for the captain, and Freddie found that he very much cared about Cotton's opinion of him. Somehow this suddenly meant that Freddie was no longer just the German outsider who most of the time didn't understand much and wasn't that good at firing a rifle either. During the evening it had become more personal. He hadn't exchanged two words with Captain Vickery, but now he suddenly felt that he would gladly follow him into hell.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts - which he found rather puzzling himself - he turned back to Pye. For a moment he had thought that for once he wouldn't be the youngest. But the other lad had been in another regiment before. And he had already been a prisoner, something Freddie dreaded.

He wondered why Pye was watching him so closely. Of course every redcoat would want to change into the rifles, wouldn't he? Was there something Freddie had missed? Cautiously he asked: "You ... were ... long a redcoat?"

"No. Not long." He wanted to boast of having many, many years of experience, but it was not exactly so. Certainly it had been more than a couple of months, mind you, but as to as for others, he could not compare. That made him think of his partner, Burke. The man was himself 'ages' in the service.

"Not as long as some at all." He admitted with a small shrug. "How old are you?" He asked after a few moments of thought.

Freddie raised his hands, first showing all fingers, then only seven. "Siebzehn. You?"

"I don't know." Pye shrugged. "Something like it, I think." Well, he did not know his exact date of birth, nor his mother or father. He believed himself that old and thought it had to be true.

The boy did mean 17, did he? He was not good at counting, but it was two hands and almost another hand, but with three fingers left.

They were both the same age!

Freddie flashed another of his charming grins at Pye and opened his mouth, but then he realized that Pye obviously didn't really know his age. He closed his mouth again, looking a bit like a nice little fish, and frowned.

That was strange. Even at the orphanage, they had been very careful to keep records of the children's ages. They had to be, because they needed to know when a child could be apprenticed. And normal children had parents. They even celebrated birthdays. So why didn't Pye know? Had no-one ever told him?

Unable to phrase any question didn't sound rude, he settled for looking inquiringly at the other.

"He means seventeen, Pye," Cotton said. "I think you'm both about the same sort of age." He grinned. "I'm older'n the both of you - I'm about twenty-eight, me. Or summat like, anyway."

He was still holding one of the bottles of wine Pye had brought them, and he held it out. "Here, have a bit o' this, if you want. Not too much all at once, though."

"I think I'um around that then." He glanced at Cotton and then at the German boy. " Like he'um said. " He was surprised at how much older Cotton was compared to them. Truth be told.. it was not that old if you did not try to count, or hell, the man still looked young and was experienced and he was married!

He shifted a bit. "..uh.." The boy was clearly asking to explain himself even if not in any words, wasn't he? "...I wos' found." He murmured and shrugged. "Don't have me mam or pa ter know when they got me."

Freddie's face shone with sympathy. Obviously Pye had landed in a much worser orphanage.

"I was in a ... home for ... babys ... like you."

He took the bottle Cotton offered and held it out to Pye. He had been curious, but now felt sorry that he had evoked any unfortunate memories.

"Bein' a rifleman is better."

He started to sing softly one of the few songs he knew some English text, his clear voice lifting over the crackle of the fire:

"Over the Hills and o'er the Main,
To Flanders, Portugal and Spain ..."

"Aye, bein' a Rifleman is much better," Cotton said softly. "Things're different in England to how they are in... in Germany." He was about to say 'Hanover' but realised that he didn't even know if the lad came from Hanover or one of the other German states.

He smiled and joined in singing, "King George commands and we obey, Over the hills and far away."

Pye smiled hearing the other boy had been of a similar fate. It was not that he felt the boy deserved it, but it made him somehow more familiar. If only a little. He tilted his head a bit as he heard them sing, and quietly joined in with what lines he knew of the song. He was impressed that the German knew to sing it English too.

He took the bottle and lifted his hand a bit then filled his mug with some of the wine. "..Wot is your home like in.. with those places?" He asked when the singing would have concluded and the silence would have announced it trully finished.

It was a fine song. Freddie had been delighted when Cotton and Pye had joined in; he didn't know what most of the words meant, he had learned it by ear. But it conveyed what he liked about being a rifleman.

He let the last notes fade off and just kept sitting there, absentmindedly polishing the shaft of his rifle. He hadn't even realized he had taken it into his lap.

When Pye spoke again, he gave a visible start.

"In Baden? Nice ... we have wine ... good food ... but Frogs are ... there. We kill Boney ... I show you. Where come you ... do you come, oder? ... from?"

"Come from. I'm from London's where'bouts." Pye answered. "Streets of.. most'ly." He had no idea where Baden was, or what It was like and wondered if he could ask even more about this place. Did they get served wine in this children's home? Good food? Pye perked up visibly at the mention of that.

"..You was a well fed child then? " He asked and thought the French where about everywhere but England and thus it would be no surprise that they were found in this Baden. "Food... how do you say good food in German?" Better learn the important things first!

"Gutes Essen." Freddie spoke slowly and clearly. "You ask: Kann ich bitte etwas zu Essen haben?" He grinned. The orphanage had not been that bad in this respect. He had soon found out how to get enough food. "We have Äpfel ...apples? And good bread ... Brot. I helped the cook. We oft..en make Kartoffeln."
He pretended to dig into the earth and then to present something lumpy.

"Potatoes," Cotton said, helpfully. "Kartoffeln, potatoes." He shrugged. "I'm from Kent." It wasn't so far from London, really, not that Cotton had any real idea of the geography of his home county in relation to anything. "You helped the cook? That will make things much easier when you need to cook for your officer."

Freddie nodded, though he had of course no idea where or what this 'Kent' might be. Was it nice there?

"I like it to cook." He decided to try another question: "What food like..s Captain Vickery? You cook for him?"

Cotton nodded. "Yes, I cook for him. He likes potatoes, an' meat. I do stew, mostly." He mimed eating soup, trying to convey the lumps of meat and vegetables that stew contained too. "He likes tea, too. Tee, mitt Zucker." He smiled. "He is an officer, after all."

The words for food were sinking into Pye's memory like a knife would into melted butter. He did not want to forget a single one of them, if at any time he was faced with no choice but to go and ask the Germans for food.

He did try to remember others, though for some he could not get a translation and could only guess as to their meaning.

"Helpin' t' cook's a smart one!" He exclaimed and looked at the German lad. "..We's had ter work there, like chimneys, or bein' jus' rented off ter beggar wenches." He paused. "Wot' did they have yer work as? Other n' helpin' yer cook?"

Freddie looked slightly stunned. He hadn't understood what kinds of work Pye had had to do as a child, but from the inflection of his voice he guessed that it hadn't been nice at all. Freddie wondered what it was like to grow up in a city. He didn't think he would like it.

"I helped to clean and ... zu stopfen", he pointed at an expertly done patch in his jackett. "In summer and ... the next, we helped with apples and korn and po-ta-toes."

He shrugged. "Summer always is nice. Not cold. Winter we cleaned snow. Cold ... but at end ..." He threw an imaginary snowball at Pye.

"What you do in a 'chimney'?"

Vickery had noticed the three Riflemen talking among themselves, and was pleased that Pye had overcome at least some of his reserve where the Germans were concerned. He couldn't go too wrong with talking with young Rottländer, anyway. The German lad was cheerful and eager to please, although his shooting needed some practise, something Cotton would probably be more than pleased to help with. It would leave the older Rifleman with even less time to himself, though, and Vickery would have to ask how he felt about it before actually making it an order -or even a suggestion.

"Guten Abend, Rottländer," he said, approaching the three Riflemen. "Good evening, Pye, Cotton. I hope I am not disturbing anything?"

"Well... yer sweep t' chimney. Yer sometimes pushed up one, an' yer clearin' out t' soot n' all sorts of bad things inside. An, then when you's come an climbed all t' way up..well it's clear. Though sometime yer go there a different way...and sometimes they's not gotten t' pipes cool couse they wants to keep t' place warm.. so, ..i'd heard sumone that got nastily burned in... places yer need t' use ter grip yeself up things. "

"Now.. is essential ter keep stuff from buildin' up in a chimney. Can cause bad fires, if it ain't." He felt a hungry tummy rumble was on the way at all the describing of food. No drink could replace a good hefty portion of edible things. "Mmm..sounds like a right grand place, yours!"

And that is where he turned silent, the presence of an officer having him stiffen straight as a board, on his two feet, nearly having his mug and his wine bottle going ways they shouldn't.

Freddie got to his feet as if he had been stung and saluted. "Guten Abend, Herr Hauptmann." Then he became beet red, swallowed heavily and shot an inconspicuous glance to Cotton to see how the older and more experienced man reacted.

Cotton had got to his feet as well, hiding his private amusement at the way the two younger lads had shot to their feet as though they'd each sat on a particularly prickly thistle. He saluted the officer - he was in front of two other Riflemen and wasn't occupied in any of his batman's duties.

"Evenin', sir, an' a nice one it is, too. Like a bit o' tea with us, sir?"

Vickery smiled, looking between Pye and Rottländer. "At ease, lads. And yes, I would, if you are sure I won't be interrupting anything."

"No, sir. Nothing, sir. " Pye hastened, barely relaxing at all. With a slight, timid smile he offered:" Some wine , sir?" Thinking it would be less a crime that they had it, if sharing it with the officer. It was not meant to get them drunk anyway. Not two mere bottles of it.