12 June: Piquets and Patrols

The Engineer officer who was with the patrol was coming up. Mayden got to his feet and saluted.

"Yes, sir," he answered. " 'Tached to the Sixtieth fer a bit, though."

Until Mister Sharpe and the others got back from wherever they'd been sent, that was. Mayden himself had been left behind by virtue of his having been with the surgeons.

"Thanks, sir," Cotton said, getting to his feet and saluting before reaching for his pack. He grinned across at Mayden. "'Tain't so bad as all that, honest. Could be worse, couldn't it? Least we'm still Riflemen."

Now finally it became to much for Edward; he burst out laughing: "Careful, Cotton!"

Trying to supress his unseemly exhilaration, he added: "We'll have a quick look at that street and that crossing over there, and then we'll head back to camp, I think. Nice to have you on this patrol anyway, Rifleman ...?"

Edward ended the sentence with a question; even if the rifleman was only temporaly attached, he needed to know his name, too.

That was true enough, Mayden supposed. He would still prefer to be back with the 95th though. "Aye, that's so," he allowed, deciding to keep on his feet. With only five minutes left in their rest, there wasn't much use in getting comfortable on the ground again, for he would simply have to get back up shortly thereafter.

"Mayden, sir." That was the third time he'd introduced himself in nearly as many minutes, he noted with a wry smile.

"What?" Cotton asked, confused for a moment. "Oh. Nah, I'm all right, sir - you get used to it, in my line o' work." He grinned and offered a hand to help Rottländer to his feet, if he needed.

Freddie had already been half way up when Cotton had offered his hand, but he took anyway. It was simply nice if someone he admired went to so much trouble to help him. He shook the hand and replied gravely "Thank you, Herr Cotton!", then went forward to take Trueno's reins again.

"Bitte, Herr Rottländer," Cotton replied in turn. If he was going to be addressed as though he was an officer, then Rottländer could have the same courtesy.

"He'll do all right, sir," he added, still grinning.

"Mayden!" Edward acknowledged. He turned to the sergant for a moment, ordering him to prepare a small scouting party to be detached in front of the main patrol on the street. As he did so, he kept one eye still on Cotton, but now he also watched for the other rifleman's reaction to his orders. Having given them, he then turned back to Mayden and asked:

"How has it come about that you got stranded with the 60th?"

Mayden shrugged. "Got on the wrong end of a cavalry horse, sir. In the last skirmish with 'em, when they took our baggage. I were with the surgeons still when me company got sent off som'ers."

"I hope you are fully recovered now?"

"Recovered 'nuff to be off sick-list, sir." That was, at least, true enough. The bruises were not yet gone but he could move about without pain. For the most part. Certainly he was fit enough to be off light duties, anyway.

"Good!" Edward nodded, than turned around to see whether everything was ready for departure. When he was satisfied, he nodded to the sergeant. "We'll leave, sergeant Mullins." Another name this break had produced. Bit by bit, the men became individuals.

He let the scouting party scramble down the hillside before him, then followed.

Cotton got his pack back on, grateful that he'd been able to have a few minutes without it.

"Best thing, sir," he said, once he'd got himself sorted out, "is not to go at the road direct-like, in case there's any Frogs there." He shrugged. "It's jus' one of those things we do diff'rent from the Line, that."

Edward waved at the sergeant. "Belay that last order!" Why did that damn man not bother to point such things out to him?

Stopping, he asked Cotton and Mayden quietly: "What do you suggest then?"

Oh dear. That wasn't going to go down too well, really it wasn't.

"Go at it from... well, not direct. Circle round a bit, that's all." He shrugged. The sergeant had started to do that, but hadn't seemed to feel the need to explain what he was doing, or why, to the officer.

Mayden had a thought or two about how to go about it himself, but unlike Cotton was not so willing to voice them. He hadn't the same experience the 60th man had, after all.

Edward studied the street, his party, and finally the sergeant. If he read the situation correctly, the man had been doing what Cotton suggested; in itself that had certainly been sensible, but it had not been what he had ordered. True, his original order hadn't been to clear on that point, which was certainly his own fault. But if something was unclear, than it was the sergeant's duty to ask, not simply do what he thought best.

The engineer's jaw tightened. When building something or handling explosives, that kind of behaviour could get people killed. He supposed it wouldn't be that different in battle. He couldn't let this go without reprimant.

He cleared his throat and adressed the bemused riflemen waiting for him to make up his mind: "Carry on!" He turned to Cotton: "Take point and do as you suggested. I need a word with the sergeant for a moment."

Beckoning the sergant to his side, he fell in behind the scouting party and started to talk quietly, but sternly to the NCO.

OOC: Would somebody like to write for Sgt. Mullins or should we simply have this dialog off-screen?

"Yes, sir," Cotton replied, and watched the officer head off. He sighed. This could not end well.

He wasn't sure if the problem had come from the Engineer's lack of experience with the way the Rifles worked, or from the Sergeant's lack of trust in the officer. Either way, it didn't look good.

OOC - Off-screen might almost do better; that way, characters (and players!) don't know what's said and therefore can only fill in the blanks with their imaginations.

IC -

"Might's well get on with it," Mayden remarked, feeling only a little pity for the sergeant. It wasn't him about to be on the receiving end of a blowing up, after all, was it?

After about five minutes of intend but low-voiced conversation with the sergeant, Freddie could see Captain Torrington dismissing the man back to his position. The young rifleman wondered what had been said; the NCO did not look overly chastized, but not overly happy either.

He knew that it was not the nicest thought, but inwardly he felt quite reliefed that now he wouldn't be the first the captain found fault with. It somehow made the thought of the dressing he would recieve sooner or later less dreadful.

Tugging at Trueno's brittle, he jogged up to a position behind the captain's back again.

Edward walked silently up to Cotton and Mayden; his thoughts were obviously still on the incident. He brooded over it for another moment, but then gave a vehement shake of the head, as if to clear it from cobwebs and concentrated on the riflemen again. He spared a quick glance and an approving nod for his batman, running up with his horse, then asked:

"Anything of interest so far?"

Cotton shook his head, wondering if he was just jumpy after their previous contact with the French. Better cautious than jumped again, though, he thought. He shook his head. "No, sir. Worth keepin' a look out, though, sir. Better safe than sorry, after all."

"I certainly wouldn't want to dispute that." It was his own motto, after all.

Edward fell silent again. First it was only because he didn't feel a need to talk, but after a while more and more of his concentration was needed to keep up appearances. He hated to admit it, but by now his feet ached. He had always thought himself to be in rather good shape, but the speed and endurance of the riflemen obviously ranked on another scale.

Yet an officer could not be seen to flag while his men were still going on. Fixing his eyes on the landscape ahead, he bit his cheek, straightened his back and obstinately walked on.

Silence fell, something Cotton welcomed in a way because it enabled him to look around him and to think in the way that he had been used to in the fields back at home. Something about the officer's posture or attitude caught his attention after a while and he cautiously broke the silence. "If you want to ride, sir, we ain't seen anythin' an' we'm headin' back now, so there ain't no harm in it."

Officers generally weren't as used to walking as the Riflemen. Even the Rifles officers had needed to get used to spending time on their feet rather than in the saddle.

Edward took a moment to think this through, walking determinedly on.

On the one hand, he preferred not to take any unnecessary risks, and riding might classify as such; furthermore it went against the grain to ask his men to walk on while he indulged in riding. On the other hand, however, it was an undeniable fact by now that even if he managed to walk the whole way back to camp, he would probably be footsore for several days. Cotton had given it as his opinion that riding would not expose them to additional danger; it was simply stupid to insist on damaging himself unnecessarily, and a bad example as well.

Having reached his decision, he nodded: "I think I will, if you believe the danger to be acceptable. Rottländer, my horse, please."

Without further ado, he took Trueno's brittle, thanked Rottländer, went to the side of the path and mounted.