13 June; Visitors at Dawn

There was somebody strange coming up toward them. The dog woke upon hearing the light tramp of approaching footsteps, though the footsteps were still some distance off. It was early enough that most humans would not be moving about. He knew that from many nights and mornings spent in various human camps. Thus it was suspicious to hear anything moving about outside the little camp.

The dog shifted up to his paws and growled low in his throat. To bark was not yet necessary. Not unless whatever was coming got too near.

Even as old as he was, McIntyre's ears were still reasonably sharp. The scrape of feet over the ground - his and his corporal's - made it a little more difficult to discern the finer noises of the sleeping Rifles' camp but there was no mistaking the low rumble of a dog growling.

"You din't say nothin' of a dog," his corporal hissed, slowing his step just a little.

McIntyre shrugged as much as he dared. "He ain't no worry. Knows me, so he does. Quiet-like, now, let's get this'n set down."

They were, he judged, close enough to the remnants of the Riflemen's campfire to suit their purpose. With studied gentleness, the two redcoats lowered their burden to the ground. If they were discovered too soon, all three of them would be in hot trouble.

Oh. His growling subsided as he recognised the Human with the Shoes. What was he doing here? The dog padded forward, tail wagging slightly, all curiosity about what had just been delivered. Whatever it was smelled familiar... ah.

The dog peered up at the Human with the Shoes, expecting a proper greeting despite the oddity of the two-legger's presence here amongst the Earthy Humans.

"Just you sit quiet, mate," McIntyre whispered to the dog, kneeling so he could scratch briefly at the animal's ears. He and his corporal couldn't linger too long. At least not for now.

His corporal was, in fact, beginning to fidget. "Best we was off," he muttered, glancing around warily as if he expected the Riflemen to suddenly awaken all at once.

Why were they leaving? They'd just gotten here. The dog canted his head to the side as the two humans started back the way they'd come. He was glad for the quick ear-scratching, but it wasn't like the Human with the Shoes to not offer Food as well. A soft whine grew in the dog's throat, as much from a feeling of intentionally being ignored as disappointment.

Then, a moment later, he realised that there were other things more worth paying attention to than a pair of unkind two-leggers. Now what, the dog thought, was this doing here? He padded toward the Hot Ground - at the moment not hot at all - and set about the business of sniffing the strange heap the humans had left. Why was this familiar?

It was still dark. Or near-dark. There was a hint of grey in the thick black of the sky, well away to the east. Were it not for the brisk nip of chill in the air, Sam Mayden supposed he might still be asleep. Instead, he was lying motionless under his blanket, one hand cradled around his rifle. The others would be rousing soon. Or at least some of them would.

He stared up at the gleaming pinpricks that denoted stars high above and wondered where his mates of the 95th were. It wasn't right not to be with them. Damn it all. If he had known they were being sent away, he would have gone with them and be damned to the sawbones. He wasn't that bad hurt.

Movement close by. Mayden was instantly alert, both hands sliding up to grip his rifle. What would be moving about in their camp with such studied silence? Or not silence; there was a distinct hushed rasp of voices now. Voices and a short-lived growl from the dog that had been hanging about. He listened intently but could not make any of the words.

He kept painfully still until the voices and muted footsteps drifted away again. Then he came quickly to his feet, right hand poised around his rifle's lock. Something had been delivered to them, by the look of it. Mayden was understandably suspicious. What could possibly be so unwelcome that it would need leaving for the Riflemen in the pre-dawn dark?

Ignoring the dog, which was sniffing curiously at the misshapen lump near the fire-pit, Mayden looked in the direction the unknown intruders had gone. They had, seemingly, disappeared. What in the devil was going on here?

The sounds were too quiet to stir the young rifleman from his sleep. With his nearly healed hand close to his chest, and his other curled across and up to his shoulder, Pye felt very much at ease. He rolled a bit, but kept a safe distance from the fire, which kept him feeling rather cozy and warm.

The sky was slowly starting to gain a lighter shade, but it was habit rather than the very slight change that had the lad yawn and stretch. He blinked once staring at the fireplace. It was at that moment that he noticed a shift in the shapes further from him. He pushed himself slowly up onto his elbow and observed the shape with half the interest, thinking it being just another early bird.

More movement, noticed from the corner of his eye. Mayden tightened his grip on the rifle's stock and turned sharply around, drawing the cock back as he did so. Then he realised he was being stupid; this was the middle of the 60th's camp and there were picquets around beyond them. There was little enough to fear here, damn it all.

He cursed quietly at himself and let the flint down carefully. One would think he was expecting Frogs to rise up out of the ground and attack!

Pye froze. He inched his hand towards his own rifle. He knew that sound. The shadow had to be...

He gripped his rifle in hand and paused at the curse. It was so quiet that he could not hear whether it was spoken in English or another tongue, the whisper making the tone of voice indistinguishable and thus he could not judge it as familiar or not.

But what would the enemy - if this was one - be doing so close to their camp fire? His mind was both sleepy and slow because of it. "Your name." He hissed realising that he would have done better in calling alarm. Something stopped him though, a hunch that perhaps the calling of alarm was not appropriate for the situation. He dearly hoped the feeling was correct.

Whatever had moved spoke now, in an unmistakably English voice. God damn it. Mayden cursed again, this time silently. He truly was a jittery idiot. Still...

"Show yerself," he bit out, not yet willing to give himself away by name to someone he could not see.

Pye clutched a rock under his palm. The rifle had not been loaded so even pointing it at the stranger would do no good. "You first!" He answered back.

He drew the rifle against him debating whether he ought to attempt a bluff. Still, was it one of their own? He should have been. He spoke English. Really did. He could not recognise the voice, but it was definitely not French.

"

No, damn it. He would not play this game. Scowling, Mayden considered the wisdom of dashing back to his bedroll to retrieve his sword-bayonet. This notion was quickly dismissed as futile. It would take him too many precious seconds.

He had, however, forgotten about the dog. The animal was bristling and, to his surprise given how close it was to him, began growling low and deep in its throat.

That would have to be answer enough.

The sounds of scuffling and growling woke Burke. He'd fallen asleep sitting near the fire, and was a bit sore now from the odd position he'd slept in. He pushed himself up into a crouch, immediately reaching for his rifle.

"What th' devil's goin' on?" he asked.

Pye heard the dog and that was enough to have him scampering backwards. He had half a mind to remember that if the enemy was up front, he should not be concentrating on the growling beasty, but on that dark silhuette!

His progress was stopped by Burke's question, the voice of which he recognised fully. "Him!"

Now here, finally, was a voice Mayden recgonised. Burke. Feeling a glimmer of relief, he lowered his rifle. "There's sommat here," he stated. "Dunno what it is, though."

"..What here?" Pye averted his gaze, only to spot the strangely shaped heap. "n'..Who're you?" He still demanded, though he had released his rock and his attention was now more on the strange shape, that was not there when they had all gone to sleep.

Cotton stirred, tightening his arm around Maggie a little. Something wasn't right and he blinked awake, releasing her and reaching for his rifle. He could hear voices, but had not heard any shots or anything else to suggest that there was an enemy in the camp.

And the voices he had heard seemed to be speaking English.

"What's goin' on?" he asked, in a low undertone.

"There's sommat here, brung in not a few minutes ago," Mayden repeated, roundly ignoring the demanding whine of the unnamed Rifleman.

Beside him, the dog continued to growl.

Cotton was awake, so therefor he could deal with the stranger who was with them but apparently not their enemy. The damn dog made the lad keep back. It was growling and that was enough to have the lad nervous. "So look what it is then, will you." He spoke. If the man exposed himself he might see better as to who he was.

He was not sure what was going on here, but there was definitely a feeling of tension between these earthy humans. The dog laid his ears back and growled, mostly at the Angry Human, whom he knew was only waiting for the chance to inflict some harm upon him. Such humans always did!

In truth, Mayden was not sure he really wanted to know what had been left in their camp so secretively. He glanced toward the dark outlines of the three men who had risen, aware distantly that others were likewise beginning to rouse, and sighed. It would be him, wouldn't it?

"It's a big lump of sommat, anyways," he muttered, approaching it warily. Halting at a safe distance, he reached out with his rifle and nudged whatever it was with the muzzle. To his surprise, the heap yielded slightly under the light pressure. How odd. He prodded it again, a little more forcefully.

To everyone's surprise, no doubt, the mysterious heap uttered a curse.

"Is that...?" Cotton began doubtfully, easing to his knees, trying not to waken Maggie. It couldn't be Newbury; he was with the surgeons, recovering from his numerous knocks and other injuries.

"It is a bit lump of whatever it is," he added. "Can't be anything too worth worryin' about, else the picquets would've fired an' set everyone on the qui vive."

Well, it was something that most of the others probably wouldn't need to worry about. Where Maggie was concerned, though, he couldn't be too careful.

Pye moved forward, trying to ignore the dog. The lump was alive, and it was cursing. Why would somebody leave someone at their own camp fire?

"Who...is it?" He asked, more relaxed now. Whoever the man was, reporting back, it was no enemy of theirs. And the lump was much more interesting now. The secret gift or curse?

"Aye, well," grumbled Mayden, who found himself yet again lowering his rifle after having hastily brought it to his shoulder. Damn it but he was more easily frightened than a girl!

The lump of whatever-it-was seemed to be moving now, however slightly. More interestingly, it was speaking. "Where's the flamin' lantern gone?"

Mayden frowned. Lantern?

Lantern? "What lantern?" Cotton asked. "Newb'ry, is that you?" It sounded like him, anyway. But it couldn't be!