13 June; Mischief Managed

Their errand was completed successfully. McIntyre and Corporal Hodge crept back to their camp, both bursting with carefully-restrained amusement. It had been McIntyre's idea but it was Hodge's backing that made it more than simply an interesting little notion. Thus the unfortunate Rifleman Newbury had been escorted to the 60th's bivouac, where with luck he would enjoy his mates' company before the surgeons noticed him missing.

Only a couple men were up when they returned and these spared them no second glances. It was just as well. McIntyre felt he was likely to break out into laughter should any questions be put to him about his recent whereabouts. He didn't doubt that Corporal Hodge was similar difficulties. Neither man dared look at the other, even in the dark. It was not lost on them that their pre-dawn mischief could easily earn them a visit to the iron triangle, but who would know they were the ones responsible for it?

"Get that fire goin'," Hodge said at length, managing at last to sound like his usual, flat-voiced self.

"Aye aye, Corporal." McIntyre smothered a grin as he carried on with the work. A fire was necessary anyway, if he was to have any water ready for Mister Cobb's tea.

Hollamby was pleasantly enjoying his sleep, and would not have woken up, had a tiny field mouse not decided to take a nip of his ear. While it tickled at first, the contiuous and insistent nibbling did force the man to wake up enough to swat the annoyance away. He sat up, yawned and glanced about. Staring sleepily at his bread bag he gave it a slight nudge. Another squeak confirmed the flight of the pesky rodent.

He heard voices then, muffled and unclear, though certainly not whispering. He'd not have heard those. There was their Corporal Hodge, if he was not mistaken, and with him possibly McIntyre. He yawned and with some appreciation saw that their fire would soon come ablaze to make a pleasant mug of tea possible. "Morn.." At length he added. "Corp'ral. Got need of water yet?"

"Water?" Hodge glanced down at the dim outline of the man who'd spoken. "Oh aye, sure, if you're volunteerin' to fetch it!"

Better him than either of them, McIntyre thought with an internal chuckle. It wouldn't do for him or Hodge to leave the camp again!

"Sure, can do, corp'ral." He got up to his feet and dusted his trousers once. He nudged his knapsack out of the way.

"Do you need any more wood?" He indicated the fire and then rubbed some life into his arms. He snatched the kettle of the ground and glanced at the two men.

McIntyre studied the feeble glimmer of fire he had managed to kindle and shrugged. "Can't hurt," he mused. If the boy could find any worth using, he would be doing well.

"Be back soon." With a simple nod Hollamby took the shorter path. The filling of the kettle would not take long, the finding of a few more sticks, to keep the fire up would take just a bit longer if going to the right place.

The figure of the man soon completely disappeared in the dark.

The lad's departure was fortunately timed. Corporal Hodge uttered a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like an unsuccessfully-suppressed giggle and was obliged to move away several paces. For his part, McIntyre concealed any outburst of mirth by casting about for his breadbag, in which was stowed his pipe.

By God they were going to give themselves away!

"If you been up to anythin', Freddy, keep it to yerself," Corporal Foxcroft grunted, drawn toward the fire like a moth. A bleary-eyed yawning moth, that was. "Where's the tea, then?"

Samuel returned. A kettle in one hand,so full with water that some actually spilled over when he was not careful. Under his other arm a good many sticks, big and small, all ready for fire.

He dropped the sticks to the side of the fire, and had the kettle hang above the fire. "Water." He said the obvious and grinned.

There was the harsh sound of Hodge clearing his throat. "Ain't done a thing, so shut it. 'Bout time that kettle's come back, boy! Didja go alla way to France to fill it?"

"Never mind," McIntyre cut in, prodding at the base of the fire to stoke it. "There'll be tea 'fore you lot know it."

"Wasn't the water what was long to get. It was these." He indicated the pile, and smiled shifting to an empty space, where he dropped down comfortably. "Corp'ral." He added and then nudged his knapsack out of the way, debating at taking something from his haversack to eat, but then changing his mind for the time being.

"Heard some commotion over'there , so I did."

This time it was Corporal Foxcroft who made noise, though his was of derision. "Don't take all mornin' to get water," was his judgment.

"What commotion?" Hodge wanted to know, his brusqueness of the moment before already forgotten.

"By the rifle's fire. There was all sort of..confusion going on there." He indicated the direction. "Didn't stay there long, but I'd guess they've gone and had an officer come." He shrugged. it was a wild guess. He was really just passing, minding his own business.

"The Rifles." Corporal Foxcroft all but spat the word. "Pay no never mind to that lot. S'that tea ready yet?"

McIntyre shook his head without bothering to check. "Watchin' the pot won't make it boil, Corporal," he said, busying himself with filling his pipe.

"Ain't payin' a mind to them. Just wondered what got them all haughty like an unsatisfied wench." He poked a stick at the fire and then let it drop. He nudged it further in, so that the end that caught fire would not have the rest slip away churned, but not completely burned.

"Ain't sommat worth wonderin' over," Foxcroft stated. He had his mug in hand and was eyeing the kettle hungrily.

McIntyre used a stick from the fire to light his pipe. "Maybe they'll get on the march soon and leave the proper fightin' to us lads."

"Can't ever be too soon." Samuel agreed. The water was not yet bubbling, but hopefully it would soon be, and then tea could be made all around the fire.

"As long as they stay out of our business.." Samuel muttered. A lumbering silhuette of a man approached the fire and as he sat down he aknowledged the rankers as was proper before giving a simple: "..What's this all about?"

"the grasshoppers, ain't worth a spit. What they are."

Wilton arched a brow and shrugged. "Don't know, they've gotten some of ours too."

Corporal Foxcroft spat into the fire. "Why're we wastin' breath on 'em, anyway?"

" 'Cause they got more swagger on 'em than the Guards," McIntyre replied, exchanging a grin with Corporal Hodge. "Almost as bad as topmen even, I'd say!"

Across the fire, Foxcroft scowled. "None of your sea-going rubbish this mornin'. An' you're meanin' that scamp Pye? Dunno what come over him. I thought he was a decent enough lad, 'til he gave us up."

Samuel shook his head. He poked the fire again, and noticed that water was as good as starting to boil. It was about time too!

"Topmen? What are those on a ship?" Him and ships were as good as worlds apart. Closest he had ever gotten was when he came across the sea in one, but then there was little he wanted to remember of that time!

Land. Now that was where things were going on! Not cooped up in a wooden prison.

Wilton glanced at Foxcroft. "He didn't give us all up. He's still visitin'." He shrugged. "He's half a decent lad. Jus' a bit misguided in what choices he makes. Like that one."

"Topmen are the lads that work in the yards," McIntyre explained, puffing slowly on his pipe. "The best of the sailors, them. Ain't a patch on Marines in a scrap, though!"

A grunt was heard from Corporal Foxcroft, who was holding his mug out impatiently. "Misguided's right. What's the use in prancin' 'round wearin' green, anyways? Ain't right."

"Oh. "Samuel shrugged. "Ain't a patch on the 33rd in a scrap." He countered. " There, ready." He indicated the nicely bubbling water. The fire itself radiating warmth, making sitting close to it, rather pleasant.

"Atleast he got a patch of red on him. Though it makes no difference." Wilton murmured. He watched as Samuel took the ladle and then poured the hot water into Corporal Foxcroft's mug. Taking another ladleful to fill it up. "Next."

"Dunno about that," said McIntyre. "It was a Marine what carried Lord Nelson to the sawbones when he fell, y'know. Heard that off a lad was there." He grinned around his pipe stem. " 'Sides. I seen us Marines do what the army couldn't, more'n once!"

Now that he had his tea, Corporal Foxcroft's mood lightened a fraction. "Oughta have you seized up fer lyin' so."

"You ain't a marine, now." Samuel pointed out and filled the next offered mug, returning it to its owner. Reaching for another one he filled the ladle as before.

Wilton chuckled. "Anything's better than the cavalry."

"More's the pity," McIntyre replied smoothly. "Devil take the cavalry, too. They ain't ever worth the horses they're sat on."