16th June: Food for Thought

(OOC: If you want, I can edit. Just tell me )

The soldiers had assembled on the parade ground. They didn't exactly know where they would be going to, but they had been told that it would be some kind of patrol, lasting several days. They didn't know much more after the Colonel (in person, but that had become the rule now that they had so few officers left) had given them their marching orders, only that they would go and look for a missing patrol from the 86th. That caused some rather gloating comments, but those were sternly repressed by a glance from the colonel. Well, there would be time later. If Lieutenant Prayon was given command, they would have ample time to trade barbs. He usually was deaf on two ears, if things didn't come to blows.

When the officers finally had taken leave of the Colonel, and the patrol set out, the first thing of course was to look who else was there ... And to find out what those four soldiers of the 86th in their middle were supposed to be doing here.

Paol glanced cautiously around him. Here and there a face struck him as familiar, though with the exception of the sous lieutenant, he could not put names to any of them. If he felt some measure of unease at the present circumstance, he gave no sign. Young Bielieux, however, was only just managing to keep still. A fidgety lad at the best of times, Paol wondered that he didn't burst. Gauvin, on the other hand, carried himself with the same easy, almost slack air that he always did. Only his occasional murmured comment belied his impatience.

"We jus' goin' to stand 'round here all day, or what?" he grumbled.

A stoud man with sergeant's chevrons was calling out for the patrol to start moving a short time after, and the men of the 17th immediatly fell into an easy marching step, following their officers. One of them called out teasingly:

"Oi, you, 86th! You need a special invitation or what?"

"Ladies first!" Gauvin shot back cheerfully.

His adversery stepped aside and gave a mock bow, obviously trying to imitate a posh usherer.

"Then please go first, Mam'selle!"

Since due to his antics he wasn't moving either, the sergeant was harrumping in a rather disapproving way and gave them to understand with a sharp wave of his hand that they should hurry up.

Beneath the sergeant's inhospitable stare, the small group fell in alongside the others. Gauvin grinned ruefully at the compromise. "Wishful thinking..." he sighed.

"Huh?"

"Ladies, Bielieux. Women."

"I know what they are, but--"

"But do you see any here?"

"No, but--"

"Exactly."

Still puzzled, but unwilling to admit it, Bielieux turned his attention elsewhere, glancing with furtive curiosity at the other soldiers around them.

One of the soldiers from the 17th whistled softly.

"Weren't there some women with the prisoners? Didn't you get a chance with them? Or was that purely officers' privileges?"

Gauvin made a face. "Not exactly friendly, that lot. If you know what I mean. 'Less you're inclined to force 'em." He laughed suddenly. "Had one lad, coupla nights back, got his ears boxed by some old shrew for tryin' it on with one o' their lasses. Though... you and Rosy had a spot o' luck with 'em that first night, didn't you, Paulot?"

"What?" Paol stared at him for a moment, puzzled, before he realized what the other soldier was referring to. "Ah, you ain't still on about that? It were fetch and carry for a coupla officers, that's all."

Gauvin was tempted to press it further, if only because when it came to that sort of questioning, Kerjean was almost better sport than Bielieux. Almost. But he simply shook his head. "Officers have all the luck."

Prayon, having listened unabashedly in on the conversation, although that was only visible to those next to him - in other words, to Saint-Hilaire - smiled ruefully.

"Well, if any officer had any luck with those English wenches, he has been exceedingly discreet about it!", he muttered to his friend.

----

Hugo, who at least knew some of the soldiers from the 86th since their adventure in the swamp, spit out the grass blade he was chewing to agree with a cryptic "Yeah!".

The troublemaker from before, a good-looking lad with powerful muscles, had found a new angle of attack, however:

"How come a bifstek molly gets to hit a French soldier? Had he lost his senses or his couilles?"

A snorting laugh escaped Gauvin. "Dunno about that first one, but how I heard it told, the way she went at him, he were lucky he didn't lose anythin' between his legs."

Hugo deigned to utter another remark:

"Should have kissed her first!"

Foucheaux snorted. "From what I heard, he probably would have. That were Charcot, weren't it. Not exactly choosy, him."

"Aye, that's the one," Gauvin grinned. The poor bastard was never going to live that down.

Grenville, who had marched silently next to his partner, his usual sour expression on his face, unexpectedly said:

"I hope they got home alright - the women, I mean."

"Awww," Foucheaux exclaimed, a soppy grin on his face. "Soft hearted, this one is. Got a soft heart for one in particular?"

Francois had been marching along quietly enough, but listening. He well recalled the English women, they were quite pretty and he had been impressed.

"I saw them, wished I could have had a chance to talk to them but no one would let me," he suddenly spoke up.

Grenville shot Foucheaux a venomous glance and followed it by a rather rude gesture, but otherwise didn't comment on the remark. Instead he turned to Sevière and smirked:

"Well, if those women really ate grown men to dinner, than perhaps your comrades have done you a favour, boy!"

"They did get back alright, the women. Or near as we could bring 'em, anyway," Paol offered.

Francois had no idea what Grenville meant by his remark but didn't ask for a clarification, he didn't really know the man and the fellow seemed in an owlish mood.

"They did get back alright, the women. Or near as we could bring 'em, anyway," Paol offered, speaking for the first time.

"And I am happy for them, women should not be part of wars. It is not right," Francois decided to give his opinion on the matter.

There was a bark of laughter from Gauvin. "Don't let our cantinieres catch you sayin' such things, lad."

"Oh? Well....that is different. They play a most....useful part for our army. But I would never want them to be taken prisoner...or God forbid, fall into the hands of Spaniards or Ports," he shook his head at even a consideration of that prospect.

Hugo laughed harshly.

"The Sous can tell you! Was a pretty sight when he came back."

Saint-Hilaire glanced at the lieutenant. He was also listening to the conversation which went from teasing one or another about the women, towards the whereabouts of women and where they ought, or ought not be. They were no worse or no better than men at times. He had not said it, but he was certainly thinking it.

"...Best it encourages you to fight fiercely, should we encounter them." He spoke loud enough for the men to hear, which was his intention.

Paol's face went scarlet at the implied rebuke, but Gauvin was unabashed. He flashed Hugo an awkward, somewhat guilty grin. "Looks like we've got ourselves an audience, boys," he murmured.

The officer had overheard them, well how could he not as loud as that idiot Gauvin always talked. Francois well recalled how badly that young lieutenant had been injured when they found him and carried him back to camp. It was not right for Gauvin to talk like that but expecting that man to apologize for anything was useless.

"Sorry, sir," Francois decided to at least speak up for himself.