16th June: Food for Thought

"No apology needed, Seviére." Saint-Hilaire smiled.

"What was spoken, was only the truth. A fact that can't be denied." He had held his head tilted, so that his one eye was focused on the young private soldier.

A brief but cheerfully fierce grin split Hugo's face.

"Kill three for you, Sir!", he promised loudly, returning Gauvin's look. Grenville added under his breath "... if we aren't to busy snipering at each other."

The lieutenant's shoulders briefly shook and he ducked his head, coughing.

"Should I promise to kill three for you as well? Or even better six, me being an officer?", he asked his friend in a nearly inaudible voice brimming with laughter.

Bielieux's thin chest puffed out. "I'll kill five of the bastards!"

Gauvin's' hand shot out casually, catching the younger soldier on the back of the head and nearly unseating his shako.

"Hey!"

"Leave some for the rest of us, eh?" he chuckled.

Other soldiers chimed in now, laying claim to large quantities of British soldiers before having found even a trace of them. The "I want one, too!" and "Leave some for me, you greedy bastard!" sounded rather like fishwives fighting over a ball of cloth than like soldiers, but if they showed the same spirit in a fight, the British would be dead before they fired the first shot.

Before the numbers could get higher than a whole British regiment, however, Serjant Fernet called out:

"Keep up, lads! We want to reach them before they hear you and decide to run!"

Francois got caught up in the excitement of the rest of them plus the enthusiasm of youth and cried out, "Yes, put me down for one....no at least three."

He suddenly thought of the Englishman Pye. He hoped they did not meet Pye once more for next time they would have to kill him. Even worse, HE might have to kill him.

Saint-Hilaire felt a bit flustered. He nodded a thanks to Hugo, then smiled as the lieutenant went and offered some as well. It had escalated since, and it made the young sous-lieutenant rather proud and grateful to have these men with him. They were the good kind. He chuckled.

"We might all get scolded for not leaving any left for the rest of the army." He spoke, amused, and though he agreed with the serjant that they might need to speak quieter, he thought to leave it to the men to do so.

More quietly he said to his friend. "We've got ourselves some fine men..should be glad." And after. "...And, lieutenant, don't tease me."

"Indeed."

Bastien smiled wryly, but there was an undeniable glimmer of pride in his eyes, and in an almost unconscious movement he squared his shoulders a bit more and walked a bit straighter. Then his grin became mischievous again and he complained in an overly petulant voice, that nonetheless failed to be loud enough to be understood by the men behind him:

"But I'm bored! How long is it to the British camp? Are we there yet? I want to fight! Will you tell me a story instead?"

"British?" Foucheaux said quietly to his neighbors, not wanting to draw undue attention to his ignorance. "I thought we was goin' after Portuguese." Everything was confusing. Why couldn't they follow one of their own officers instead of these 17e idiots?

"I think," Paol said, equally quietly, "We're goin' after whoever did for 2nd Battalion's lads."

"Who was it, then?" he whispered, feeling quite ignorant, more so than usual.

Fernet soon gravitated towards another group where one soldier seemed to flag a bit already.

Grenville had fallen silent again, looking sullen, kicking at larger stones and once only with much luck avoiding Prayon's leg. Hugo softly whistled snatches of marching songs, and finally settled on the Ça Ira. Soon several othery joined in, and Grenville, still looking as if he held a slice of lemon in his mouth, started to drum out the rhythm an his canteen.

"Dunno. It's just the patrol ain't come back and..." he trailed off with a shrug. Poor lads.

He looked up as the some of the others began to sing, smiling faintly but did not join in.

"Oh hush, monsieur Prayon.." He paused and looked amused as he murmured. "Or ought I say citizen Prayon." He was quick to glance at the men and then at the path that they were taking. He listened for a short while.

"Don't be a child, we are merely attempting to find our own...since we've little information on where they were last, this promises to be .. quite the journey."

Bielieux joined in eagerly with the song and after a bit even Gauvin started to sing, low and brutally off key. He cast a glance over his shoulder at Kerjean and when he saw the other soldier was marching silently, his face split into a grin. He said nothing, however, and quickly faced front once more to continue his quiet butchery of the song.

After a while Grenville - who happened to have a surprisingly good singing voice - joined in, too, and the soldiers marched to the driving chorus. The lines between were less clear - there were at least three different versions in use - but each time the 'Ah! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira' was loudly belched out and feet stamped in rhythm.

One of the first things Francois had experienced as a fresh recruit was when soldiers were on a long march, singing could pass the time and make the journey seem less arduous. Now his voice wasn't the best but he was used to singing some for his sisters when they were little, at least they seemed to have enjoyed it.

Joining in, Francois now contributed his best effort to the mens' performance.

The midday sun slanting through the trees had gradually mellowed into gold and now even the last of those rays had disappeared, bathing the forest in shadow. There was still plenty of light to see by, but that too would soon be gone. Paol took a swig from his canteen, draining the last tepid mouthful. "How far back d'you reckon that stream was we passed?" he asked no one in particular.

Saint Hilaire did appear less at ease as the day began to slowly bid them good bye. He had not even thought that they had walked as long or far, but time passed rather strangely when on the march. It could drag to no end, or it could offer a swift end.

The song was pleasant to listen to, and he did that not even considering to join in. it was something that was of the men, and they could enjoy in doing. An officer was not to take that pleasure from them by invading into their 'world'. "Are we to continue until we find them or.. we find reason to believe that we should return?" Since Lieutenant Prayon was the highest ranking of the group any such decision would mostly fall to him, to make.

"Couple of minutes?" Grenville ventured. Hugo added: "Three!"
Fernet had been quietly talking with the officers, but now he turned back to the marching men and called:

"Hugo. Grenville. You there! And you two. Up ahead and find us a place to rest. The river should bend back towards the road somewhere again."

"Let's find someplace to make camp and have a look at the map. I don't really know - orders are of course to find them, if possible. But I'm more known for loosing things than finding them, so I'd at least would like to know where they went missing before we start searching high and low."

Bastien shifted the straps of his pack a bit.

"How are you? You'll tell me if it is too much too soon, will you?"

Paol straightened up, surprised, and knocked Foucheaux's arm lightly, "Guess that means us."

Slinging his musket over one shoulder, he ducked out of formation and fell in with the two scouts. "Bend in the river'll mean slow water. Might be fish," he remarked hopefully.

"Fish?" Foucheaux repeated, his face brightening. He had been brooding on the thought of spending the night out here, far from the rest of the army and their friends, in hostile territory with those Portuguese out there, watching them, waiting...

But food was a pleasant distraction. Or even the thought of food.

Paol grinned. "Aye, with any luck. Worth a try at any rate, eh?"

Hugo grinned while he scanned his side of the road, then sprinted a few steps ahead to have a look at the tracks on the road.

"Trout, please! Got brandy", he called back.

Grenville scowled. "You could offer me some!", he chided while he followed his friend, but like most Hugo paid no attention to this complaint, but held out his canteen with a disarming smile instead. "Water. Healthy!", he declared.

Grenville huffed, but took a sip.