28th June, Officers' Breakfast

When Vickery got back to his tent, it was fully daylight and there was a fire going, with a coffee-pot hanging over it. Cotton had borrowed a couple of camp chairs from somewhere - Vickery wondered if he hadn't coerced Rottlaender into helping out as Torrington was to be of the party. All in all, it looked the very picture of hospitality in camp, though he wondered if the food would bear that out. Probably not, all things considered.

He nodded to Cotton and indicated that Torrington should take a seat. "Let us hope that nothing else goes wrong today," he said musingly, sitting down himself. "Being woke like that is quite enough for me!"

Edward nodded a 'Good Morning!' to Cotton as well, smiled at Rottlaender when he came dashing to take the horses, and dropped into the offered seat. Eyeing the coffee-pot longingly, he elegantly crossed one leg over the other, looking very much as if he had just strolled into his club and was waiting for the footman to serve him breakfast.

"I can only agree with that. For a time I really thought that something had gone spectacularly wrong."

"You are not the only one who thought that," Vickery said. "Though if the French really were that close, I should expect to hear rifle fire before I heard cannon fire." He glanced over at the coffee-pot. "it should not be too long, hopefully, though I think Rottlaender is better at making coffee than Cotton is. My man much prefers it when I want tea."

Edward chuckled.

"Rottlaender is complete awe of what he calls 'die englische Teezeremonie'. I think he never had real tea at home. Even now he uses most of what he gets to barter. But I decided to keep him when that first morning he had made me a cup of coffee without me having to ask for it ..."

He inhaled the fragrant steam from the coffee pot.

"Perhaps it's the recent morning exercise, but this doesn't smell halfway bad either, though." He suddenly became serious again. "Actually I'm rather surprised that nobody in the shock and confussion fired at the gun crews - I wonder whether Captain Fraser had thought of that."

"Actually, that wouldn't surprise me - tea is a very... English thing. I would be surprised to learn that Rottlaender had ever tasted it before he joined the British army," Vickery replied with a smile. "He is probably the one who is in charge of the coffee this morning, actually." He paused, thoughtfully.

"That was strange, actually, although they were within our picquet line. I don't think our gallant Captain Fraser would have known what to think, had he been fired upon, though."

"He had loaded only wadding, but the piquets would have shot real bullets. I'm glad that obviously somebody either realized that the sound was wrong or that it was our own artillery, but ... I wouldn't care to risk my live on that."

Rottlaender reappeared, wielding a boot-brush in a threatening manner and Edward stretched out his legs. Suddenly he snorted.

"He would have to had to wave a white flag - in the dark and with the smoke and fog, I don't think anybody would have stopped just because of some shouting, and their uniform isn't that distinct in the dark. Surrendering to your own piquets ..."

While Rottlaender set about energetically removing all traces of this morning's early start from his boots, Edward pulled out his trusted pencil and sketchbook. He really needed to put a lock or something on it, he thought. If somebody saw these sketches in the wrong setting ...

"Whether anybody would have seen a white flag in the dark, with smoke, is somewhat debatable," Vickery said, one eyebrow raised at the sight of Rottlaender. No wonder Torrington's boots were always spotless, if the Rifleman was polishing them every time the Engineer sat down for five minutes.

"That would certainly have been an ignominious end to their exercise," he added, as though it wasn't anyway. "There is nothing worse than being fired upon by your own side."

Fraser had returned with his battery to their camp where it had been quickly paraded and relieved. They had been taunted and jeered by redcoats along the road. Fraser had tried to shut them up, but it had proven impossible; when one group would have been silenced, the battery would meet new taunters fifty yards up.

First things first; he had written down a quick apologie to the Brigade commander, though Fraser would, undoubtedly, have to explain it in person later. But those were later worries. He changed his tarleton for a blue cavalry fatigue cap, with, against regulations, RHA braided in black on the white band. He left his pelisse in the tent, but still wore his warm dolman. It was still a bit chilly outside.

For a moment Fraser thought he was back in England again, and that this was just a drill, but then he stepped out again and had to face reality. He walked down the path as it had been explained by Captain Vickery.
Though, finding green-coated riflemen between this mass of red and blue was indeed not hard. In less then 5 minutes he had spotted one of them and 2 minutes later found the camp.
The riflemen looked strange upon the intruder.
Fraser thanked God they didn't now he was the reason for their unpleasant way of waking up this morning.

He found Vickery's tent, where a riflemen was busy cleaning boots. He stepped in.
"Gentlemen."
A 'good morning' was unnecessary, Fraser thought with a little guilt.

Vickery looked up as Captain Fraser entered, and stood. "Captain. Do take a seat - there will be coffee shortly, and breakfast should not be too long after that. Please, have a seat."

Edward, too, stood, quickly putting a little black book and a pencil away.

"Captain Fraser. I hope you did find us without difficulties?"

A young, eagerly grinning rifleman with a large brush in his hands had darted up and to the back of the tent, waiting until the officers were settled.

Fraser felt embarrassed when the officers stood up.
He took the seat, unbuckled his sword and put it besides the chair.
"Thank you gentlemen. And yes, Mr Torrington, it was not very difficult to find the camp, for the rifle-green maybe invisible in nature, it's very distinctive in camp." he said with an uneasy smile.

Vickery resumed his seat after his two visitors had taken theirs. "I am assured there will be coffee shortly," he said, for Fraser's benefit as he had already told Torrington. "Of course, should you prefer tea, that can be arranged with very little difficulty."

Fraser nodded polity.

"Coffee in the morning is just perfect sir, thank you".

Edward's eyebrow flew up at being addressed as 'Mister'. Had it been deliberate? He didn't mind so much that Fraser either didn't know or didn't care to acknowledge his title, although he would have corrected that instantly for the sake of his family, of course. What really bothered him was the lack of his rank. He had worked hard for it and was in no way junior to Fraser. Even though they did not fire large guns at every opportunity, engineers were as valuable to the army as was the artillery. So there was no reason to ...

Reminding himself sternly that he was Vickery's guest and that offending his friend by creating a scene was the last thing he wanted to do, he bit down on the first cutting comment that had come to his lips, and instead said with cold politeness:

"Actually, it would be Lord Torrington, if you prefer not to use my military styling."

----

Rottlaender had abandoned his brush, and even wiped his hands on a cloth, before he used it dexterously to lift the coffee-pot from the fire. Approaching cautiously - he knew from the set of his shoulders that his Captain was not in a good mood, but perhaps the coffee would help - he asked:

"Coffee, Sirs?"

Oops.

"I was completely unaware of this, my Lord. I hope you do not take offense."
Fraser had tried to be correct and polite as possible, but it seemed the harder he tried the more mistakes he made.
He tried to remember if Vickery had any titles, but he realized he knew little about this rifleman.

Suddenly a rifleman, with a German accent, entered the tent and asked if they wanted coffee.
"Yes, please," Fraser answered.

Freddie smiled placatingly and first filled Fraser's cup, the Torrington's, and finally Vickery's.

"Breakfast is in one minute ready!", he announced. In his opinion, food was the best way to lessen any tension.

"Thank you, Rottlaender," Vickery said, accepting the cup that the Rifleman offered him. He turned to Fraser.

"I think we have perhaps not got off to a good start," he said, striving to be pleasant. "This is Captain the Lord Torrington, of His Majesty's Engineers, and I am Captain Vickery, of the 60th Rifles." He gave a slight shrug. "So we are all the same rank, despite our differing trades."

They only needed a cavalry Captain to complete the collection and have Horse, Foot and Artillery represented, as well as the Engineers.

Edward bowed formally.

"At your service, Captain Fraser."

---

Freddie had filled all cups and put the pot down where it would stay warm, but could be easily reached and dashed of to see what food was ready and could be brought in.

Fraser was surprised by Vickery's little speech, but grateful for it, for he could use some reassurance after today's event.

"Thank you, Captain Vickery,' and then bowed his head to Torrington.
"And thank you, mylord". He drank some of his coffee.
"Your Riflemen look very well, captain. The reputation of the 60th, which is quite well known in England, seems to be true".

Vickery was proud of his men, and couldn't help smiling at the compliment. "Thank you, Captain," he replied. "I had thought that the 95th were the better known Rifle Regiment, and I am glad that is not the case."

He blew the steam off his coffee; if Cotton preferred to brew tea, at least Rottlaender was capable of making a passable cup of coffee. And this was more than passable. He wondered if the younger man could be persuaded to show Cotton how to do coffee; there were days when nothing could compare to a good cup of coffee.

Rottlaender smiled. He liked people to like his food and coffee, and Vickery looked rather like he did. As long as Cotton was still working on the actual breakfast, there was not much he could do, so he picked up his brush again. Mylord's boots were gleaming again, but vickery's and Fraser's could certainly stand a good brushing in his opinon. "Guest first!", he remembered and respectfully approached Captain Fraser.

"Boot, Sir?", he inquired, brandishing his brush.

Edward had settled down on his chair again and now silently sipped his coffee. His demeanor was rather icy - he couldn't really blame Fraser for calling him 'Mylord' now, but the steadfast avoidance of his rank (which he preferred), was getting on his nerves - which weren't too good anyway before his third cup of coffee.

Fraser looked at his boots. They could certainly use a cleaning, and his own batman had been busy with his tent, so the offer was welcome.
He took off his boots and handed them over to the rifleman.
"Thank you, my dear fellow".

This was, Fraser quickly calculated, the 4th time he said 'thank you' in less then 10 minutes.

Edward inwardly raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment. Instead he cast his mind about for an innocent topic of conversation. The mood would probably benefit from them all finding some common ground.

"I'm afraid you will have drunken better coffee in India, Captain Fraser, but it seems that African is the only kind you can get here", was his attempt.

Freddie somewhat stunned took the boots. He had expected to polish them on the foot. Was he supposed to bring some kind of substitute? That would be quite difficult: Even if he dared to bring the Captain's other boots, they would never fit. So instead he dashed away and came back with a horseblanket which he spread out in front of the artillery captain. At least he would not have to place his feet in the mud.

Then he set to very energetically brush the boots, muttering not quite silent (but fortunately mostly German) comments to Cotton about the servants artillerymen made, letting their officers go out like this.