June 30th: A Meeting by Chance

"Well this is a bloody awful mess you've gotten yourself into this time Jean." Jean muttered. He had only just arrived in the camp and had made the mistake of assuming that it would be a simple task to find the section of it devoted to 3 coy, 5/60th Rifles. This had however, proven to be easier said then done.

After wandering around a few more minutes, Jean found himself... just as lost as earlier. Only now he seemed to be in the artillery area of the camp. By now though, the young Lieutenant had had enough. It was time to stop and ask for directions. He halted and looked around, trying to spot an officer. Even when he did find one, he hesitated. He may have lived most of his life in England, but he still had a thick French accent. That could be very, very, troublesome and even with the dress uniform of an officer of the 60th's Rifle battalion, there was no telling what could happen to him. Fortunately though, the men at the 60th should know their new officer would be arriving today. But would this officer?

"Excuse me, my good man." He said, attempting to hide his accent. "I am looking for the 3rd Company, 5th Battalion, 60th Regiment. The Rifles. Would you by chance know where they are located?"

Fraser had been writing letters and excuses all morning, thanks to that unfortunate business two days earlier. He had been hiding in the little part of the camp that was used for the horse artillery, and he had been sure to run for the safety of this tent every time someone not in a blue uniform had been spotted.

It thus came as quite a shock when he suddenly stood a yard away from a rifle officer in a, on closer inspection, very new uniform, while Fraser was in stable dress, only recognizable by sash. He automatically trew a salute, even before he had realized the man had spoken. In a French accent!

"The Rifles?" Fraser asked, as if it was a most odd question. Well, it was, in a artillery camp. He wondered if he had to call this man sir. He had the same rank insignia as Captain Vickery, but he appeared very young. Either way, Fraser wasn't in danger.
"May I know who is asking these directions?" he asked. There was probably a good reason there was a Frenchman in a British uniform, but even Frenchmen should have the decency to introduce themselves...

At least he was getting somewhere now. "Hm, yes I suppose you may. My name is Jean Delacroix. I am an officer in the 3rd Company 5th Battalion 60th Rifles, that is why I am looking for them. Mr. Vickery in particularly. And yes, I am French. No worries though. I am Royalist and I've lived Essex most of my life." Jean now foresaw the conversation likely going in one of two ways, with him in jail as a spy until Vickery was found and could explain it all, or with him finding the unit just fine.

He was beginning to fear the former when he asked. "So would you happen to know their location Mr...?" Jean waived his hand in the air waiting for the man's name. He shifted his feat, the heat was beginning to get difficult to take.

Fraser was getting a bit irritated. Damned, was this man delibratly trying to not tell his rank to Fraser? Maybe it was impolite to ask for a rank in polite French sociaty?
He was saying mister, so maybe that was a small hint that Fraser ought to call this stranger sir?
At the other hand, the man was obviously new to spain and probably to war all together. But there always was that small change...

"Captain Henry Fraser," he made sure to put the stress on the first word, " Royal Horse Artillery, at your service. You are new to Portugal?"

The longer Jean stared at the man's working uniform, the more he realized that his dress uniform may have been somewhat out of place here, even if he was attempting to look his best. "A pleasure to meet you sir." He stuck-out his hand in greeting. "Yes, I am in-fact new to Portugal. I have only arrived just recently from England." Jean whipped the sweat from his forehead. He was really starting to sweat now, and wished even more that he had chosen a different uniform. Portugal didn't exactly have a place in his "want to see" list.

"I have purchased a Lieutenant position in the company, so I'll be spending awhile with the Rifles before I get to purchase a Captain's spot in a unit. So, um... do you know where they are?" Jean was starting to get a tad impatient to find the Rifles.

Ah, now we are getting somewhere. He shook the man's hand.
"Pleasure to meet you too, Lieutenant. You are in luck, I have met Captain Vickery a few days ago."

Fraser noted that Delacroix was sweating like he was being cooked. The uniform of the 60th was no doubt very elegant, but the poor man was probably almost fainted. He unbuckled his canteen and offered it to Delacroix.

"Here, you seem to be in need for this. I can bring you to the 60th if you want, to make sure you don't get lost again. Captain Vickery would not be pleased if I lost his precious new lieutenant!", He said with a wink.
And by that he could keep an eye on him until Vickery confirmed the man was not a spy.
After all, this was a Frenchman and they were at war with the French, weren't they?

Now he was really getting somewhere. He would soon meet the men of the rifles, and yet, he couldn't help but feel a tad bit nervous. Though he wasn't about to let that show. When offered the man's canteen he was almost disgusted at the prospect of having to drink from someone else's canteen, but he was parched. So he drank anyway.

"Ah, much better. Thank you Captain." Jean laughed lightly at Fraser's jest. "Yes I suppose that would rather dreadful. So now, let us be off." He hoped Fraser wouldn't keep him talking all the way to Vickery. He certainly had no problem with talking. He was however, worried that he may receive some rather unwanted attention due to his accent. No matter though, he would humor the man.

He took the canteen back.

"Good! Let's...Oh wait, a moment."

Fraser turned around and shouted: "O'Muraille! My sword please!"
He gave Delacroix a excusing smile. "Can hardly leave my little part of the camp without it. An officer ought to have his sword always with him."

An old looking ranker came running, sword and belt in his hands. He handled them to Fraser.
"Anything else, sir?" the man spoke, with a light Irish accent.
"No, O'Murraille, that will be all," Fraser answered, as he buckled the sword. The old Irishmen saluted and went on his way.

"Well, let us go too the 60th then!" Fraser said well-tempered.
Nobody would bother him if he claimed to help a new arrival to his post, would they?
He tried to measure the young lieutenant. There were enough royalist Frenchmen in the army, and they were all very keen of beating Boneparte and putting their king on the throne... But being just in the army and already talking about a captaincy?
At the other hand, such eagerness was not very strange in the parts of the army where one could buy promotion. Dreadful business, the infantry.

"Did you have a pleasant journey, Lieutenant? Oh, watch your step here, you don't want your boots covered in this," he said, pointing at a heap of horsedung.

Jean waited as Fraser got his sword from the Irish-man. With a sharp turn, Jean was off towards the Rifles. His eyes darted from place to place about the camp as they walked. Peering into open tents, and watching soldiers pass. Until Fraser spoke. "My trip? I supp..." Jean frowned and stepped carefully to avoid any unwanted... additions to his uniform."Ugh" He wrinkled his nose. "It was alright. I've never been very fond sailing. Though I am not yet married, so I had no wife or children to worry about. Once I arrived, it wasn't too hard to find the camp."

He paused, thinking it would be polite to allow the Captain some time to speak. "So, how about yourself. Have you been here long?"

Fraser laughed.
"Just 5 days in the camp, about two weeks in Portugal all together. But I have served in India, and later in Spain, in Corruna. Terrible that was. Damn frogs got the better of us there!". Then he remembered he had a French guest.
"Ehm, excuse me the nickname. Soldiers talk, even get the better of me. I've never been very fond of sailing neither.
Damn things fright the horses!"

Suddenly something struck him. "So...do you have a horse of your own?".

Strangers were coming. The wind was in just the right direction for him to catch the approaching waft of unusual smells - the distinctive odour of the Things With Hard Feet, which was not in itself suspicious or even dangerous, and the less-welcome tang he'd learned to recognise as unique to Bad Humans.

With a low growl forming deep in his throat, the dog came to his paws, his ears first pricking forward, then pinning themselves back along his head. He was not in his usual place, with the Earthy Humans, but that did not make him any less alert to danger. Especially as these two strangers were on the track leading to the Earthy Humans' camp.

"No offense taken, I'm used to it." Even in his limited military experience, Jean was used to the slang term for the French. He may not have liked it, but he was used to it none-the-less.

"A horse? Yes, of course I have a horse." He said it almost like he thought every respectable officer owned a horse, which he knew wasn't true. "A Grey Anglo-Norman Stallion. He is over at the smith right now, had a bit of an accident with one of his horse-shoes." He was about to ask if Fraser owned a horse, but then he realized that it might be a bit stupid to ask if an officer in the horse artillery owned a horse. The he saw something. "Hello, what have we here?" Jean watched as a dog, he presumed was stray, wandered near-by. Obviously not impressed by their presence. "This fellow doesn't seem to be too impressed with us, eh Captain?" He studied the dog for a moment. It was blocking their path, and didn't look like it was going to let them pass unless they handled the situation right. Which likely meant using food.

"You ever seen him around before? And is he usually a good natured chap, or always like this?" By now he had stopped walking, thinking of a way to either appease the dog or get it out of the way. "Or do you at least have a scrap of food or two to give the thing?"

"Be sure to get back to your horse in time, Lieutenant," Fraser said as he approached the dog. "Otherwise, you might find yourself having remounted an previously dismounted cavalier with a Grey Anglo-Normal stallion."

Fraser inspected the dog. "Don't know him, but I presume he doesn't like my smell, being cavalry and all. Maybe you can try and see what his temper is like?" he asked, as seriously as one could get. His excuse sounded reasonable.

He was not sure which of the two he distrusted more. The Earthy Bad Human or the Powder-and-Sweat Human. Both were strangers and thus to be wary of, and it didn't help that both had been moving toward the Earthy Humans' camp. What did they want there? Certainly they had nothing good about them. Not even Food.

The growl deepened in his throat and the flash of white teeth was visible, briefly. If these two were smart, which few humans were, they would turn about and go away.

"Here, you devilish beast, where've you - oh! Beg pardon, sirs! I ain't seen you... here, now, mutt, leave that out, will you? C'mere then. There's a good boy." The speaker was a young man in shirtsleeves, wearing a red and blue forage cap.

"Me?!" Jean said, shocked. "The dog probably thinks I'm on the enemy's side. I'm not going near him!" Then he saw a someone else run-up and begin to scold the dog "You there!" He nodded toward the man. "Remove your beast from our path. And keep your eye on him better next time."

The young man came belatedly to attention, his shoes scraping audibly over the rough ground. "Beg pardon, sir," he said stiffly, offering a salute. "He ain't rightly mine, sir, but I'll shift him directly-like. C'mere, fella, and cease that noise."

Whether or not this admonition was understood could not be said, but the dog recognised a summons when one was given. He backed toward the lad, a low growl still rumbling from somewhere deep within. Of the three humans, this lad - the Noisy Human - was the only one he knew and therefore could trust.

Well, that was a problem solved. He wondered what regiment the young man belonged to. Infantry, obviously. But it didn't matter.

"Thank you private. Lieutenant, shall we continue? It's just a few minutes now."

"Hold on Fraser." He said. "Before you go lad." Even though they were probably the same age. "Do you happen to know where Captain Vickery's company is located? Any help would be appreciated."

"Of course, sir," the youngster said immediately. His thin face seemed to brighten again and he turned on his heel to point. "Just yon, it is, sir. Not terrible far, neither. I'll show you, if you likes, sirs."

Preferably without the dog tagging along, though he reckoned there was no putting the beast off. He belonged to the Rifles more than he did to the Coldstream's Light Company. Waiting only for a moment, since he assumed the two officers would follow him anyway, the lad set off at a brisk pace.

True to his expectation, the dog trotted along after him, keeping a wary eye on the two officers as he went.

"Good fellows, the Riflemen," the lad went on. "Had some adventures, they done, not too long ago. But they're the sort to go lookin' for adventures. You newly come out to join 'em, sir, or are you just back from Belem?"

Fraser? Fraser? Captain Fraser. Damned, he was senior here and he knew the way damn well himself, so why did this lieutenant think he could things like this?
Did he think Fraser was not up to this? He felt like being played with by senior officers again. But this time, Fraser had the higher rank.

"Lieutenant, as you are new I will forgive your little mistake there," he said as he walked next to him, looking him in the eyes," But it is customary in the army to adress an officer with his proper rank, especially when the officer in question is senior to you. Further, most senior officers appricate being consulted before a decision, how minor it can be."

Maybe he was a little hard on him, but it was clear that this young frenchman needed some teaching, for it was just a matter of time that he would find an officer with a lot less patience.
Personally, Fraser didn't mind iniative from his subalterns, where some men did, bút he was excessivly proud on his rank.
"Do I make myself clear, Lieutenant?" He added.

Jean froze as heard Fraser starting to talk behind him. He knew what was coming. He swallowed as Fraser walked up beside him to begin his lecture. Had Jean had a tail, it would have been between his legs. Though Jean listened, making absolutely sure not to show his exasperation as it went on.

"Yes... Captain. Point taken." The Private had continued on ahead. Either unaware of the dispute or just preferring to avoid it, a wise choice. Jean quickened his pace to get closer to the soldier. "I have just arrived to meet them. I have not yet had the pleasure of staying at Belem. I needed to spend some time as a Lieutenant before I can become a Captain, so I found a spot with the rifles." Jean wasn't normally one for such talk with, of all things, a Private, but right now he would do just about anything to get away from Fraser for a moment.

So the fellow was no different from a redcoat officer, the lad thought. Well. Except for his green jacket, that was. He had managed not to grin when the Artillery captain had snapped out his reprimand but still found the situation highly amusing.

"That's right clever, sir," the youngster said. "Belem's an unhappy place, what-all I heard of it, sir, so not havin' been there is a blessing. Yon's the Rifles. Will that serve, sirs?"

There probably wasn't anything else they needed from him, anyway. This might be a good thing, though, since he wanted to get the dog back to his own company's bivouac before the wretched beast took it into his head to bite someone.

This time, Fraser took the word.

"Yes, that would be all, private". He saluted, and added:"Goodday, and don't forget to feed your dog". He also added a quick, almost unnotecable wink.

He took a moment to spot Vickery's tent, found it, and set off.
"Come on Lieutenant! Duty is calling!"

"Hello, dog!" Maggie called happily, kneeling and holding out her hands to the animal. She straightened up when she noticed the officers not far behind.

"Gabe," she whispered to her husband. "Officers comin'."

The voice belonged to the Human from the Stream. With a happy wuffle, the dog went trotting toward her, as ever interested in positive attention. He knew her better than the Noisy Human anyway, and she was automatically preferable to those two strangers.

He thrust his nose at her offered hands for an obligatory sniff, then decided her fingers needed a wash, so he lapped at them with his broad pink tongue.

~



"Yes sir," the youngster said cheerfully and saluted. He glanced around briefly for the dog, then saw it had found someone else to get attention from. With a grin, he turned and made his way back toward his company's bivouac. Like as not the dog would remain here with the Rifles for the night.