29th June, late afternoon; Havercakes and tea

It felt good to get this bloody thing off his back, McIntyre thought as he shrugged out of his pack's straps. The blocky pack was set down with more care than perhaps it deserved, but in it was hoarded much the necessaries for supporting his role as Mister Cobb's batman.

The younger lads were likewise unburdening themselves, some with the usual relieved oaths. Once their packs were down, the lads set about the business of making this rough piece of ground into something passably liveable for the night.

"Where's the tea at?" Corporal Foxcroft wanted to know, impatient as ever for his favourite drink.

Jem Hewes shook his head as he arranged broken sticks in preparation for a fire. "Bell's fetchin' water, Corp'l. Won't be a minute, once this'n's lit."

McIntyre hid a smile as he led Mister Cobb's mule away from his mess's immediate area. The officers' tents were being pitched some yards away, at a suitable distance from where the men would bed down. In rather less comfort, the old Irishman thought with a slight shrug. It didn't take long to pitch Mister Cobb's tent and to arrange the few items of furniture inside it. Fortunately.

"Kettle's boilin'," Hewes was saying as McIntyre returned, having picketed the mule near his lieutenant's tent. There were other batmen close enough by for him to not be concerned about leaving the animal there.

" 'Bout time," Corporal Foxcroft grumbled, holding out his dented tin mug.

There were grins from the lads as they queued up to get their own mugs and cups filled. McIntyre busied himself laying out his old iron pan and the miscellaneous items of food he'd serve for Mister Cobb's dinner.

"Here, Holmes, boyo," the old Irishman said abruptly, looking up. "You got any cheese that ain't gone all mouldy?"

In his hand was a greyish block that had, at one time, been cheese, but was now no longer fit for eating.

With a sigh of relief, Mark dropped his pack and sat down next to it. He was ready for some rest, but first, he needed food. So without wasting time he filed over to where the rest of the troops where already waiting for their food.

He was about to sit down, when someone called his name. Mark half-jumped in surprise. "Hm, ah, what? Corporal?" He turned and looked over at the old man. "Cheese?" He looked with disgust at the cheese in the Irishman's hand. If it could even be called cheese.

"No Corporal. I don't got 'ny cheese. Least none that's fit for eating." He added after remembering the rotten lump in his own backpack.

"What'r yah needin' it for anyway?"

Corporal. A broad grin lit up McIntyre's face and he glanced toward Holmes. Technically speaking, that particular form of address was inaccurate, but he was pleased by it all the same. Maybe his sea-stories were being listened to more seriously than he'd thought.

"Jus' seein' to Mister Cobb's dinner. A bit of unspoilt cheese'd go fine with it, sure. If there was any!"

But it couldn't be helped. With a chuckle, McIntyre shifted enough so he could fling the useless lump of cheese away into the growing darkness.

Corporal Foxcroft was eyeing Holmes closely, for the moment distracted from his precious tea. "That'n ain't a corporal, fella. Not no more. Thank God!"

"I'd be s'prised if he ever was," Hewes chimed in with a smirk. "He's too sloppy. Mind you take a lesson from him, Holmes, an' don't get old, ever!"

Mark momentarily panicked. He knew he'd said something wrong when everyone started looking at him. Then he realized what it was. He had said Corporal. Uh-oh. He thought. Now I've done it. "Sorry, I meant to say... I meant to say... uh..." Now he'd even forgot what McIntrye was in the first place! Now he really was panicking. He stood up and started walking backwards. "I'll... I'll... try and go find some Corporal! I mean cheese!" He dashed off. He didn't really know where. Just away from them. At least not until he could come back with some cheese.

Not stoping on his sprint, he decided that his best hope might be with the baggage-train. Maybe some old lady will have pity on me an' give me a scrap of cheese. He wondered.

"Holmes you idiot, you've made a bloody fool of yourself." He muttered, not to anyone in particular.

His eyes widened a little when Holmes babbled a flustered apology and a promise to find some cheese, again with the address of 'Corporal'. He hadn't meant for the poor lad to dash off in such a rush. Never mind that he hadn't been the one to tease the youngster about his slip.

"That weren't sportin', Corporal," McIntyre said to Foxcroft in mild reproof.

The other Irishman shrugged. "He oughta learn what's what, sure. You gonna drink that?" He was eying McIntyre's as-yet untouched mug of tea.

"I am, so hands off."

~



The tall redcoat nearly ran straight over him, such was the adult's obvious haste. Charlie dodged out of the way and tried to keep a grip on the small burlap bag in his hands. He had only been away from the surgeon's care for a day and was still feeling weak, unsteady, and generally unwell, but the sawbones' wagon was no place to hang about. So he'd helped himself to some of the man's stores of food and scarpered.

Now here was a redcoat barrelling blindly along and talking to himself. Charlie blinked up at the man in bleary irritation before hastily turning to continue on his way. He was not about to risk getting clipped about the ears for being in the man's path, even though it was not his fault the redcoat was not watching where he was going.

Lost in his thoughts, quick reflexes were all that saved him from a collision with a young boy. "Agh, Sorr..." He stopped running and turned around to look at the boy. He sniffed. "Say, kid, what's in that bag yah got? 's it food?" Mark crossed his fingers. Maybe if he was lucky the boy would have some cheese with him. It smelled like he at least has some food in the bag. Then again, it would be slightly awkward if he didn't.

The questions made Charlie retreat a step, instinctively tightening his grip on the bag. "No," he replied warily. Why did this redcoat want food? No, that was a stupid question. Why did this redcoat want his food?

"No?" Mark kicked a clod of dirt. "You sure? I jus' need some cheese." That was probably a stupid question. "Well 'en were's 'at smell comin' from? You now anywhere else I can get food? Cheese?" He knew there had to be some cheese somewhere.

If the man was being honest, Charlie thought he might be persuaded to part with the half-wheel of cheese in the bag. But he had never known a redcoat to be completely truthful.

"Them sawbones, mebbe," he suggested, inching a little further away. Just in case.