1st July; Occupational hazards

The blow to the side of his head, this time made with an empty hand, left his ears ringing slightly and prompted another coarse word to come tumbling out. Damn it, what was with this oaf and belting him, anyway?

"Those are mine!" Johnny Quinn burst out, his retreat halted upon hearing this threat to his drumsticks. "You can't be breakin' 'em!"

His mate was, understandably, less concerned about that, when the alternative was having his fingers brought to any harm. "Stow it," he shot back. How could he get out of this without suffering any damage?

"Oh, well we mustn't be unfair," Jenny said, turning her attention to the distressed drummer. "Perhaps we break one finger and one drumstick and let you be on your way. Unless you'd rather fill the kettle."

Christian was slowly catching on. Without a word, he offered the drumstick to Jenny. He didn't dare look at her; he'd never be able to keep a straight face.

"You can break his fingers all you like," said Johnny hotly. "But if you snaps my sticks..."

Were it not for the grip on his collar, the youngster would have socked his mate. Disloyal bugger!

Jenny took the drum stick from Christian and toyed with it in her hands, poised to break it in half. "Well we seem to have a dilemma. How are we going to fix this situation?"

"Can gis back that stick, for a start," Johnny said promptly.

His mate pulled a face. Stupid clod thought they were going to get out of this in one piece and without a fight. He gripped the drumstick he still somehow had possession of, then jerked that hand upwards and back, aiming for the head of the oaf who was holding his collar.

If he was quick enough, he could slip away once that blundering ox let him go. Johnny could stay behind here and plead for his drumstick all he liked!

Christian gave a startled yelp and struck out reflexively at the boy with his free hand, gritting his teeth as the older, all too familiar pain filled his skull, quickly drowning the sharp sting of the stick. God damn it. "That's it," he growled, tightening his grip on the boy's collar and starting off away from the tent.

He was belted around the head again, an affront to which he responded by striking out blindly with the drumstick again. The oaf was dragging him away from the tent. This could not mean anything good. Accordingly, the youngster was determined to resist as best he could.

"Daft bugger!" Johnny burst out, pointedly making no move to help.

Jenny had winced when she saw Christian's head struck by the drumstick, even if it was only wielded by a boy. She knew what his poor head had already endured. Well, that little rat would be getting what he deserved now.

Jenny was about to snap her drumstick in half, but she stopped and narrowed her eyes, speaking coldly for the first time. "Fill up that kettle!" she said to the drummer.

Dragging the flailing little git to what he thought was an appropriate distance from the tent, Christian grabbed for the wrist of the hand which held the drumstick, shifting his own grip from the lad's collar to the joint at his elbow. "Drop it," he snapped, increasing the pressure on the boy's arm.

"Why should I?" Johnny asked petulantly. "It wasn't me upset it.

If that batman didn't thump his mate good for this, Johnny himself would. What a mess this had got to be! He glanced disdainfully toward where the other drummer had been dragged and shrugged when he saw the batman start twisting his captive's arm. Served the stupid bugger right, didn't it?

~

"Drop what?" The lad challenged, still clinging to the drumstick despite the growing pain in that arm. His other hand balled up tight into a fist and, gritting his teeth, he drew back to swing. It would be an awkward punch and probably not a very strong one, but he was not about to admit defeat yet.

There was a hesitant, almost inaudible, cough from nearby and an uncertain voice asked, "W-w-what is this n-nonsense?"

Jenny snapped the stick in half and dropped the pieces on the ground. Then she turned to continue on her way without a backwards glance.

An oath escaped Christian as the boy's fist caught him in the nose - it wasn't a particularly hard blow, but it still smarted like hell -- and he pushed harder on the lad's arm.

It was a moment before the soft voice registered and he looked up guiltily, half expecting to find an officer. Instead he saw Captain Blackwood's batman and felt his face go red. "Uh... don't suppose you could give me hand?"

Only one word came successfully out of Johnny's mouth and, naturally, it wasn't at all complimentary. He swept forward to grab up the two pieces of drumstick, already resolved to stick them into his mate at the first opportunity.

After, of course, that idiot monkey got the daylight beaten out of him.

~

"Leave it, y'thick-headed swine!" The youngster snarled, trying to twist his body so the pressure on his trapped arm was not so great. "Or I'll give you a hand, sure!"

The interloper blinked, his face flushing dark. What in the devil had he just interrupted? More to the point, why had he interrupted? Swallowing hard, Martin tried to order his panicked, racing thoughts. Since he'd blundered right into this, he'd have to address it somehow.

"A h-hand?" That was a stupid question. He glanced at the boy whose arm was being contorted and amended, "D-does he h-have something of y-yours?"

"He's got some'at that don't belong to him," Christian grunted, struggling to keep the strain on the drummer's arm. But he was a slippery little sod and, switching tactics abruptly, Christian threw his weight against the boy, trying to force him to the ground.

"Which I ain't, now gerroff, or - " the lad's indignant protest was abruptly cut off by the fat bugger of a batman falling on him. A wheezy-sounding whuff came from the lad as he hit the dirt, quite thoroughly squashed.

~

Martin blinked, twice, in bewilderment at the scene. What in the name of God had he stumbled into? "Er... b-but I t-thought drumsticks b-belonged t-to drummers. Isn't h-he a drummer?"

"You don't say?" Christian grunted, twisting the boy's arms in an attempt to pin them behind his back. "You hear that?" his tone, as he directed the question to the drummer , was almost conversational. "Martin here says that drummers got drumsticks. Guess this was all a big misunderstanding, eh?"

"Course it is. Gerroff - oi!" The lad tried futilely to roll away from the fat-arsed goat holding his arms. He couldn't even give the bastard another whack with the drumstick now. Damn!

Martin frowned in confusion. "I'm s-sure it i-i-is," he said, wishing he had not been so stupid as to interrupt whatever was going on here.

"Aye. Well. Just so we don't have any more misunderstandings, I think I'd better take--" he twisted at the drumstick and yanked. "This."

The drumstick was gone suddenly from his hand, eliciting a sharp "Oi! Gis that back, y'filthy swine!"

It was painfully evident now that Martin had stumbled into something completely beyond his ability to cope with. He looked between the other two Coldstreamers, biting his lip in uncertainty, then swallowed. "I h-have to get s-some water for the captain. I-It might be b-best if you both were g-gone before he makes his r-rounds."

With that, Martin turned his back and walked away with far more steadiness than he felt internally.

Huh? Christian disentangled his attention from the drummer, but Martin was already heading towards the river. Damn it all.

Jabbing the drumstick into the boy's ribs, he scrambled up. "Go on," he growled, aiming a solid kick at the drummer. "You heard him. Get."

The kick wasn't necessary, for the lad was already starting to get up. He spat at the older soldier but didn't hang about for an answering kick or blow. He was off like a shot, already planning how to get that bugger back.