3rd July; Informal investigations

"He attacked me. Sir."

There was no way for the redcoat to deny it, either. He had delivered the first blow when he'd boxed Mayden's ears.

He attacked me, sir. Of course. Vickery gave a silent sigh. "Now, Mayden, why would a redcoat who doesn't know you attack you, unless it was with some sort of provocation?"

The chances were more than even that neither of them would tell him exactly what had happened, of course, but that was no reason at all not to try to figure things out.

There were times - and this was one of them - when Vickery wished he was still a Lieutenant and could hand it off to his superior. The trouble was, now he was the superior and had to deal with it himself.

He turned to the redcoat, who'd served as his batman during his recuperation while Cotton had been a prisoner of the French. At least he could remember the man's name. "Do you have anything to say, McIntyre?"

"He's from the 33rd, sir," Mayden replied, as if this was more than sufficient cause for the oldster's assault.

~

The name of Mayden had stopped his thought process cold. It had sparked any number of memories, all of them concerning another Mayden - though McIntyre belatedly recognised the similarities in this young lubber's features and build, now that he was thinking about it. He'd never have credited that Tom would have gone for a family man, but he supposed it wasn't that great a surprise, really. Not if he had become one himself.

"I came 'longside wantin' to find out if anyone here knew anythin' about Flint-dog bein' used rough, 'cause he got cut up a bit a couple days ago. This'n here got to bein' uncivil, so I boxed his ears. He refused to fetch an officer when I asked to be took to one. Then it got to a bit of scuflfin', which the first luff came up an' stopped."

"You should not tar every soldier of the 33rd with the same brush," Vickery said mildly. "I believe Private McIntyre may well have known your father, in the West Indies."

He turned to the oldster. "You came to enquire about whether anybody knew what had happened to the dog?" He looked to Mayden. "And you took it into your head to be uncivil simply because he is from a different regiment from your own?"

Why shouldn't he, then? Because he was damned sure the 33rd were protecting that evil bastard Hakeswill... what? Mayden blinked and looked in confusion at Captain Vickery. His father had never had dealings with the 33rd - the old man had been a Marine, not a soldier.

"He was near-to accusin' us of whatever it was got done to the dog, sir. I only told him to go 'cause of him not bein' welcome here. He boxed my ears. So I got hold of his jacket to show him off, he shoved me, an' I belted him for it. Then he knocked me down - that's when Mister Delacroix come in, sir."

Now they were getting somewhere... That explanation had the ring of truth to it - as much as Vickery was likely to get, anyway.

Vickery turned to McIntyre. "What was it you said to him, as close as you can remember?" he asked.

Now was not the time to think about this lad being Tom's son, McIntyre told himself. He kept his gaze fixed on the side of the Rifles officer's tent and replied, "I told him Flint-dog had been cut up, on his shoulder, and since he hangs about here a fair amount of the time, I reckoned somebody here might know about it. This'n just said it were only me lookin' for trouble with 'us Sweeps', as he said it."

"Somebody here might know about it," Vickery repeated. Taken the wrong way, that could indeed sound like an accusation, he supposed. "You didn't actually outright accuse any of the Rifles of doing it, though?"

"No, sir."

"So I am to understand that you ended up milling over a misunderstanding about the whereabouts of a dog?" Unbelievable - were it anyone else but a couple of soldiers, and Vickery thought that even they should have more sense than that.

"Not the whereabouts, sir," McIntyre said patiently. "I know where he's at. But I don't know who's had a go at him with a knife. That's what I come 'longside to try to find out."

Vickery must be more tired than he'd thought - they had indeed established that McIntyre knew where the dog was, but not who had injured it. "Indeed. It was still over a dog, though."

He sighed. "Mayden, you should know better than to pick a fight with someone who is old enough to be your father, and McIntyre, you should certainly know better than to end up in a fight over a dumb animal. I am putting you, Mayden, on extra duties, and I will recommend the same to your officer, McIntyre."

Inwardly, McIntyre seethed at the insult, but showed nothing of it. So this was the measure of the Rifles, was it? Clearly his initial opinion of them, formed while he'd been briefly living amongst them, deserved some reconsidering.

"Yes sir," the oldster said tonelessly. The grasshopper beside him offered an equally bland acknowledgement. They were both feeling put out, though for very different reasons.

"You may also let it be known that I consider such an attack on a defenceless creature to be a despicable act of cruelty," he added with a touch of steel in his tone, wondering if it would ever come out who had done that - because certainly it was not the Rifleman standing in front of him. "Very well, unless anyone has anything further to add, you may both be dismissed."

If those words had come first, McIntyre would have believed him. Now, he was rather less inclined. He saluted, about-turned, and made his departure.

~



"What if he comes back, sir?" Mayden asked, waiting until the redcoat was out of earshot.

Just as McIntyre left, Captain Torrington approaced Vickery's tent. He was in a rather bleak mood: Not only had the survey they had just concluded been difficult due to terrain and weather, there had also been an accident: One of the rifleman had lost his footing crossing a stony slope, tumbled several feet amidst a shower of loose rubble and suffered several cuts, bruises and a twisted ankle. Fortunately, the last was the most serious of the injuries, but it had been enough to slow them down considerably, and they had only reached the camp now because the injured had been allowed to ride Trueno.

So Edward was tired, irritable and not at all looking forward to reporting the incident to Vickery. He briefly wondered at the redcoat coming towards him, but didn't stop to inquire.

Vickery was about to say something to Delacroix when he noticed Captain Torrington approaching. "Ah, Captain Torrington. May I introduce my Lieutenant, Delacroix? He has only recently joined the Company. Delacroix, Captain Torrington, of the Royal Engineers."

It was only after he had completed the introductions that he noticed the look on his fellow Captain's face. "Is there something wrong, Captain?"

Well. That was that, wasn't it? Bloody officers. Mayden saluted and moved smartly off. At least he had bloody asked. It was not his concern that the captain had not bothered to answer him.


Mayden appears next here.

Edward's mouth twisted into what he hoped was a polite smile as he bowed briefly, then held out his hand. "Delacroix. Pleasure to met you."

He turned to Vickery, unconsciously straightening.
"The survey party reports back. But unfortunately I must also report that rifleman Schneider has suffered an accident and injured his leg. He should be with the surgeon now, but most likely his ankle is badly sprained. He fell down a slope."

The engineer inwardly sighed. This was not precisely a concise report, was it? He must be more tired than he thought.

Jean stepped forward and shook the man's hand. "Thank you, monsieur." He returned the smile, though he could tell something was bothering the man. Then he realised the last word of his sentence was spoken in French. He swore inwardly. Most of the men knew, by now, that he was French, yet on their side. However, he still worried that some of the newer people he met might get... ideas. Jean hoped it would just be ignored.

Stepping back, Jean listened to the man's report. Then decided to add his own opinion.

"Well a broken leg will mend itself. That's nothing too serious." He chuckled.

It was ignored - mainly because Edward's mind had put into some convenient drawer to deal with later. At the moment it was still on Schneider's broken leg. It was not the first time that somebody under his command got injured, but it was the first time that it was not some exchangable face but a soldier he knew as a person.

The engineer bowed slightly in aknowlegment of Delacroix's words.

"I do hope so. However, at least for the next few days, he will not be fit for marching or fighting. Or surveying, for that matter."