6th July, midnight; Unhappy Discoveries

Had it not been for the lantern in his hand, Corporal Kerr might not have seen the faint glimmer of something metallic on the ground, away to his left near a wagon. He paused to look again, before deciding it was worth investigating. If he was lucky, it could be a dropped coin or even a piece of cutlery. He could do with a new spoon.

It was neither a coin nor a spoon, as he discovered on closer inspection. Instead, it was a shako plate. The shako itself was crushed, as if it had been stepped on. Kerr frowned. That was unusual. What sort of idiot would destroy his own shako? He lifted the lantern so the candle inside it could illuminate more of his immediate surroundings. If there was a shako here, there should be a soldier to go with it.

The Pioneer did not spot the shako's owner until he advanced three steps toward the wagon. It was impossible to not see the white of a man's trousers half-hidden underneath the wagon. Great. This poor sod was probably drunk out of his mind. Just his luck! He'd have to drag the man out and send for an officer. He set the lantern down, then knelt and reached for the man's legs, ready to haul him out into the open.

On doing so, however, Kerr saw this man was not drunk. The reality was much worse. This poor bastard had been thumped on but good. It was possible to see that even in the feeble lantern light. He put a hand gently on the other redcoat's chest to check that the man was still breathing, which blessedly he was. But his hand came away damp with blood.

"Surgeon!" Kerr bellowed, keenly aware that this was far beyond his ability to properly deal with. "Surgeon!"

Bloody hell.

Fraser was tired. The day had been awfully, awfully long. A dozen of the men were down due to sickness, no less then two wheels of two different cannons had broken off, and just as dinner was prepared, a group of more then thirty horses horses, had broken out of the fence, spooked by a barking dog. The men had needed more then four hours to fetch them all back.

Now, Fraser just wanted to sleep. After discussing todays event with his officers and reprimanding the soldiers who had made the fence, he had almost entered his tent. Almost. Yet there was a sudden shout, coming from the wagon camp. Fraser was inclinded to just ignore it, but then there was a second shout.

He turned around, and walked to the nearest fireplace.

"You men", he adressed the small group. He counted six men staring at him. "With me. Let's find out what those shouts were."

A private mumbled something. "Probably some bloody thiefs"
Fraser replied, his bad mood very clear. "You will find, private, that thiefs often try to make as little sound as possible."

The private said nothing, and Fraser sighed. He didn't bother to take out his sword and walked towards the wagons. The small group of men followed him. He spotted an small light, probably a candle, with a redcoat crouched next to it, looking at something below a wagon. Damned, a RHA wagon!

"You there! What are you doing? What's this noise?"

Edward, who was just on his way home from a dinner invitation and in a rather indulgent mood, guided Trueno up to the small group and leaned forward in the saddle to get a glimpse of what had happened over their shoulders.

He took a moment to observe both the soldier on the ground and the one kneeling beside him, taking in the dark stains on the man's hands and the other's uniform, connected it to the screams for a surgeon he had heard, then bit back a comment. While he was unimpressed by Fraser's harsh questions, he wouldn't undercut a fellow officer's authority by pointing out that obviously Kerr was giving aid to a wounded comerade and that the true mystery was how the other had reached this state.

Instead, he patiently waited for Kerr to answer Fraser's questions.

The first to arrive in response to his call was an officer, accompanied by several men. None of them were surgeons but perhaps their presence could assist in the fetching of one.

"Found this fella under the wagon, sir," Kerr replied, saluting. "Sommody's used him rough-like. He's breathin' but all-over bloody, sir."

As if this was not obvious by simple observation.

Whatever Fraser had expected, this was not it.

"He's still breathing, you say?" he asked as he crouched next to the pioneer. And indeed, the redcoats chest went up slowly in silent reply.
"You, and you," he pointed at two of his men, "Go and find a surgeon. Fast!" They saluted and ran off.
Fraser turned back to the pioneer, examining the poor redcoat. It was clear the man had not been caught by the enemy, as they would have simply killed him. So what did that mean? Had the man met a civilian thief? A fight gone wrong? Who was he, anyway?
He took the candle and held it close to a sleeve. Red facings. 33rd.

He looked at the pioneer, and noted he had two chevrons on his sleeves. "D'you have any idea who this man is, corporal?"

Maggie had only moments before passed that surgeon's assistant, whatever his name was, when she heard someone bellowing for a surgeon. She backtracked and found him again, laying a hand on his arm. "Oh mister surgeon, sir! Someone's callin' for you!"

A glance up at the mounted officer was the only outward sign of Kerr's hesitation. The presence of two officers made him only slightly apprehensive - which of the two would take charge properly? - but the one who'd arrived with some of his lads was, at the moment, asking questions. That would do for now.

"I don't ken him, sir," the Scotsman replied. "Was jus' on me way 'long back t'me comp'ny, when I seen yon shako all a-trampled on. Then I foun' this'n like he is, sir."

Edward, admittedly not yet fully jolted out of the pleasant haze a good port had induced and watching the proceedings like a play, not something he was actively required to take charge of, shrugged out of his cloak and held it out to Kerr.

"Here, put that under his head."

Slightly squinting, he looked around.

"Lights!", he decided. "I will get some. Has somebody already gone to report to his captain?"

Following on the heels of the young woman, Henry slipped between the figures clustered around the wagon and knelt beside the prone, unmoving form.

"I shall need a lantern. Please," he said, quickly setting to work. "Has a surgeon been sent for?"

Maggie had just passed carter Beck repairing his wagon by the light of a lantern. He wouldn't mind letting them borrow it for a bit. "I'll get a lantern," she said, slipping out through the crowd again.

Things were happening quickly now, it seemed. Whether or not this was a good thing remained to be seen. At the moment, though, Kerr was not about to object to having attracted so much attention.

"Thank you, sir," he said to the mounted officer, accepting the cloak. This was a fine garment, he thought, and rolled it quickly so it could be tucked underneath the injured redcoat's head.

Now there was a surgeon, or at least a surgeon's underling, arriving. Requests for lanterns were being made too. The single small lantern Kerr had was in no way sufficient and even he knew that.

"Couple lads went off fer one," the Scotsman told the surgeon's assistant. Then he glanced up at the mounted officer again. "Dinna ken what comp'ny he's from, sir. Jes' tha' he's Thirty-third."

Fraser knew as much, but still he offered the pioneer a friendly nod.

He turned around to address the mounted individual, which turned out to be Captain Torrington. Fraser knew that he shouldn't talk to a fellow officer in a irritated tone, especially not in front of the men, but still some small hints of could be heard in the following words.

"Goodnight, Captain, or should I say, good morning?" the joke came out more as a inquiry then as a jest. "Sadly, we do not know the man's company, thus we are unable to trace his captain. And I don't think a lieutenant-colonel or even a major would find it worth being woken up for a small matter such as this."

It was not long at all before Maggie was back with a borrowed lantern. "Here y'are, sir," she said to the assistant surgeon, holding it above the injured man's face. It was a bloody mess. She gave the fellow only the briefest glance, but something made her look again. "Mackie?"

Small matter, indeed! Henry shook his head, suppressing his indignation at the comment; it would do no one any good, least of all the poor fellow on the ground. There was more light all of the sudden. Someone -- the young woman -- had fetched another lantern. "Thank you," he mumbled absently, opening the soldier's coat and shirt to discover the extend of his injuries.

The two officers seemed more inclined to converse with each other, so Kerr turned his attention to the surgeon's assistant and the woman who'd fetched him.

"D'ye ken him, Miss?"

"Aye, his name's McIntyre. He's in the 33rd and his officer - I can't remember his officer's name, but Captain Vickery would know. Of the 60th rifles." She peered anxiously at him, but it was difficult to see now with the surgeon's assistant blocking her view, and another man who was now holding her lantern. "Will he be all right?"

"I don't know. It will be difficult to assess the severity of certain injuries while he remains unconscious." He glanced up at the bearded fellow holding the small lantern, "Do you have a canteen, sir?" He ought to have addressed the man by his rank, but he hadn't the faintest idea what the marks on his uniform corresponded to. After months with the army, he was still hopelessly civilian.

The poor bugger's name was McIntyre and he was of the Thirty-third. This was good to know, even though it only spawned more questions in Kerr's mind.

"Aye, jus' here." He unslung his canteen and held it out to the man, choosing to ignore the incorrect address. In the circumstances, it was unimportant. Then he glanced at the woman and asked, "Tha' cap'n kens him, Miss? This lad, I means."

"Aye. Should I go and fetch him?" It might be better than standing by and feeling useless. Poor Mackie!

He glanced at the surgeon's assistant, but the man was busy with his patient. The officers were still quietly discussing the matter amongst themselves and were therefore useless. So Kerr said, "Aye, might be wise, tha'."

If nothing else, this Captain Vickery would be able to help figure out more precisely where this poor bugger came from.

She nodded and immediately rushed off on her errand.

Fraser, intrigued by the wounds of the 'poor fellow', had not been paying attention at all, and it was not until the woman had ran off.
He was inclined to go with her. After all, it wasn't very army-like to send a civilian, let alone a woman, to get an officer. But she was off in a moment, and Torrington did not seem to find anything weird on the way of things, so Fraser decided everything was well. Not for everyone, though.

Maggie would have given her husband the message to deliver, if she had been able to find him. As it was, she encountered the captain first, and she rushed up to him breathlessly. "Oh Captain Vickery, it's Mackie, your McIntyre, and he's been set upon something awful!" That probably didn't make any sense to the captain. "Will you come?"

Vickery had just returned from his rounds of the picquets and was looking forward to snatching a few hours' sleep in his cot. It seemed it was not to be, however, as a woman came running up to him, sounding distressed.

"My McIntyre?" he repeated, trying to make sense of what had been said. There was nobody in his Company of that name. But 'will you come?' made sense, of sorts. He stifled a sigh and fought back a yawn. "I'll come," he said decisively, once he could speak without risking yawning halfway through.

"Tell me what happened," he added crisply, hoping that he'd be able to make either head or tail of her report.

"I don't know, sir! Molly Dunn had her baby, and I was coming back, then I comes along and see him when someone yells for a surgeon!" she answered. "And I fetched one, and brung a lantern and then I seen who he was. And I couldn't remember his officer's name, and no one else knew, but I knew you knew. This way, sir, see the crowd?"