10th July, early evening; New old acquaintances

He'd not been quick enough in recovering his balance and the blow landed Sykes flat on his back once more. Wrenching himself over and onto his knees, he twisted, swiping wildly at the greenjacket with his bayonet. He barely felt the pain in his shoulder. He was dead; if he didn't get up, he was dead.

The edge of the bayonet caught him a glancing blow across the chest, forcing him back. Mayden flung an arm behind him for balance but his hand caught against a fold in Jack's coat. He sagged abruptly backward, for an instant prevented from exacting any vengeance other than a few savage oaths directed at the redcoat.

Stumbling awkwardly to his feet, Sykes began to back away. He'd got lucky; that was the only reason he was still breathing, and he had no desire to try that luck a third time.

Getting to his feet was managed only with a brief, wild flail of limbs, but Mayden managed it. To his surprise, the redcoat was not pressing his attack but instead was retreating. Though this really should not be a surprise. The man was only brave enough to strike when his opponents were down.

"Bastard!" The Rifleman repeated and advanced a couple of steps.

Damn it all. He should have hit the bastard harder. With a snarl, Sykes lunged forward, slashing at the other man's face. For all the good it would do. Bloody bayonet. He should have grabbed the knife when he had the chance.

The bayonet traced a line across his cheek and part of his nose, driving him back quite effectively. Rather suddenly, Mayden realised this was not a fight he truly wanted, when he was at such a disadvantage. There was little use in chucking his own life away stupidly. He could get his revenge on this bastard another time, when the playing field was more level.

He spat at the redcoat, then turned and hefted up Jack's unmoving form. It was hard to manage on the run, but getting out of there to find a surgeon was now the most important thing in the world.


Mayden is next seen here.