Fifth Night in Camp

Edrington reached a hand down to haul Carty back to his feet, and said: "Mud. Puddle."

Carty laughed at Timothy, and then looked up the Colonel, and grinned widely as he took his hand. "Thank ye, sir!" Carty pointed at his face. "It is, it is so! Mud!" He then saw that the Colonel had a liberal coating of it on his own hand. "Sorry, sir!"

Harris had thrown the ball, and whoever had caught it had been brought down by the Sergeant, and possibly some one else. Edrington responded to the grin and jerked his head towards the heap. "The ball's under there."

Carty smiled and saluted. "Yes, sir!" He ran across to the pile and began reaching under the mass of bodies for the ball. "Ah, ah! Got it!" He tossed it back to Edrington while the other players realised what had happened.

Edrington caught the ball with difficulty, as it was slick with wet mud, and realized that his shirt, waistcoat and breeches were spattered with it. He looked round for someone to pass it to, and then started running himself for the kettle.

Looked to the man that posessed the ball now. It was lord Edrington, who had earlier avoided being tackled just because.. he WAS the man. He pondered a moment if it were proper to tackle him as they had others. Well, he has joined, didn't he? Knowing the risks! Passing the mess of bodies, he dove for Edrington's legs and hoped that it was still all in perfect good spirits!

The Colonel hit the ground with a splash, landing on one of the more churned up patches. The Hussar - who might be able to plead ignorance - was clearly the type who believed in going for the man, not the ball. Edrington still had hold of that, tight between one muddy waistcoat and a sodden sleeve. Harris grabbed the Hussar's leg - the good one, he hoped, and started to pull him away. "Get the ball," he called to one of the others who seemed to constitute Sharpe's team - or Carty's or even, by rank, the Colonel's.

With the stroke of bad luck Harris had grasped at the injured leg when pulling him back. The good luck in the bad was, that his uninjured was free to be used to slide in-between the rifleman's and hook on his left, right around the knee - which brought both back down to the earth. He wasn't quite the type to go for men first, but chose to act on opportunity 'stead of tactic.
The ball was still in Edrington's possession, but it was only a matter of time till it changed men.

The slippery mud made it difficult to get to his feet without dropping the ball, although the removal of Willoughby helped. Still on one knee, he saw the boy and called "Carty!" and threw the ball.

Carty jumped to catch the ball, and skidded as he landed. Cooper and Cresacre were running towards him, and he dived between then before hopping up into a slipping run towards the kettle.

Timothy got up from Harris, holding his hand to him, to help the man to his feet, seeing as Carty was too far to be able to stop him by running. He laughed softly seeing another greencoat skid and slip, sliding face and torso first across the grass and mud. And there he ran, young Carty!

Harris accepted the hand up, and stood, laughing more than he had laughed for years, at the sight of half the company covered in mud, fighting over a ball, with the colonel of the redcoat battalion as muddy as the rest of them. "Sorry about the leg," he murmured, "but you shouldn't have joined if you didn't want it pulled."

"Did you hear me complain?" He grinned back at Harris:" S' allright. It's not like it's been broken!" He motioned towards the next man sliding and tackling all by accident a pair of others, into whom he managed to crash. "Now shall we?"
There was little distinction now between redcoat, greencoat or for that matter a blue one. They were all after all, brown.

"Lay on, Macduff," Harris responded and ran towards Cooper and the ball.

[OOC Harris and the Colonel are going for dinner - until 8.30]

[OOC: Carty's off to TolkSoc, and will be back late. Please move him to your hearts' content! ]

[OOC - the both of you, Good eating and have a blast ]

He joined the general mayhem, trying not to laugh as he ran, nearly tripping as well, before he came in close range of the kettle and ball. He glanced over his shoulder to see where Edrington was, then where Carty, distinguished by his smaller, long legged appearance. "Ball!"

Cooper seemed to have forgotten about Sharpe, who tackled him, bringing him down into the mud, wrestling the ball away and throwing it towards Harper.

He grinned at the sight of the Colonel, as covered in mud as any Rifleman. Edrington didn't know it, but simply joining in a game of football had raised him in Sharpe's estimation. Anyone who was willing to get down and dirty with the men had some of the qualities of a good officer - it showed he was not afraid to get dirty, to get involved. This whole thing could work!

~~~

Cotton hadn;t been able to believe his ears when Maggie told him the Colonel was playing football with the 95th. He grinned at the sight as he was brought down by a tackle from Willoughby and got up, plastered in mud. If it weren't for his back, he'd have joined in.

He caught the ball, slipping on te mud, right infront of Harper. He landed on his bum and back with a splat skidding forward a few paces as if he'd actually ment it. The ball slipped out of his grasp, and was regained again with him landing atop of it. The grounds were becoming less and less appropriate for the game but at the same time, bloody more fun than before. And the ones observing had much to laugh about as well!

The hussar had ended on top of the ball, but Harris was unwilling to grab his leg again - so this time he caught his shoulder and tried to turn him over, to get at the ball. Like pulling something out of a bog, soaked and caked with mud. But the ball was revealed...

He gripped at the ball, spitting out mud. With an arm he pushed against Harris for long enough to throw the ball with his other. A poor throw considering he'd been on the floor with little space to move, but enough to send it bouncing , splashing and at the very last rolling away, before mud would claim hold, or the closest rifleman to it.

Edrington saw the ball roll away from Willoughby, and flung himself at it, on his knees in the mud, quickly enough to flick it with his outstretched arm away from Sims and towards Sharpe. Before falling flat.

Seeing the ball heading towards Sharpe, Perkins dove at the lieutenant, knocking him backwards.

And with Sharpe out of the way, the ball was hurtling towards Maggie. She snatched it up eagerly, but then stood looking around doubtfully as a sea of muddied men converged on where she was standing. "I don't know! Who wants it?"

"Maggie! Here!"

"Throw it to.." Uh, yeah, that lad. Whatever his name was and whoever he was. He was not with Sharpe, who was supposedly not on their side, which was.. starting to get confusing because everybody looked the same when one knew nobody. "Miss, to him! Quickly!"