Afternoon, Sixth Day

He studied the Frenchman that was to take his sword and wished he could see better what was happening behind his back, which was turned in the direction of Newbury and the others that had went to hunt for him. He'd heard voices and sounds, and wondered if the rifleman has managed to escape or if he too would soon join him atop the slope, where he was climbing to, at present.

His leg ached more than it did when he'd first begun the ascend, and he knew it was in part due to the shove that Newbury gave him and had him tumble down next. He looked to his captor and spoke in English, though he understood the French:".. Where will you take us?" And then he hoped that they would not just shoot them dead, and be gone from whence they came. And he hoped that Newbury would escape too, though he found himself using the plural.

Still he could not turn to see what went on behind him, so that he could only follow in whatever urgency the enemy was making it be done.

Javert frowned, struggling with the English. He knew little, and he did not know whether the hussar spoke any French.

"To our... our residence," he said hesitantly. "To the officers."

There was the sound of a rifle crack, a series of short cries at which Javert looked up - and smiled.

"And that will be both of you," he said in his native French, a note of triumph in his voice.

However, it was at this point as Bouchart was holding up Willoughby's bent sabre that he noticed the other green men coming up over the hill crest and pointe dthem out to Javert.

"Oh..."

He glanced over his shoulder, for he dared now that the men might've been as distracted by what they saw. And he wondered what it was, for their expressions were not too happy about it. As he saw the green coats he felt himself grin and then a thought of dread came to him for they were as easy to be shot now as they were to be taken with.

"It would be in your favour,.."He began and he turned to Javert, for the man looked as if he understood at least some English:" Should you give yourselves up to us now.." It might have sounded arogant coming from a prisoner, but the hope renewed had the lad speak in just as fresh new spirits.

The hussar was talking about giving it up, but Javert simply snorted, lifting the hussar over his shoulder and bellowin for the others to retreat.

Over the other side of the French hill, the rest of the grenadiers had heard the commotion and been watching the proceedings. now, at thesight of the greenjackets coming up towardsthem they grinned, picking up their weapons and cramming on their bearskins where they had been taken up. They were always raring for a fight.

"Form up!" the captain screeched. "Form up, you bastards, and let's have 'em!"

Edrington had barely left the light company when he heard the distant sound of more firing from some distance ahead. He pulled up and shouted to a mounted officer. "Go to General Wellesley, my compliments, and the rifles have encountered an unknown number of Frenchmen just ahead of our column. It is being investigated, and we'll let him know the situation once the reconnaisance is complete. Then come back to the rifles position ahead of us." It was Lieutenant Waldegrave, he noted, but the young man saluted sensibly and rode off as Edrington turned back to rejoin Vickery. At least if the 62nd had to become involved he would be there to ensure that there was no friction.

Fischer saw immediately that there was trouble - a bunch of Frenchmen seemed to have taken Newbury and Willoughby by surprise and he immediately pulled out his whistle to get his men to spread out into skirmish order. They were not going to take anyone prisoner if he could help it.

He barely glanced back at Bergmann, urging him to report back to the Captain as quickly as possible, even as he raised his rifle and pulled the trigger.

The look of triumph on his face was swiftly replaced as he was hefted up and though he was willing to struggle, there was something that kept him from it. He made a sound of protest. He was able to catch sight of the grenadiers he'd not known were present earlier just then.

Startled a moment he realised the six Frenchmen didn't come alone. It was why the English understanding man had little trouble in being as confident, and why now Newbury, that followed them, had been unable to escape either. He had thought he was further away when he ran and was ignorant to the fact the rifleman came back when he could have attempted to continue.

"They'll come after you." He spoke sounding strained. He could see the scene for a mere short while longer before the trees had taken place in his vision and so also began to conceal the fleeing men.

Of all the rotten luck. Newbury hadn't lasted long against his pursuers, but one or two of them had some fair lumps before they'd gotten the better of him. They'd taken his rifle and sword-bayonet, naturally, and were now herding him quickly after their fellows - but there were other Riflemen coming up to help now. That piercing whistle was unmistakable.

"Hope they do for the lot of you," Newbury grumbled, mostly under his breath. Then he was back close to the hussar. "Hello there, again, Trooper," he added with forced cheerfulness.

"Made you walk, haven't they, Rifleman?" The youth forced a smile to his face, finding little humour in the situation, yet fully glad that atleast there was good company to be had. He remembered soon enough not to call Newbury a private, even if by rank he was. Riflemen, so he was told. Call them riflemen, not privates.

He craned his neck to look up at Newbury. "Might need to improve on t' means of transportation." How familiar this felt right now, 'cept Jose made an effort to make the ride comfortable to his keep, and the present Frenchman just wanted to go as fast as he could to depart the scene and draw distance between himself and them.

Newbury grinned, noting the difference in their separate modes of transportation. "Ah, but Riflemen always walk," he said airily. "But I bet you wished you had a saddle at least."

"Riding a saddled Frenchman?.. That would be the day." He uttered a small grunt as he was landed onto the shoulder, after a slight jump done by his carrier. "I'd prefered a crop. Might land him a few!" It was bizzare that they were in all, making light of a situation that was anything but not grave.

"Reckon you've never ridden?" He had kept his head low and gave up on trying to keep his gaze locked with the rifleman's, in part as his hair has slipped over his eyes and the tail had been landing against his cheek.

"Ferme ta gueule!" one of the Frenchmen snapped in an unmistakable order, glaring at the hussar and prodding Newbury onward with the barrel of his rifle. "Silence!"

"Not if I could ever help it," Newbury answered. "I were a footman, see, 'fore I took the shilling."

He glared at the Frog who'd jabbed him in the back. No manners at all, this lot.

"Je vous ai dit silence!" the Frenchman growled, shoving Newbury and threatening to strike him again. "Marche!"

He gave a slight nod to Newbury. Some men were born to be in the saddle and some wished never to see one from the rider's perspective. As those riding might not have understood the others as to why they did not wish it, so did those who never rode and were unwilling, have trouble understanding the beauties of the horse's back.

He glared to the Frenchman. "..Friendly bunch, them." He spoke in subtler, quieter manner. It was then that he turned quiet, angry at the Frenchman who had snapped the order again.

Fischer swore as one of the Frenchmen pushed at Newbury. Time to show them what rifles could do. Nobody could move faster than a rifle bullet, after all. Up and down the short chain of skirmishers, Riflemen knelt, aimed and fired.

Muskets would be no good at this range, and had as much risk of hitting their own men as the Frogs. Rifles, though, could kill - if used properly, and Fischer was there to make sure that they were used properly.

~~~

Bergmann arrived back at the greenjacket vanguard out of breath and looking worried. He saluted and made his report, which in turn made Vickery turn and look for Lieutenant Sharpe. He sent the 95th's officer forward with his men. He needed to speak to Colonel Edrington before he took his own men away from the column, although he couldn't risk taking all of them in case it was some sort of feint to allow the French to attack the British while still in the column of march.

Pushy buggers, too, he thought. Curling his lip just slightly, Newbury settled into an easy, steady gait and ignored the Frogs all around. He hadn't heard any other noteworthy sounds from behind them but neither had he bothered to glance back. His face lost all expression just before he looked quickly over his shoulder - it wouldn't do to let these damned Frogs see him worried, after all.

The other Riflemen were in skirmishing order, of course, but the distance between the two groups was widening quickly. Newbury wondered if there was anything he could do to delay the French before they were too far away from the Rifles to be rescued. Anything, that is, that wouldn't get him killed. Then he thought of Willoughby's ankle and grinned.

"Ah, dammit!" He cursed, as he stumbled over an invisible rock.

The man behind swore as he nearly tripped over the rifleman, and he hauled him back to his feet cursing him in a stream of French shouting. At nearly the same moment, there was a shout from behind as one of the men was hit by a bullet.

The French were getting away... and then Rifleman Newbury went headlong. At first Fischer thought one of his men had hit him, and then realised he'd tripped, or something. And then one of the French went down.

"Well done!" he said. He just hoped he could keep the French pinned down until Captain Vickery managed to get reinforcements to him. He was not going to lose Newbury or the Hussar if he could help it.

Ha. Newbury couldn't help a brief chuckle as he was dragged upright again. One of the Frogs had gone down after his stumble. A small victory, but still a victory.

"C'mon lads!" The Rifleman cried, shoving back against the Frog who'd hauled him up.

"Brouillard!" one of the men cried, seeing his friend go down. He ducked under the bullet fire and pulled the injured grenadier back to his feet. The surly man dragging Newbury pulled the rifleman closer to himself. Soon they would be over the peak of the hill where the greenjackets could not see them.

They couldn't let the French get away... and yet they couldn't risk getting too far forward of their own column. And then one of the Frog bastards took a tighter grip on Newbury.

This wasn't good. They were still within range, however, and the greenjackets were determined that they were not going to lose their mate to become a prisoner of the French.

Edrington arrived back as Captain Vickery watched Sharpe and his men leave. "What's the position, Captain? Do we know how many Frenchmen there are?" he asked, noting the other man's frown.

Sharpe had heard the musket fire as well, and caught up to Vickery, frowning as the 60th officer sent a group of men off to see what was going on.

"Mister Sharpe, I would very much appreciate it if you could take your men and support Sergeant Fischer and his lads," he said. Sharpe nodded, saluted and turned to his own men.

"Right lads, time to earn our pay. There's Frogs up ahead and we've got to chase 'em home."

~~~

Vickery turned back to the Colonel. "I don't think there are very many of them, though they seem to be trying to take Newbury and Willoughby prisoner, which is why I have asked Lieutenant Sharpe to help out." He could have taken his own men, but he was determined to give Sharpe a fair deal, even if it meant letting him go ahead now. The man was a Rifleman, and promoted from the ranks, so he must be a good officer, if only he had the chance to prove himself.

"What to do, sir?" asked Carty as he ran ahead with the other riflemen, unusually serious.