Training Day - Rifle Competition

"Hear, hear." He was luckier in not having a direct superior, though he wondered if lord Edrington had forgotten about them, or whether he decided solely to postpone his actions to a later time. So far it seemed Vickery also had lain it not too hard on Newbury.

"Wonder what happened to that rabbit though."

Maggie had frozen when a stranger singled them out. At least, she assumed he was referring to them when he had called out "You two riflemen," but she was too afraid to look.

"I think he means us!" she whispered. "What do we do?"

"Just keep walking. Pretend we didn't hear." But as the man came closer, clearly wishing to speak to them, Jenny said in a loud boy's voice, "Sergeant's waitin', Evans. Better hurry!" And with that, they both took off at a run.

Maggie was terrified that the man would give chase, but he obviously had better ways to spend his time. "Jenny, this is mad! We're going to get in trouble. It's probably against the law, isn't it? Like spying? They could shoot us!"

"They won't shoot us!"

"Hang us, then."

"Don't be ridiculous. We're only dressed as boys. It's not like imperse- impersimating - pretending to be an officer, you know. Anyway, look, there's Cotton! Let's go and say hello."

"No! He'll recognize us, you know he will! Even if we looked that different, he knows my voice."

But it was too late. Jenny was already shouting out, "Well done, Cotton! What a shot!" until Maggie jabbed her in the ribs.

Waldegrave had watched the skirmishing display with some interest - after Pombal, which had seemed fairly chaotic, this was a demonstration of how it should be done in open countryside, rather than in a town. Trees and bushes had provided less cover, but also fewer places where the enemy might be hiding.

The Major had told the officers of the 62nd that they were free to watch the demonstration, and the competition, but should also keep an eye on the other spectators. "There will be locals, and camp-followers in all senses. We don't want trouble when the General's and people from every other regiment in Coimbra, so be discreet. If they're Portuguese, have them escorted to the Guarda Civil - if they're ours then we'll deal with them ourselves." So Waldegrave's attentive ears had caught, over the sound of the crowd commenting, and betting, on the rifle competition, the sound of a raised voice "Oi! You two riflemen!" His head turned, and he saw two boys, in the uniform of the 60th Rifles, running - probably from the Sergeant of the Scots Greys who was staring at them with suspicion. One of them shouted - in what was not a boyish treble - "Well done, Cotton! What a shot!" He reached out and grabbed the nearer of the two by the arm.

Newbury shrugged, signalling that he had no knowledge of what had happened to the rabbit he had shot. It wasn't important.

There was a brief outbreak of shouting some distance away. A slight grin came onto his face when he heard somebody call out that Cotton was a fine shot - but the grin died swiftly when he looked around and saw a red-coat officer laying hold of a Rifleman's arm.

"Oi, Gabe." Newbury nudged his mate with an elbow and pointed. Whatever had prompted that officer to accost a Rifleman, it couldn't bode well for the rest of them. "Trouble yon."

It had only really been a practice shot before the competition actually started, but a voice called out "Well done, Cotton! What a shot!"

It sounded a little like that Jenny Ross and he turned to grin at her. Where she was, Maggie wouldn't be too far away. There were a couple of lads wearing 60th uniform, but no sign of Jenny and Maggie. And he didn't think he recognised either or the two lads.

Maybe there was another company of the 60th nearby? He didn't think so, though, and there didn't seem to be any more greenjackets than there should be.

What was going on?

And then one of them was grabbed by a redcoat officer. Not just any redcoat officer, either. Lieutenant Waldegrave.

He looked around for Captain Vickery.

Maggie froze in panic when she recognized the lieutenant. She felt a guilty relief that it was Jenny he had grabbed and not herself, but concern for her friend's welfare in the hands of that wretched man made her stay rather than run.

"Beg pardon, sir!" Jenny said in her boyish voice, as if apologizing for bumping into the lieutenant.

He didn't recognise either of the two soldiers, though he found it hardly an odd thing. With a redcoat, and not just any of them, reaching out and grabbing a hold of one of the young lads, trouble was very probable to follow.

But why was one apprehended? It didn't look as if they were up to anything, or had done something wrong. He looked on somewhat startled.

"The Sergeant called to you," Waldegrave said. "So why were you running away from him?" Now he looked at them, they did not look like riflemen at all with ill fitting uniforms.

Hunter stood with the Staff group, more interested in the crowd than the actual competition: not only he saw the riflemen at work before, he also felt a little jealous of their accuracy, since he himself was a rather poor shot. He much preferred daggers: he could make them fly where he wanted to.

There was a shout of support for Rifleman Cotton, and it seemed that now most people were interested in the action of the red-coated officer towards the green clad boy.

This couldn't be allowed to go anywhere. Newbury forgot entirely about his determination to stay out of Captain Vickery's notice and started toward the red-coat officer, slinging his rifle from his shoulder as he went.

"They're new to us, sir," Newbury said as he got closer. There was something oddly familiar about the two greenjackets, he realised with a chill. Something not quite right. "Nervous 'bout everythin', they are. Don't mean any harm by it, though."

Jenny looked around as if trying to spot the sergeant that Waldegrave was referring to. "Oh, beg pardon, sir, we didn't hear him. We was hurryin' to bring a message to Sergeant Müller."

Maggie gaped, but when the lieutenant switched his gaze to her she nodded in assent. "Aye, of the 60th, sir." He did not stare at her long because Jenny sneezed violently at him.

"Beg pardon, sir," she said again, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

Waldegrave looked at his captive, and then at his companion, who was gaping at him in a stupid way. Damned riflemen, with their idiot boys. And here was another one, claiming them. "Your name," he snapped to the one whose arm he was still holding. "And yours," to his companion.

Fernao appeared by Hunter's side out of nowhere: he had a grin plastered on his face. Tugging George's sleeve, he motioned him to bend, so that Fernao could whisper into his ear.
'Those two are no riflemen. They are camp followers: I saw them yesterday when I was fetching milk for the kitten'.

Any other officer would not have been happy to hear this: Hunter simply looked back at the group and chuckled. He wondered whether the red coated officer noticed he was telling off two girls.

And there was another officer. And Mister Waldegrave was demanding the two lads' names. Now why did he keep poking his nose in where it wasn't wanted?

And one of those 'lads' looked suspiciously like Maggie Evans. He waited for a moment, not wanting to draw Waldegrave's attention his way again.

If he realised who he was speaking to, he would probably try to get her in trouble like he'd done before. This was not looking good.

Jenny thought of giving Cavender's name, but that would have been unkind to the poor boy if word ever got back to him. She grinned broadly. "Oh, I'm Jemmy Ross, sir, and that's Danny Pickwoad. We just need to speak to the sergeant, sir, for to give him a message about the competition afore it starts, like."

Maggie was impressed. Jenny was an actress and a liar. Danny Pickwoad? How did she think of these things on her feet? As the lieutenant turned to gaze at her again, Maggie scanned the horizon as if searching for the sergeant, praying against all odds that he wouldn't recognize her. She swore that she would never ever play this game again.

"I know where the Sarn't's at, lads," Newbury said impulsively, wanting nothing better than to get the pair away from the red-coat. "If you don't mind, sir, I'll see Jem an' Dan don't cause no more trouble."

"Oh, thankee, Joe," Maggie answered. "Been lookin' all round for 'im, we have."

"Ross - and Pickwoad," Waldegrave repeated, and stared at the older man. "And your name, Rifleman - just so that I know."

Prestwich had left as soon as the skirmishing display was over, citing, as ever, the heavy workload. However, he allowed a few younger Engineering officers to say along with Captain Needham to keep an eye on them.

The only one Needham was remotely worried for was Liuetenant Havers: he was a quiet, well-behaved boy, but due to his inexperience he could easily get into trouble due to some misunderstanding.

Needham noticed the young hussar he saw in the tavern last night and wondered what the boy was still doing on his own.

"Newbury, sir. Joe Newbury," Newbury answered, pointedly not looking at either of the other two. "Permission to take these lads on their way, sir?"

"Very well, Newbury." Discretion, Major Vickery had said, and these lads were vouched for by a Rifleman he recognized even if he had never spoken to him before. "Get them to the Sergeant - and make sure they behave themselves." He released his grip on Ross's arm. A few more weeks on campaign, and those muscles would firm up, the fat disappear...

"Thankee, sir," Jenny said with a grin and a sloppy salute. Maggie did the same, mumbling her thanks, and hurried to follow Newbury.

"Yessir, I will, sir," he said, saluting.

Now to get these other two out of there. Newbury pushed both of them forward, helpfully giving them a direction in which to go. "Let's be on our way then, lads. Sarn't won't be happy you've been slackin' off."

OOC - Newbury is free to be moved about as needed. I'm going to bed early this evening. >_>

Once they were out of the lieutenant's sight, Jenny burst out laughing. Maggie, pale and aghast, stared at the other girl. "What are you like? Never again, never never again. Are you mad, Jenny? I'm sorry, Joe. Thank you for that. I thought I would die. Stop laughing!"

When Jenny had regained her composure, she wiped her eyes and said, "Well I guess we'd better go deliver this message, in case he's watching. Where's the sergeant?"

"What? I'm not going to the sergeant dressed like this! Don't be a bloody fool, Jenny!"

"Well he'll think it strange if we don't, that lieutenant whats-his-name."

"Waldegrave. And I don't care if he thinks it's strange. I'm finished. What if we send Joe. You'll go for us, won't you Joe?"

Jenny laughed. "Oh yes! Please Joe? Just go and act like you're delivering our message for us. Just talk to Sergeant Müller, ask him if he wants some tea or something, just so the lieutenant will see! I'll go with you! Please?"

Newbury balked, but Jenny was persuasive, and so Maggie watched with trepidation as they went across the field to where Sergeant Müller was talking with his men. Maggie herself decided to seek out a friendlier face, and when she turned around she saw Cotton looking her way.

It seemed that the girls escaped unscathed from the clutches of the officer. George turned back to Fernao:
'What are you doing here anyway?'

The boy nodded at the basket he was holding in his left hand:
'Brought you food. You are running about since daybreak and I am sure you had nothing to eat since breakfast'.

It seemed by the size of the basket that it held enough food to feed at least three people. George suddenly felt extremely hungry: the boy was right in assuming that he had nothing to eat since before dawn. He glanced at the staff officers: they seemed to be talking amongst each other, not paying the least attention to him. Slowly, he backed away and walked over to an empty spot beneath a tree from where he could see what was happening well enough.

Fernao placed the basket on the ground and sat down by George, removing the cloth that covered the food. George blinked.

'Are those strawberries?!'
'Yes, the early harvest. Ridiculously expensive'.
'And where did you get the money, Fernao?' asked George narrowing his eyes at the boy, who snorted and said.
'What? Did you think I'd use all the money you left to buy clothes? Maybe for you that amount would be just enough to buy breeches and a shirt, I, however, do not need all that finery', Fernao waved a hand in the direction of the gold lace on Hunter's uniform, making the man scowl. 'Eat,' urged the boy.