Meeting the Green

He'd worn his red uniform while at the review. He had wondered how the events would turn, while standing firm at attention. It had felt long, dragging so slow that he'd thought it would be sooner that men would fall out in fatigue and be carried away, than for them to walk themselves of the field. Once the review initially ended there was little but to return to their camp, where the 33rd were stationed.

He had been seated around with some men and found the whole idea he'd had a day ago, far fetched and unreal. All up till a man requested a private by the same name as his, to come and follow him. To the startled faces of his peers, though few made much of a fuss about it if any, he said but a curt - see you - before turning to follow.

After a fair walk in silence, so long that it made the town feel as if it were the size of Lisbon even if it were many times smaller, they were approaching their destination at last. Coming closer to a house, he could see a few men, wearing their green and red cuffed uniforms while attentive to various types of work. Nearly at the door, it didn't feel too much different than entering a village surrounded by a great wall that prevented anyone from seeing and knowing what was inside and what awaited the men coming. A yes or a no?

There was a knock at the door and Vickery looked up. Ah. Right on time. He hadn't really expected anyone to express an interest in joining the Rifles after their display yesterday, and it had been a pleasant surprise to find that one man, at least, was interested.

"Come in!"

The door was pushed open and a young man came in. Vickery studied him for a moment, taking in the scar on his face, the wary, wild eyes and the state of his uniform.

He smiled. There was no need to have the lad scared of him, after all, and dragging out the anticipation was not what he wanted to do.

"Private Pye, isn't it?" he said. "I understand you are interested in joining the 60th. Did you see much of the day yesterday?"

His hand was raised in a salute.

He could have answered each question with a yes sir, and he had opened his mouth twice, before hearing the next question made. He nodded in answer to the first instead. Waited with the second and hid a smile with the last, nodding and speaking:" Yes, sir."

His eyes darted quickly past Vickery, across the room, back at him, down at his table then again at the man. Not sure whether the question was meant to ask for a further explanation or whether all it had requested was a yes, he dropped his gaze again. The smile that he let come to his face was subtle. He had seen all of the rifles yesterday. From the moment that they've begun skirmishing all to when they've recieved just rewards. He had listened and watched as they gave some of the redcoats to try and shoot also.

"..it.. was an excellent show, sir. " He spoke more subtly, struggling with a grin. It wouldn't do in the 33rd at all. Flat faces, stiff stand, and better no fainting if able.

"Thank you." The compliment seemed to be meant well, anyway, and he was pleased the lad had offered it. This seemed to be someone who wasn't afraid to offer an opinion, something that the Rifles valued, even if the Line regiments preferred a simple 'Yes, sir' or 'No, sir' in answer to a question and nothing more.

The lad appeared to be trying not to smile. Well, he seemed to be personable enough. His uniform looked cared for, which was something, though Vickery expected no less of a man in a Line regiment.

"Did you have a go at firing a Baker yourself?" Vickery asked, leaning forward a little to watch the lad's reaction.

He was somewhat startled by the movement which showed more clearly - with a smile making a full victory on his face.

He nodded, but answered: " No sir."

"Ah." He turned towards the door. "Cotton!"

The door opened and Rifleman Cotton stuck his head round it. He sent a quick grin at the redcoat before turning his attention to the officer. "Sir?"

"Would you let Private Pye have a look at your rifle for a moment? He won't do it any harm."

"Yes, sir, " the rifleman said with a nod, before vanishing. He reappeared a moment later with his rifle which he held out towards the redcoat. "Here y'are, mate," he said and looked enquiringly at Vickery as the other man took it.

"No, Cotton, there's nothing else. I'll let you know when we've finished with it."

The rifleman nodded and let himself out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"What do you think, then?" Vickery asked, watching the redcoat study the rifle.

Pye held the rifle in his hand while the two men talked. Feeling as if their short exchange had given him some privacy, his attention went to the weapon almost completely. Quick weighing was done, before the piece was given a more thorough an inspection. So immersed he was with his study, that he hadn't noticed Cotton leaving, and jumped as the question was asked.

He looked guiltily at the captain, straightening up as if that would make some of his earlier drop of guard less obvious. "It's shorter, sir. Different than a musket,.." More familiar. "It's.... a baker rifle sir." He didn't know what he was to think or say or what the man expected of him. Usually, soldiers weren't meant to think or if they did, not show it to their superiors.

Well, Vickery thought, he was nervous, which was to be expected, of course. And it seemed as though he'd been taught not to give his opinion of things, if the guilty look he'd just given Vickery was any indication.

"Yes, it's a Baker rifle. What do you think of it?" He sighed a little. "You want to join the Rifles, lad, and one of the things you should understand about us is that we allow the men to think and to speak their minds. We encourage men to think, in fact. Now, I'm not an officer of the 33rd. I'm a Rifles officer, and I am interested in your opinion."

"I think .." That what he heard yesterday was sounding a lot more believable now. When he was silent, it wasn't because he decided not to speak but because he was considering his words and the question more seriously.

" that it has its uses. A musket is good... to fire often and fast, but not for aim." He glanced at Vickery, encouraged by his interest and words. "...You'd possibly starve wanting to catch a rabbit with a musket sir." He grinned then subtly added :" I like the look of it sir, n' what I saw of the men firing it. It's something else. It requires more patience and... actually looking at what you are shooting, when you pull the trigger, sir. Can't... give it to a blind man."

Well, he seemed an intelligent enough young lad, anyway. "So you saw us yesterday, as you said. Which part of the day interested you the most - the skirmishing or the shooting competition?" He smiled. "It is not a trick question. I am merely interested in your opinion, that's all."

"They were all a good deal different than how we are drilled, sir." He was growing more comfortable with answering the questions in more than one or two words, and more convinced what he'd heard weren't just fables and teases of those saying them.

Not a trick question, good. "I came to see what the rifles were about, since that was the reason for the day. Can't full compare them though sir. The skirmishing showed the prowess of a rifleman against the terrain while the shooting competition had us seeing what a rifle can do if in the right hands. .. Both are impressive sir."

He realised he hadn't given Vickery a straight answer and then quickly added: "Maybe Skirmishing sir...though, it's a close call..., sir."

He seemed to be more at his ease, anyway, Vickery thought. He was beginning to get a proper understanding of the lad and liked what he'd seen so far. "Right, then. You take another look at that rifle and tell me if you think you could look after a weapon with that much care, all the time. I want an honest answer, not what you think I want to hear."

He'd seen how clean it was, spotless. Wasn't like some riflemen he'd seen, he mused. Their uniforms, especially that of the 95th, looked to be missing the shine of the regiments of foot.

He looked at it again no less, and then nodded. " I think you'd want me to say, that I could." He answered at first.

"..and you said you want me to tell what I really think." He added, holding the rifle in both hands.

"But...'s one and the same sir." He lifted his gaze from the rifle. He liked the captain. He'd thought it impossible to like a superior officer, as they were made to be obeyed. Not with the rifles it seemed. Not just to be obeyed, but they could be liked as well.

Vickery nodded. "One more thing. With regard to discipline in the Rifles, we expect men to show discipline from within themselves rather than having it imposed by Sergeants and the threat of the lash. This will take a bit of getting used to, I am sure, but we find it answers much better because there is a far higher level of trust between men, NCOs and officers. If you are loyal to those around you, they will be loyal to you. And that includes me. I will be as loyal to you as anyone else will be." He smiled up at the lad. "Now, have you any questions you wish to ask me?"

His eyes had widened some, when Vickery suggested that he too could be loyal to someone that was a mere private, well rifleman. "Yes, sir." He spoke hastly, his gaze shifting between Vickery and his desk and then at the rifle. No lash, had the boy's stiffer composure relax some, though Cotton's punishment quickly had him reconsider feeling completely at ease.

" Sir,..... What are the.." He wasn't sure how to voice it. Asking a question was a double edged sword. Especially if the action was on the account of discipline, the use of a rifle in a way he'd heard it used but not seen. Asking it, might implicate he meant to do it, even if in truth he was solely curious. "What is expected of me...as a rifleman." Perhaps the question was poorly formed, but it was either that or saying nothing, even if his mind was brimming with plenty of things to ask.

"I expect that you will do your duty. Which means, in the first instance, listening to what those around you have to say and learning from them. I expect you to take care of your weapons - which won't be so different from looking after a musket. I am not so bothered by the state of your uniform, but heaven help you if your rifle isn't up to scratch." He was smiling as he spoke, though his words were serious.

"I expect you to learn to think. If something feels wrong about a place, why does it feel wrong? Riflemen don't blindly follow orders, though I expect orders to be obeyed. Talk to me, talk to the NCOs, talk to the other Riflemen. If there's something wrong, tell someone. And that includes in camp and when on patrol."

He smiled, grateful for the day the rifles were decided to show what they could do, and for the opportunity that had been given. Thinking would possibly take a bit of getting used to.

"When can I fire a rifle, sir?" He tried to mask eagerness in his tone, not only for the weapon but for the new service. He could not have made a better request, take a better turn. He knew it might be more dangerous in ways, and there would be hardships that the line did not need to consider, but this, by the sound of it, was having him grin and look as eager as a young pup who was just getting ready to go for a long walk.

"We're marching tomorrow, and you need to be kitted out as a Rifleman first." He turned towards the door again. "Cotton!"

"Sir?" his batman said, putting his head round the door again.

"Rifleman Pye needs to go along to Sergeant Fischer to draw kit, and then to Sergeant Müller for a rifle and ammunition. And then you can take him to the field where we held our training day and teach him to shoot."

Cotton blinked and nodded. "How many rounds, sir?"

"Twenty each should do. Here." He pulled out a piece of paper, and wrote something on it, before passing it over. "That's for Sergeant Müller. If you use any more powder than that, tell me. Before we march."

"Yes, sir."

"You can wait outside. Rifleman Pye will be with you shortly."

The Rifleman ducked back out, grinning, and Vickery looked at the new rifleman, still wearing his red jacket. "Is there anything else you'd like to ask before I send you to get kitted up?" he said, smiling.

"...I don't know sir." He'd listened carefully earlier, and was still standing quite stiff as Cotton left, the man's rifle in hand, forgotten there. He was barely containing himself, rifleman Pye! Rifleman Pye! But it wouldn't do to do that infront of an officer, even the kind that Vickery looked to be.

Rifleman Pye!

"May I come back, if I manage to get myself thinking, sir?.. of the questions that is."

A rifleman. That's what he was from that moment onward. It made him grip the rifle just a bit tighter.

Vickery nodded. "Certainly. Or ask Cotton; I'm sure he'll be pleased to answer any questions you may have. Ah. One thing I forgot to ask earlier - do you read, by any chance?"

He looked eager and excited, which was understandable enough of course, yet Vickery could see that he had a grip on it. He would watch this lad with interest, he thought.

His smile dropped a little, though he knew most men weren't able to read. He just hoped it wasn't obligatory with the riflemen. Surely somebody would have warned him of it, if it were?

"No sir. Never learned."

"That's quite all right. I was just curious." He stood up. "Well, then, welcome to the 60th, Rifleman Pye." He held out a hand. It might be unusual for an officer to shake hands with a common soldier, but it was a small enough gesture and was an indication of how highly Vickery valued his men.

He looked at his hand just to be sure that the gesture didn't have a different meaning then held his own out, shaking Vickery's. "Thank you sir,.. I'll do my best, sir." His smile was quite radiant. "I'll learn if... if that's what you want too, sir." He added, nodding.

"You'll be busy enough learning to be a Rifleman without worrying about learning to read as well. There's no shame in not being able to read, after all." He nodded. "Run along with Rifleman Cotton, then, and get your kit together. The sooner you've that, the sooner you'll be able to start learning the skills you need to be a greenjacket. And don't forget to give him back his rifle."

"Yes, sir!" The youth held the rifle in one hand while he saluted sharply with his other. He turned and went for the door. He was about to leave when he turned. "Thank you, sir!" He grinned and slipped out looking about to see where the man he'd borrowed the rifle earlier, was.