Meeting the Green

Cotton went to have a look, returning with a grin. "Well, we've shifted back so's you're firin' at twice the distance. And it ain't as far off as the first shot you fired, though it's further off than the others. You got the edge of the first ring, though it's mostly inside it." He nodded, satisfied. "You'll be firin' reg'ly at about three hundred yards, an' hittin' the middle of the target, afore you know it."

"That'd be mighty fine!" And then, there'd be other targets to fire at. The ones that counted for the belly as much as the kind that counted for the battle. Enough compliment and he was as red as freshly picked tomatoes but grinning wide enough that he might've just split his head in two.

"What's the furthest you've fired and hit the mark proper?" He asked. Bessies weren't meant for too much aim, and when they were meant to hit, it was still a far shorter range than a rifle!

"Can fire at four hundred yards, though I ain't so close to the bull at that distance, not all the time. Helps that I've got real good eyesight, o' course. An' are you goin' to fire any more or should we head back an' see what the Palmers have bagged for our supper?"

He was torn between asking for more and seeing what supper they might feast on that day. With an uncertain shrug of his shoulders he answered more subtly: " Is your call."

He glanced to the target. Perhaps one final shot? He didn't know. He could've done it all afternoon and evening, but he was sure Cotton wasn't as eager to babysit him all through that.

"We're marchin' tomorrow; you should at least be able to help out a bit. I think you ought to keep goin' for a bit longer. We've got enough rounds, after all, an' folks'll keep a bite of supper by if we ain't back when they want to eat."

"Anythin' ye'um be telling me ter! That is 'bout help or anythin'." He grinned and nodded. A few rounds sounded like a good deal and if he were to be of any use once it counted, a little practice right now, wouldn't hurt.

" Thanks Gabe. 's really 'elping... all this." He added more quietly and shyly. He took out a cartridge again, tore it open and followed the procedure of loading through. Step by step, till his rifle was primed and ready for the next fire. "..thanks." He murmured and meant it.

"'S all right, Zack. We all had to start somewhere, di'n't we, after all?" He wondered vaguely how they were going to train Pye properly on the march, as there was no training depot or anything and he would need to learn quickly to be of any use. He decided that was going to be Vickery's problem and it needn't bother him - or not just yet, anyway.

"When you'm ready, " he said, leaning on his own beloved rifle.

"Aye.. that we did." He grinned and took aim. He'd steadied his breathing and even the grin was less, till concentration took it away completely.

He breathed in, steadied himself, then let his breath out and just as he was to hold it, he'd squeezed the trigger, feeling the kick of his rifle. And having not been ready for the later - not this time around -, his stance also rather imperfect, he'd landed firm on his butt and back.

(ooc - if any mistakes XD pm me and i'll fix, but now this one needs to sleep before it's tomorrow light! Good night!)

"It does help if you lean into it a bit," Cotton murmured, wondering if that had sent the bullet wildly off-target. Yes, it had.

"That went high. Just on the edge 'tween the outside circle an' the next one in. The position's s'posed to stay steady, I said."

(OOC - all right! See you!"

Not much worse for wear but with some wounded pride, the boy laughed softly and then grinned and straightened up a bit.

"Aye! 'tleast it isn' a full miss!" Not that he'd have wanted anyone to see him topple over like that. Could think he was shot, for all it was worth.

"Lean in." He whispered to himself, smiling. "N' keep yeself steady." He added lightly before he took the next cartridge. He didn't want to have another ball wasted like that. He pulled his rifle in against him, took a steady aim, did all the breathing proper, leaned in a little and fired. The taste of gun powder was mild at his tongue and he felt a slight sting at his lips. There, that was done as it should've. No incident!

"That's better. There's a bit more of a kick with a Baker, ain't there?" He went to have a look. "You'm inside the inside circle - just nicked the line." He shrugged. "We'm stayin' here till you get the bull, prop'ly, then we'll scuff up supper an' a bit to drink. Can't get proper drunk though, not if'n we'm marchin' tomorrow."

"Aye, bit more, and not holding it proper, a good deal more." He smiled, admiring his rifle as if indeed she were alive, a girl he'd just met.

"Allright!" He'd replied to their plan. Didn't much stop the 33rd from drinking sometimes. They just felt more foul when marching with a head that had its own battle going on inside. Didn't want that though, would set a mighty poor example for him.

He pulled the next cartridge out of its box and went on to ready his rifle. "The distance here will be right, aye?" He asked studying the 50 yards worth of land before him.

Cotton re-checked the distance by eye. "C'n measure it if'n you like, but aye, it's right. Give or take a yard or so."

He watched the other Rifleman load his weapon. "Remember, take it easy, take your time. It ain't a race here. The more time you take, the better you'll do, gen'rally speakin'."

"Aye!" He grinned, but what he imagined made him stifle a chuckle. Back to the rifle, he rested it firm against himself. What with aiming, it felt like much more than the usual drill. It was a challenge not resting on the speed of loading, but rather more at the accuracy of hitting.

Eager to have Cotton proud, the youth raised his rifle, aligning the sights with it. He rested his finger against the trigger, taking his time to steady his arm and adjust his aim slightly. He felt a soft cool breeze against his cheek, rewarding him with a bit of relief from the heat. As the breeze had subsided, he very gently pulled the trigger.

A breath of wind stirred. Not enough for the lad to have to aim off, and there was no need at this distance anyway. The shot startled Cotton a little, even though he was expecting it and he was up to look at the target before he knew where he was.

He hadn't hit the bull cleanly, but there was a hole where the bull met the inner circle. It was mostly bull's-eye, he thought. About three-quarter of the shot was bull, the rest the inner circle.

"Come an' have a look. I reckon we can have supper sooner'n I thought," he called, looking towards the other Rifleman, whose jacket seemed far too clean.

Pye was quick on his feet, his rifle slung over his shoulder. He grinned and felt his stomach agree with the news. He mumbled to it, to be quiet and walked up to Cotton's side peering at the target.

"Food's good motivation." He blushed , beaming with pride. After that clumsy ordeal, where he'd found himself on his back, such a shot was just what he'd hoped for. Wasn't a clean kind, but that would come, he hoped!

"Aye, it is. Come on, then. Let's get this cleared away and go find summat to eat, shall we?"

Shifting the target wasn't too difficult, really; it was fairly light, after all, just a bit awkward.

"We leave it with the others and they'll get sorted out - I think someone'll come for 'em later," he said, and slung his rifle on his shoulder. "You'll need to meet the rest of 'em anyway, ain't no better time to do it than over food. And you'll have to clean that rifle of yourn out, an' all."

He'd hurried to help with the moving of the target and then, straightened and went to walk by Cotton's side. He'd begun to feel more nervous. Meeting the men for the first time meant making an impression that was atleast fairly alright. And he feared he'd do something that might do just the opposite.

His rifle slipped some on his shoulder, and he quickly adjusted it, clutching onto the strap anxiously. Trying to take his mind of the inevitable he spoke, soft and quiet like: "'s alright if I go t' see me 33rd after we've done all t' eatin' n' talkin' n' cleanin'? Jus' t' tell 'em where I am now n' all."

"O' course. Just, well, I don't have to tell you to watch out for Hakeswill, do I? And the Captain don't mind what folks get up to, much, if they ain't on duty." He grinned. "We'll have to teach you a bit of the drill - enough so's you can keep up with what we do. Like, they don't say 'Attention!' When they say 'Rifles!' you come to attention straight away. Little things like that."

He nodded. "You'll be all right. You got on all right with Joe Newbury, didn't you? An' the others'll be friendly like him."

"Know 'im well enough." He nodded in agreement. Wouldn't go looking for trouble, just go to see a few of the men he knew from the 33rd. Not all were drunken blackguards and not all were after all, blackguards when sober either, if not the best kind when drunk.

No attention then, just rifles. Rifles meaning attention here. Something he would have to remember. His fear didn't fully abate. It felt even more important to do well with the rifles, since cooperation sounded a lot more important here. On a man to man basis, not just how the order was shouted.

He felt a little bit apprehensive of it now. Just thinking of it. Perhaps he better shouldn't have considered it. What if..

"..Don't want t' disappoin' ye." He murmured barely above whisper.

Cotton frowned, puzzled. "Who said anythin' about disappointin' us? You impressed the Captain well enough, with whatever you was natterin' about in there. An' you'll pick things up quick enough if you watch the rest of us. An' when you go out on patrol or if we do another skirmish - the Captain likes his trainin' days and things - you just stick with the man you're s'posed to stick with, an' you'll do fine. I reckon Captain Vick'ry'll likely make a pair into a three so's you can learn by shadowin' someone as knows the trade already."

He patted Pye's shoulder. "Stop all-on worritin' about it, lad."

He hadn't thought he impressed the captain any, thought it was the other way around rather. He'd been mightily impressed with Captain Vickery and how he'd done things. Had him come from a quiet yes sir, no sir, and allowed him to voice his mind even. That was something he'd never forget!

Cotton's words seemed to calm his nerves atleast a little. He nodded, not as convinced as he'd liked, but better than a worrying wreck he felt he'd been near to becoming. "Yer captain is... real great." He murmured and smiled. " Had me regret I hadn't asked t' be joinin' t' greencoats sooner!" He followed along, adjusting his rifle again. His rifle. Only his, one he'd chosen. That made him grin atleast a little.

That made Cotton stop in his tracks. "My Captain? Our Captain, lad. He's my officer only 'cause I'm his man - his batman, that is. An' don't you go gettin' ideas about you takin' me job, neither." He grinned as he said the last.

"Ah, bother." He slipped the rifle from his shoulder. "Allus bangs me legs when I carry her like that. If you want to try the 'trail arms' like this, it's easier. Just, well, hold her round the stock. If the rear sight's in the palm of your hand, that's where the balance is. Much easier, see." He adjusted his grip and showed Pye what he meant.

"Are you allus this nervous when you'm tryin' summat new?" he asked as they began walking again.

He flushed. Of course, he'd have to get used to that too. His captain was now Vickery. Captain Vickery. he hadn't met any of the other officers, but now it was the rifles' officers that would do. And he'd better remember that.

"Oh, wouldn't dream of , Gabe!" He spoke quickly, and when he saw it just a tease he relaxed a little and grinned back. "'d not be as good as you. Nuh uh."

He slipped his rifle from his shoulder and nearly tripped as the sword caught up with his feet, in the process. With one hand on the rifle, he'd helped himself with the other to adjust his hold properly. It was certainly better, just as Cotton had said. Hadn't had any doubt in that either.

"..Well.." He looked thoughtful, gazing ahead of them. "..not always jus'.. jus' dunno. Ye'um...lot are impressive n' now becomin' one of ye, 's not something I thought possible, ye know. " He smiled. "But, seein' it now is, is..a bit overwhelmin'!"

"Was a farm labourer, me, never even waited at table afore, an' he calls me in an' says I was recommended to him for his soldier-servant. That was just afore Christmas, that," Cotton said, remembering. "An' he didn't mind I couldn't read nor write, neither. Can write me name now, though, an' some other stuff." He grinned proudly as he said it.

"Seems to me," he said thoughtfully, a little further on, "that you just got to realise we'm the same as you - same as your old mates. Only we wear green not red, an' do things a bit diff'rent. And here's home," he said, coming to the house where Roper and some of the other were billeted. He pushed open the door. "They don't bite, I promise."