Meeting the Green

Hearing a man call to his guide he halted to give some space for the said man to approach. Curiously he looked at the arrival, eyes darting quick from head to toe.

Another rifleman, this was obvious at first glance. One who's gait might have said he had not been at his best just now, a face he'd seen around possibly but no more than that. His rifle, at least from that distance, looked to have been taken care of with the same care as Cotton's. Judging Vickery's words, he was sure it had without the need for another glance.

"Hey." He'd said as a short way of greeting, a bit shyly.

This was somebody new, Newbury realised. The green-jacket didn't sit quite naturally on the man's shoulders, in the way that a new coat might be worn. Was this the redcoat that the lads had been talking about, or some poor lad from another company within the 60th?

"Hallo," Newbury greeted, and glanced at Cotton. If anybody knew the truth about what was what here, Cotton would.

"Hullo there, Joe," Cotton said, grinning as Newbury came up. Poor lad looked as though his side was giving him a bit of jip, but he was sure Newbury would be right as rain soon enough.

"Come to meet the new lad, have you, Joe?" The others would learn about it all soon enough, anyway, and there was no need to keep it secret.

Newbury came to a slightly-unsteady halt and was embarrassed that he had to lean on his rifle for support. "Aye. Spot him a mile off, you could."

Pye watched Newbury, shifting his attention between the two men at abrupt intervals. Looking embarrassed enough, he held his hand out: "Priv.... rifleman Zachary Pye." He looked back at Cotton then added uncertainly: "Zack.. can do."

He looked at his friend in concern. "You need to watch yourself, Joe, mate. Take things easy for a bit. Leastways, try an' take things easy. We don't want anythin' happenin' to you, after all." He grinned. "We'm just goin' along to Sar'nt Müller now, an' then I'm goin' to start to learn him how to shoot prop'ly. We'll be with you for supper, though."

So this was the redcoat fellow. Newbury lifted an eyebrow just slightly. "I'm Newbury," he said by way of introduction, even though Cotton had already managed that, when he'd addressed him.

To Cotton, he added, "I was takin' it easy. Been nappin' peaceful-like on my pack, 'til I heard there was new blood in camp. Supper oughta be good too, the Palmers have gone foraging."

His hand dropped to his side. Newbury, Cotton, the Palmers and Műller were just some of the names of the men he was getting to know. He looked quietly past the rifleman.

"You was till you got up, I'll 'llow you that." He grinned. "Make sure they get summat good; got to make a good impression on Zack here, after all, or he'll mebbe change his mind 'bout joinin' us." Dinner was going to be good with those two off foraging; that was practically a given.

He grinned at Newbury. "You want to come with us up to Sar'nt Müller's, Joe?"

A grin worked its way onto his face. "They'll have somethin' good, that's only sure. Aye, I'll go 'long. A bit of a walk'll do nice, or so the sawbones says."

He lifted his rifle and hoped he wouldn't have to employ it as a crutch. It wouldn't do if he got wobbly-legged in front of a newly-turned redcoat. Did Cotton know this fellow came from the 33rd, Newbury wondered?

"It's only round the corner, anyways," Cotton said, slinging his rifle. It was close enough that Newbury could make it there and back without needing help. He adjusted his pace so Newbury could keep up without too much of a struggle, and wondered how the other was going to manage on the march tomorrow.

All the talk of food had the youth perking up to attention. He kept his silence, though his excitement was being barely contained. Secretly he had pinched himself, as if to see whether he was still dreaming and would wake in a crimson coat. As painful as the pinch had been, he was still there and the two riflemen still a step away, talking the same. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards, till he was grinning again. With how things were going he might find his muscles ache about the mouth 'stead of the usual!

And then they were walking, and he had to start after them quickly.

" 'Round the corner ain't bad," Newbury allowed, thinking how he might rig up his pack so it wouldn't jostle his side too much. Probably have to sort it out as he went.

"That new fella grins a fair bit," he added after glancing over his shoulder at Pye. "Wonder if he's got every candle a-lit where he oughta."

"I reckon he's just fair flummoxed t'find hisself wearin' a proper colour coat for the first time," Cotton said with a grin of his own. "He's young enough, arter all!"

It was indeed just round the corner where they found Sergeant Müller. His assistants were loading the wagon already, it seemed like, and the Sergeant was taking five minutes break, standing across the street with his meerschaum pipe, blowing out clouds of smoke every so often.

Pye walked a step behind the two riflemen, giving them some privacy while having a better view of where they were going, and the men about, near and far. He grinned again when he spotted the Sergeant:

"That him? " He asked pointing across the street to where the puffs of smoke rose into the air.

Newbury had to nod at that. "That's somethin', aye. Ditchin' the red-coat's the best move a lad can make."

People bustled around Sergeant Müller's wagon, while Müller himself was puffing idly at his pipe. "That's ol' Sarn't Müller, sure."

"Aye, that's him, Cotton said and walked across to give him the note.

He looked at it and gave it back. "One rifle and forty rounds. You need to speak to Corporal Becker. He is in there, somewhere."

"Aye, Sar'nt. Thank you."

He crossed to the building, hoping that the spare rifles hadn't already been loaded. He was likely to get sworn at something awful, if they had been. Becker was checking something off a list when Cotton approached him to explain their errand.

"You are lucky," he said, looking at Pye. "They are not all on the wagon yet." He gestured to two men carrying a long wooden box between them. They put it down and the Corporal opened it. "Choose a rifle, then," he said.

Cotton watched. Would Pye pick the first one he touched, or would he find his rifle, one that felt right for him?

While thinking back on what Newbury said, he decided that it could wait just a short while longer. The rifles were set for the picking and Pye was sure not to be late in going for the choosing!

He knelt by the crate. He'd taken the first rifle in hand. Still not standing he'd had a look at it. If they said he could pick, he surely would do so now! 'Take one', and he'd consider it an order to take the first, but a pick was a pick. He bent down, placing the rifle more to the left.

A very quick glance over his shoulder, just to see that he was permitted this, and he was back with the ladies, lifting another, placing it down, and the next. One had caught his fancy and it stood propped up in the crate.

Cotton nodded to himself as he watched Pye take out a rifle, consider it and lay it aside. He was looking for the right rifle, one that would be his and nobody else's, the way Cotton knew his own rifle. Yes, this lad would be a good Rifleman, he thought, and smiled.

There, nearly, and then he found the winner. He'd glanced at her earlier, but thought to see the others first. Perhaps wishing to have a taste of the ladies, before choosing the right one. And as he did so, she had been lost under the many others. She had nearly been replaced by the one propped up at the side.

Once revealed though, she's been lifted, touched and looked over. A feeling, nothing that he could point a finger at, but the feeling, that he liked her. Much like so many years ago when the feeling had had him 'take' one of the many instead of the rest.

It might've made no difference then and it would possibly not make any now, but if the feeling was there, it was enough.

It took a while longer before he realised that there were a few impatient faces looking down at him, and that even Cotton and Newbury might want to be elsewhere rather than waiting on him. He blushed, holding his rifle a bit delicately.

"...um.., this one." Only then he looked up, as if expecting someone to laugh.

Newbury watched Pye's careful looking-over of the rifles with passive interest, wondering if the lad would let himself be satisfied with whichever rifle looked the best. Appearance over form never ended well.

"How's she feel to you?" Newbury asked, when Pye looked up at last.

"It.." He looked at Cotton for guidance, before returning to Newbury : "...feels ..nice in hand."

He held the rifle closer, cradling it to his chest, perhaps expecting to be told he'd have picked the worst of the bunch. The argument wasn't best he'd had, either.

"Ah." Cotton wondered for a moment if he had decided on the one he'd propped up. But why continue looking? And then he straightened up, cradling one to his chest. He'd found his rifle. Good. Very good, in fact.

"Looks like you got y'rself a lovely one, there, lad," Cotton said, unconsciously running his hand over his own rifle as he stood there leaning on it. And Pye had gone to the Rifleman's ready position with his rifle, even before he knew what that was. Which was only to be expected - Cotton had done the same thing, when he'd got his own rifle.

His initial, instinctual reservation about this lad was beginning to dissolve. "Good thing if she feels right," Newbury told him, nodding slightly. "Looks a fair good one too."

He patted the barrel of his own rifle affectionately. Looks were important for parades, but having a rifle that felt right would always come first.

Pye visibly relaxed, a smile blossoming on his face, bright and cheerful.

"May I.. can I take this one then?" He asked as if still expecting for the act to change into something of a 'you had your fun, put it back, and here's one for you' kind. He didn't miss out on either of the men's visible affection towards their weapons. A soft pat here, a stroke there.

He hadn't gone for the prettiest of the bunch, for as ladies, the loveliest looking might as well end up the most handful for a man. He'd just gone for the one that , well he didn't quite know why he picked her, but if asked to pick again he wouldn't go and look. He'd stick to her, and that was that.