Meeting the Green

"Yes, you may have that one," Becker said, nodding. He flicked through the book he was using to rest his papers on. "May I have a look at the number of that one?" he asked, checking the number engraved on the brass of the patch-box lid.

"And your name, please? For my records."

"Zachary Pye, corporal. " He held his rifle to Becker, though there was a slight bit of reluctance there. As soon as he'd had his rifle returned, he took a step back patting it lightly.

He grinned at Cotton, for he knew that they'd be going to fire a few rounds and he glanced at Newbury, curious whether he would want to come as well. Would his injury and pain allow it? He took a step back and then spoke more subtly to Newbury:" You're from the...redcoats, too?" He turned to glance at Becker, recalling if he'd forgotten anything before they could go.

He watched as the routine of assigning the rifle was played out. It was the same every time someone new joined the company.

Pye's quiet approach and equally-quiet question almost jarred him. Shrugging, Newbury answered, "Some time back, aye. Over in the Mediterranean. Then I saw the light."

"Ah.." Pye smiled. "Was bright enough yesterday..to lead me here." He held the rifle cradled in his arms, deciding that it was the finest choice - if possibly the only one - he had made in his life. And he wasn't going to let them down.

"Who'd you serve with before joining the rifles?"

"Thirty-fifth," Newbury replied, trying not to think of his old regiment beyond its number. He drummed his fingers idly, almost impatiently, against the barrel of his rifle, not willing to entertain more questions about his past service.

"Think they got the cook-fire stirred up yet?"

It couldn't have been a better distraction even if Newbury might've wanted it. Cook-fires, food, the youth was again with his mind set firmly on the next objective. Up until the cool feel of a rifle in his hands reminded him of his first.

And the rifle reminding him they meant to fire soon too had gotten the food placed as second again.

"A-uh.." He shrugged his shoulders. "...I dunno. ...what''re we eating today?" Newbury might not have known, but it was alright to ask.

"Whatever the Palmers managed to forage is what we're eatin'," Newbury said. "But I saw Zeb with some sort of bread, so it'll probably be stew and bread."

"Can't wait!" He admitted freely, resting his rifle against the floor.

After the shooting and the supper, he could have a short walk to his former fellow coats. Have a proper chat, might have some others thinking of coming here. It was a sure fine deal. Just after he'd had his rifle given a first shine from her new lad.

"Are there any rules fr t' evening? Meanin' different than t' redcoat's?"

Cotton considered for a moment before shaking his head. "No. Just don't get so drunk you can't stand up straight - but you oughtn't get that drunk anyhow. An' you'll prob'ly be paired with a couple of older Riflemen to learn the tricks o' the trade, like. I mean fellers what are dab hands at scoutin' and stuff like that." He paused for a moment and then asked, "I don't mean to pry, but are you a town lad, or country bred an' born?"

"Born in t' open air." He shrugged, not finding any trouble in answering the question. "..lived a part of me time in town and a part graciously out in the country, well close enough to that...lord given." He smiled looking up at Cotton.

"..you can ask, what you will.. I'll have you know if there's something not to be answered." And with that he considered the reason of Cotton's asking. Finding he couldn't right guess it, he added:" But why the question?"

"We ain't redcoats, see. A lot of the time, we'm off on our own, scoutin' and such-like, to be able to report things to the officer so they know if there's anythin' unusual goin' on. An' it helps if you can read the ground and other signs - like if'n birds fly up, startled, to know why they'd do it like that. Simple things really if you'm like me, a country lad. Not so simple if you'm from town, but stuff you can learn. 'Cause it all helps to see what the French are up to, if you know there's French nearby, or to see that summat's wrong if you don't know the French are nearby."

And that was a pretty long speech for Cotton, who shrugged, hoping it had made sense.

He nodded. It made sense well enough, learning the ways of the land didn't just keep a belly full, it could well place a neck out of harm's way or warn one in time. Helped save you from walking right into the path of the hunters.

" I know, a little." He lifted his rifle up, studying Cotton for a moment, before adjusting to carry the weapon in a similar fashion to him. If it was good for that rifleman, it could be nothing but good, for him as well.

"I.. uh.. lived by t' woods f'r a while..if thats any good?" He looked shy when he'd said it, and uncertain as to whether Cotton would've been satisfied with it. Still he was willing to answer any question to the best of his knowledge if only he'd known an answer. Loyalty and trust, that's what it was after all.

Cotton frowned a little at that, wondering what he meant. He'd only just met the lad though, and didn't want to ask too many questions straight away. "I reckon it's a start, lad. You stick with us; we'll see you right." He grinned. "An' I reckon you'd like to see what your rifle can do. The trainin' field should do us for that - I think there's some of the targets left down there an' all. It's this way."

"That I can bet on!" He paused for a hesitant moment:" Not, that I'd bet, that is... gamblin' not right.. n'all that." He grinned nodding eagerly at first mention of the rifle, and giving his own a gentle pat, as if telling the weapon, she would soon be able to prove herself before the rest.

"Lead t' way, n' I'll be t' one followin' like a dog does a leash." He quickened his step, glancing about. But only to see what was going on, while his attention didn't stray far from his 'teachers'. "How'd ye come t' join t' army.." He poused considering whether the question could have been too personal and bold, when forgetting himself in his excitement. "..if's summat you're willing to talk 'bout!"

Cotton shrugged. "I come from a village in East Kent that you've never heard of. An' the Squire's son - the eldest son - took a set ag'in me for no good reason, and when th'Squire died, he got the estate. Had us thrown out of our cottage. So, bein' as there was more mouths to feed than Dad an' Ma could cope with, and me bein' old enough to fend f'r meself, I went to Faversham to the hirin' fair to try an' find work. Couldn't find anythin' but a recruiting sergeant found me. So I took the shillin'."

He glanced across at the younger Rifleman and grinned. "Ain't no use cryin' over spilt milk, an' I done pretty good for meself since. Life's what you make of it, I reckon, Zack, lad."

"A batman to an officer, n' servin' in the rifles. Sure's better than jus' pretty nice." He grinned. There were many life's stories written of men taking the shilling. Some similar, but none the same, else perhaps if it were brothers joining together. Some were fools too, like possibly himself, but that couldn't be helped.

"...ain't no use doing something 'bout it, when all things point the other way, either." He added with a slight smile. "'least once you've already gotten yourself neck deep." His smile broadened some, the present company doing him very good.

"n' there's exceptions of course, wouldn't be here if there weren't." He patted his rifle.

Cotton grinned. "Best Regiment in the Army, the 60th. An' we're the best battalion of it. An' I reckon we'm the best Company of it an' all. An' you stick with us and we'll see you right."

And here they were at the training field. Yes, there were a couple of targets left from the day before, too. Cotton grabbed one to set it up for firing practice.

"You know how to load an' fire a musket, of course," he said. "Well, loadin' a Baker is exactly the same, only you do it at your own speed an' don't worry about anyone else. It's just a bit harder to ram the ball down, 'cause of the riflin'. And, like you saw yesterday, we don't allus fire standin' up. Dependin' on what cover there is, you can kneel, sit, or lie down." He showed each position in turn. "And you can reload from each of them positions without standin' up - though it's hardest to do it when you're lyin' down, o' course. Now, if you look at your rifle, you'll see it's got sights on her. That's to help you hit the target."

He indicated the rear sight, with its notched V. "You line that there up with the foresight and make sure they're both in line with the target, an' you're halfway there. There's just four things you've got to remember." He grinned. "I know it's a lot, but it's how to do it right, so you need to learn these. I'll repeat them later if you want."

He took a kneeling position. "Here, you copy me. It'll help."

He raised the rifle, looking down the barrel. "One. Your position has to support the rifle prop'ly. Two. The rifle has to point nach'rally at the target. Means if your position ain't quite right to keep the rifle on target, you move till it is right. Even if it's just a tiny bit. Three. The sights have to be lined up right with the target. Four. Squeeze the trigger gently. If you snatch at it, you'll jolt the rifle an' you might as well have a musket."

"N' you're t' best shooter too." He added with a soft, merry laugh. He beamed with pride as if it were his family that had gotten such a praise. And perhaps it was how it felt right then. Sticking with them was no problem no. Loyalty, no problem either, not to them. Not to them!

It was a lot to take in, but through it all, Pye watched, listened, memorized and mimicked when he could. His eyes hadn't darted astray ever since the lesson began, and followed each move that Cotton had made to show him how it was done right with gravest attention.

Four rules were repeated in a soft murmur. " Keep yer position t' support t' rifle properly, point 't t' target n' go where it goes till is' right, sights lined up properly with it n' a gentle squeeze. Like a lass. A gentle one, else she'll turn into a Bessy!" He had blushed, since he'd murmured them a bit loud the last time. He'd grinned after, with a nod curt and quick.

(Have to go for t' night x.x.. so see you tomorrows! Good night! )

"You 'member them rules an' you'll be as fine a shot as anyone, Zack," Cotton said, smiling. "Now, how'd you feel about lettin' off some powder, then, an' seein' how good you are already? You already know how to load, I know you do. Just, when you've loaded, take your time, go through them rules an' fire when you'm ready."

(OOC - I'm going to call it a night, too! See you tomorrow.)

Maggie had noticed Cotton and had been watching from a distance, mildly curious. Hadn't the training day been and gone already? As he looked around and saw her, she waved and called out a hello. "What are you doing there, Gabe?"

He looked up and smiled fondly as he saw who it was. "Hello, Maggie. I'm just teachin' Rifleman Pye here how to aim a rifle - he's new, y'see. Just joined us this afternoon."

"This afternoon!" She grinned at the fellow and then back at Cotton as she came closer. "We getting riflemen from the sky now, falling down from heaven?"

"No. He came from the 33rd. Saw what-all we done yesterday and decided he'd rather have a proper weapon than a musket. And how are you, anyhow?"

"I'm fine," she said absently, but her look had darkened as she regarded the young man. "The 33rd?"

He nodded, frowning a little. "Joined to get away from a partic'lar Sergeant. Don't hold that ag'inst him, Maggie, lass. He's 60th now, like you an' me."