Saturday evening, the Rifles are back

With some powder residue on his face, and his throat feeling as dry as pepper, the new rifleman walked side by side with his two teachers. He wondered how others had done but knew it had to be well, else they would not have been walking here. There was some confusion, as there always was in battle, he didn't know about it, didn't really know what and if something had gone wrong. Again, it couldn't have been that much, they were here!

He grinned at Roper, walking backwards a little, his rifle slung over his shoulder. He was a bit anxious to hear the verdict. He did try, but he was nowehere near how well the two men performed. It only mattered as much as if it meant he might have a chance to learn more. His tummy rumbled quietly, his expression not changing at all. "T' Frogs went running!" He exclaimed. "Like their tails were on fire, well. .their pair of hoppin' feet!" He shut himself up then, for he'd been energetic in talking enough before. Or atleast he felt it was a lot.

Roper grinned at Pye. "You did pretty good, for your first skirmish," he said. "Though you do got to remember to keep your head down. We don't fire standin' up all the time like the Line do, after all. Use the cover - any cover that's there. If they can't see you, how're they goin' to shoot at you?"

"Ah! " The boy's cheeks turned a bit red at the embarrassment. " I tried it all, but then when you get right into it..you revert back to what you've been trained before. Well I did!"

"Thanks for pullin' me down there by the walls." He nodded and grinned.

"Use all cover, for that." He repeated to himself. It all made sense, but the 33rd had been drilling their soldiers to perfection and that remained in there. He knew that retraining would be needed. Hard work, but worth it.

"Was lots of thorn there." he laughed and waved his sleeve which had a few thorns still sticking from it, and at the back a nice little stick, complete with a few leaves on it too.

"And we were the first, well near first!" That was something that made him proud.

"You'll do good, once you learn how to do it our way." He hadn't fired the ramrod or over-charged the pan or anything silly like that, though he was desperately slow at reloading, which was only to be expected considering the fact that a Baker had a smaller bore than the Brown Bess, as well as having the rifling which meant you had to force the ball down. Still, he'd speed up with practice, and even the best Riflemen were slower than redcoats loading smoothbore muskets, simply because of the limitations of the Baker.

"Hope you didn't get too scratched by them thorns," Roper added, though there was one long scratch that mirrored the other lad's scar. Roper himself had a nasty scratch across the back of the hand, and he put it to his mouth to suck at it. It'd be no good if he let it get dirty, after all.

"Just a little bit. Them thorns liked us enough! Wanted to keep us fer themselves!" He chuckled softly.
He looked at his hands attentively though, just to make sure. Seeing Roper do it first.

Still walking backwards, he had to glance over his shoulder just to be sure that there was nobody in the way, no stone ready to trip him and really, to see where they were going in general.

There was a small chunk of a thorn stuck above his pinky. He turned his hand around a little and pried it out. He touched his cheek where the stinging sensation was and decided that washing up was in order for the day. If they got the permission and place for it though.

"Soon's we's back in camp, we need to get some tea on the boil," Roper said, looking at the scratch on his hand now that he could see it. Well, see it better. It didn't feel all that deep, but he'd prefer it if he could get a bit of water on it and maybe wrap it up till the morning when he'd be able to take a proper look at it. "You should turn 'round and walk forwards. You'd see anythin' comin', then, y'know."

"But I'd not see nothin' goin'...er, followin' then!" The boy grinned, being cheerful so easily, and excited about the smallest of things. He didn't need a mountain of gold to be happy. A dish of food, good tea and all was well with the world. More was already a gift gotten from above.

"Need t' hurry ter get water then?" He asked, having had gone with Newbury the last time. He wondered where that man had gotten to, didn't see him with the rest of the rifles when they were skirmishing - not that he could see too many riflemen then! Neither did he saw Cotton anyplace. They had to be alright though, else Roper would know.

"You'd see plenty. More than you would if you land on your bum fallin' over a stone or somethin' like," Roper returned. "Don't reckon there's any hurry to get water, though the quicker we get water, the quicker we'll get a cup o' tea, and supper."

The youth fell in and walked by Roper's side then, facing forward. "Aye." He adjusted the grip on the strap of his rifle and smiled. "Well we best hurry then. Supper sounds like a great idea." He adjusted his coat a little. It had gotten a bit heavier since the other day, though it still stood a bit big on the youth.

"N' then clean t' rifle." He said, patting his own affectionately.

"Supper's allus a good idea," Roper said. "And so's makin' sure you got a clean rifle. We'll have the kettle on for the rifles and while we're doin' them, it'll be boilin' up for a cup o' tea." He grinned. "You're learnin', I'll say that."

Pye grinned and hugged his rifle to his chest. The lass was being taken care of as good as he could give her. And he was proud, both of his uniform and of the rifle and of the men he now belonged to. He nodded in confirmation and looked ahead.

"Can any of t' men write?" He asked after a few moments of thought.

Roper shrugged. "I can, a bit, and Cotton's learnin'. I think most of the Germans can, but that's summat to do with all of 'em havin' schoolin' when they was kids. Why d'you ask, then?

"I dunno. I was just thinking, 'couse I remembered Captain Vickery ask, when I first came. Is it hard? I mean...learning those...uh.. lines?" He was surprised to know the Germans could read, and almost more assured that he was right, thinking Cotton could. He hadn't had a doubt in that man.

He knew the usefulness of paper. Good wipe, that was. Some books had better paper and some of a lesser quality for it. As for the letter in them, he never understood how someone would spend so much time trying to write all that! Didn't they have better things to do?

"It ain't hard, not really. I can write, a bit, though it looks a bit like a spider crawled out of the inkpot." He shrugged and hitched his rifle up a bit. "You don't have to know how to read to be a Rifleman, if that's what you're wonderin' about."

Pye paused and shook his head:" Oh no, I didn't mean that. Captain Vickery assured me of that too. Was real worried when he first asked though." He admitted with a small grin. He laughed softly imagining a little spider crawling out of the inkpot and then crawling all over the paper trying to make little lines with its dainty feet. He'd even imagined someone trying oh so seriously to read that. Well he knew he could be fooled. Be shown a paper with nothing on it really, and he'd think it was real writing there.

"Would it be at all useful?" It was useful to send letters home, but he had noone to write to, so that was out of the question. It was useful for...making many thick books, though he really could not imagine what one would have to say, to write as much in it. What else? Oh, make a list of who joined,...make a cross if you didn't know how to write. The later he did not like at all. Had his own self condemned that way.

"Means you can write home. Or write orders down, so don't forget 'em. If you was goin' shoppin' in town, you could write a list of what you needed so's you didn't forget anythin'. That sort of thing."

Though there was no shame in not being able to read or write, of course. Cotton had been taken into the Captain's service without being able to do either, after all.

"Would I need it then?" Ok, so he wasn't writing home, that he knew. The closest thing to home was the army and it was a bit hard writing to the army when you were in it. Wouldn't write to the orphanage. He'd gone from it after all. Orders weren't to be written either. He chuckled. Would be silly if he wrote them what with being a rifleman and not an officer! Silly and wrong! All too wrong.

"'cos I'm not sure. " He wasn't ashamed of not being able to write. But if it were useful it would be good to know. If it was not, it wasn't for him then.

"I dun need t' send letters 'ome...or orders!" He chuckled. "Think I'd be looked at real wierd before I'd be sent packing.. and I'd be lucky if that was the case!"

During that time they've reached the camp, where the water had already been set to boil. It looked as though some of the men that arrived ahead of them, had gone to fetch it, and were now having a separate one heated for the rifles and another for tea. The stew already smelled invitingly enough for the soldier's feed, while the water bubbled softly in the smaller cauldron for tea.

Some of them might have looked like a ragged bunch, but under closer inspection there were already an equal amount of rifles, that had been in different stages of clean. There was some talk in German about the fighting probably, and how they've faired, what they've seen, encountered and the prospects for the next day. The thorny bushes didn't spare many of them either, though they seemed to bother none all that much.

Pye smiled looking at the men. There was much fighting after all and by the looks of the cavalry, some losses too. He'd have to see how the 33rd were later. Know if his friends were well. Then an early sleep with no drinks other than tea. He yawned and adjusted his rifle on his shoulder. Some improvement on the skirmishing and loading had to be done. Ok, perhaps lots of improvement. He had known he'd been slow, and nearly lost his head, standing all.. redcoat like.

Schreiber and Koch were having a drawn out debate, while Weber was leaning over a piece of wrinkled paper, writing back home. He rested the end of his quill on his lip as he thought on what he ought to write, then dipped it in ink before writing the next line. With a thanks he accepted a mug of steaming hot tea, lowering it on the ground beside him. He studied the letter and read it from beginning to end and added two lines more before he was satisfied, signing himself. He dusted the letter then and waited for the ink to dry. Quickly engaged in conversation with Braun, the letter was held from closing and blown onto , to get the sand of, innitially. By the looks on the men's faces the conversation must've been of their hometown, since both men from the same area and had known each other since they were children.

Roper guided Pye over to where Jacklin was tending a pot hung over a fire, and indicated that the lad should sit down. "It'll be a decent supper tonight if Ben here's doin' the food," he said, and sat down himself to start tending to his rifle.

Pye dropped his pack where he was at, and crossed his legs, sitting himself comfortably in place. He unslung his rifle and lay it into his lap, smiling at Roper. "Uh.. I have this.." He uttered quickly and went to look through his pack, till he supplied a rather nice, shapely onion. "If it's of any use. " He said and gently tapped at his rifle. It was fairly clean, though its butt had some dirt on it. The barrel showed clear signs of earlier use too.

Jacklin grinned. "Aye, that'll be very useful. We's only got beef tonight, an' a bit of onion'll help it down a treat. Thanks, lad."

Roper nodded. "That's the way of it, lad. We all add what we can to the pot. I've got a couple o' taters, if they'll help, Ben."

Pye beamed, gladly passing the onion. He felt and heard his tummy rumble a little and looked up at Roper with a grin. " We'll have a proper feast, that way!" And he nodded to Jacklin, thinking very much the same on it.

"Can't wait!" He admitted and took some of the hot water that was passed for the riflemen's weapons. He'd forgotten about the writing or the importance of it or lack thereof. It looked like something too hard and too much for the people of favoured birth or just the established sort anyway. He needed to fire fast enough and accurate and that's what mattered. And he had to know how to keep his rifle as clean as new and passable for any inspection, no matter how particular.

Roper glanced up as someone else approached them. When he saw that it was Vickery, he moved to get to his feet. The officer waved him down again. "You've been on your feet all day, Tom. I'm not going to make you stand up now you're not on duty. I just came to add a bit to the pot, as I've recently acquired some more supplies of my own." He held some carrots and other vegetables out to Jacklin, who took them with a slightly puzzled look on his face.

Equally stunned by the arrival of the captain, the boy's been up before the waving hand had him blinking startled at Roper and the other man. Still standing awkwardly he didn't know whether he had only fallen asleep and had the strangest dream - though he decided he surely could not have had something like that - or if the captain had indeed arrived and was giving them some more things for the pot.

The cut on his face that had matched the scar on his other side was now being mimicked by the colour of his cheeks. He was stealing glances at Jacklin and what he was now holding in his hands. Carrots, vegetables of several sorts. He pinches his arm under the sleeve just to be sure he was awake. But there he was, the captain, and there were the carrots too. Not daring to speak, he was glancing at Roper and then at the floor, grinning brightly.

Roper winked at Pye.

"If you're givin' us all that, sir, seems only fair you stay to supper with us," he said, to which Jacklin nodded, with an answering grin.

"There be plenty in the pot, sir," he said. "Specially with all this too. Though it's only ration beef, I'm afraid, sir."

"If you are sure I won't inconvenience you, I'd be happy to," Vickery replied, looking between the three Riflemen.