60th's billet

"..That , I hope, is what's of it." Weber looked at the gathered men, reverting to German the moment the sergeant was gone. "..As sweet as he's sounding, he isn't our sort. Not one of us." He looked at those who had been most eager to drink with the Englishman. "He's given us little yet I hope we have not given him enough."

It wasn't a speech, not really. He heard the slight sneeze and glanced in the direction of the curled pile of cloth and boy. "As for that lass. Any of you seen her bruises. There'd been many a whore in our camp, but none have those sort on them, that look so distressed, so mind your spitefull tongues. Might do you some good. Don't be like them." He indicated the direction of the English lad. He yawned then, for it was late.