25th May Coming early

At least, Newbury thought, Captain Vickery knew the locals' language. Never mind that the officer's presence meant trouble for him. He tried not to lean on Cotton, at least not noticeably, and felt stupid that he'd gotten himself into yet another mess.

"Was trackin' a horse, sir," he offered. "It left outta the spot up there by the stream, carryin' two riders by the look of the trail. Figgered it might be that missin' officer."

Vickery's eyebrow went up. "Tracking a horse. And what was so vitally important about tracking this horse that you went off alone, without back-up, into unknown territory?"

"I, ah, sir, that was, um..." He took a breath. "That was my fault, sir. I should've stuck with him, sir, only I was tryin' to solve a question of me own, sir."

He tried not to shuffle his feet. "I'm sorry, sir."

Vickery looked between the two Riflemen. "And what's your excuse, Newbury?"

Pye observed resting his rifle on his knee. Vickery reached the Portuguese and the two men, who seemed to be in trouble now. He adjusted his hold and rested his back against the tree. The Portuguese seemed to pose less danger, though they looked to be brave, they did not attempt to attack again, nor to fire at Vickery who had approached them under the white flag.

Still, after a few moments his rifle went up again, poised at one of the men, that he'd picked to be the most danger to the captain. He did not fire, but he did hold the rifle trained on him just in case. His gaze went past the rifle's direction and rather took the whole picture - or as whole as he could see - of the people up higher.

His face flushed hot. "I didn't think there was no danger, sir, 'cause all them Frogs was dead. Forgot... 'bout that lot." Newbury paused a moment to steady his nerves, and added, "Figgered it was Cap'n Hunter's horse, sir. An' the cap'n with it."

"I've half a mind to chain you to a twelve-pound roundshot," Vickery said. "That goes for you, too, Cotton. Of all the stupid things you could have done. You're not wearing red and these people think that anyone not wearing red is French. You're just lucky they didn't manage to grab you and haul you off before I could get here."

He looked between them. "I'll deal with you later. Get your rifle and get back up to the others. And where's Pye got to?"

The Portuguese were looking slightly put out and Vickery turned to them. "Sorry to have bothered you," he said. "We'll be on our way now."

"You will defeat the French?" the leader wanted to know. There was nothing Vickery could say to that; who knew how all this would turn out in the end? "We will do our best, senhor, I give you my word."

The two men did not look happy, nor did Vickery and how he addressed them. It looked as though he was rather angry with them. Pye hoped it wasn't so. They did go ahead, but they meant well. Newbury did, he just wanted to see where the horse has gotten off to.

Well, it wasn't Pye's place to doubt Vickery's decisions though, no use in that. He glanced at Cotton's rifle. Nice and clean, and still propped against the trunk. Still there.

"Yes sir," Newbury said, subdued. He bent down and retrieved his rifle, then made himself walk as steadily as he could toward the rest of the company. It was important not to let the captain see him limp. Not now. Staying out of his notice now was absolutely vital.

Cotton didn't dare offer his friend a helping hand, not if they wanted to get out of this mess with their dignity intact. The Portuguese had started to disperse, though they were still hovering, no doubt hoping to see these strange men on their way.

He glanced towards where he'd left Pye with his rifle, and went cold. The lad was nowhere in sight, and nor was his rifle.

Vickery was returning down the same slope, up which he climbed to converse with the local population. Cotton and Newbury were both following suit, one with a heavy and unsteady step, the other possibly wishing he could help, yet unable to. Pye turned to look at the Portuguese again. There was a fewer number of them. They too were departing. Not all though. He saw those lingering glances, the shifts of the men, and the persistence of them to remain in place.

He lowered his rifle. They weren't yet fully out of danger, but as one deciding to cover the men, while they retreated, so the lad decided to wait. Just so much longer till they were out of range of the muskets. When they could not come to harm, he would retreat as well. He smiled and rubbed his hand over his cheek. Muddy, with a bit of a crust falling off, where the said mud had dried.

He'd have to sit down before too much longer or he'd topple over again. Only a short rest, Newbury thought, and he'd be good to carry on marching. The constant twinging ache in his knee could be ignored if he was able to rest it for a few minutes.

Just as long as Captain Vickery didn't decide to call him back for anything...

Vickery watched Newbury hobbling away, with Cotton hovering at his elbow. "Newbury, you can rest your leg for ten minutes when you get back to the others."

He would have to do something to curb that Rifleman's tendencies to wander off, and soon. Meanwhile, there were other things to worry about. He turned back to the Portuguese, approaching the self-appointed leader, who had remained behind. "Há uma casa, there is a house, that way. Some of the French were there. They left the people living there alive because an Englishman, Capitão Hunter, said he would go with them. Have you seen an Englishman near here, today? He is my friend, and I want to help him." The last statement was stretching the truth a little; Vickery had barely met Hunter, and certainly could not swear to being able to recognise him.

The Portuguese would've probably halted the man had they seen him. The leader shook his head and said that he did not, but he asked the others and all had said that they saw no man on a horse. A younger lad suggested seeing a horse without its rider, but even that was a good while ago and it wasn't where they were now. The horse had gone before he could attempt to retrieve it, especially as he was on foot.

Well, that was interesting, in its own way. "Obrigado, senhor," Vickery said, and turned to follow his two wayward Riflemen back to the others.

"You're a damned idiot, Joe," Cotton said, speaking in an undertone. "You know he ain't goin' to let this'n slip - not after the last time. Though it was my fault I didn't go for to stick with you, but you could've let me know you was goin' to go off, like. Or grabbed one of the others."

"Yes sir."

Oh wasn't that great? There didn't seem to be anything Captain Vickery didn't notice. Newbury kept a grimace off his face and lengthened his stride, determined to prove, at least to himself, that he was not badly hurt.

"Didn't think it'd be that bad, did I?" Newbury replied, likewise keeping his voice low. There was no denying he was an idiot, naturally, but really. How was he supposed to have known that they weren't the only ones hunting those Frogs? " 'Sides... I dunno how it woulda helped."

Pye still waited, and felt relieved. The captain was leaving, the Portuguese too seemed to have abandoned their plight to slay riflemen. He waited a short while longer before standing.

Newbury was slow, and with him Cotton, who walked alongside the injured man. Pye slung the second rifle over his shoulder, and wiped his hand on his shirt. He kept his own level. The distance grew, and the Portuguese began to disappear from the crest of the hill. Once he could not see the last one of them, the lad began to descend the hill himself. He took the same path as he did earlier, climbing it.

"Well, if you hadn't managed to get so far ahead, I'd've bin able to get to you quicker. An', well, you'd've noticed 'em a damn sight sooner if so be you hadn't bin stridin' along with your head down." He sighed. "I should've stuck with you when I saw you was goin' so it's my fault, too. An' I'll tell the Captain so, an' all."

Oh for...

"No it weren't, an' no you ain't," Newbury told him. "I shouldn't have gone wanderin' off alone. This'll be it for me, after everythin' else I mucked up with. 'Sides. Not right for a batman what's just been married to be gettin' into no trouble."

"You can't go takin' all the blame, 'specially if you are goin' to get it - ain't right, that, not when I should've noticed 'cause I was s'posed to be coverin' you."

It felt all wrong to be wandering around the Portuguese countryside without his rifle, but he didn't know where Pye was, and daren't turn round to look for him because that would catch the Captain's eye and then he'd be in even worse trouble for losing Pye as well as his rifle.

"I should've said summat afore you went off, though, an' you can't say as I shouldn't've."

Using a short cut, the young rifleman, slipped in to rejoin the two hoping that the captain would not have noticed that he had not infact stood in the place that he was ordered to, but rather had gone up ahead.

"..Your.. rifle.. Gabe." He whispered and held the weapon in hand, holding it towards Cotton. "....Joe.. you a'right?"

"Cheers, mate," Cotton said, taking the offered rifle and immediately feeling better, though still not his usual self - he had no idea what sort of punishment Captain Vickery would decide to mete out.

"No, sure it ain't," he agreed, grudgingly. " 'Cept a Rifleman's s'sposed to think for himself, which I ain't done so well at. Might's well take all the blame for it, 'cause I deserves it."

It probably didn't make sense anywhere outside his own mind, but he didn't know the words to best express himself. It probably didn't matter. "Oh aye, I'm arright. Just took a little knock, is all."

Pye fell silent, falling in behind the two men. The sky was beginning to darken, and it was not because it was going to rain soon, this time. He gazed at where the other riflemen stood , awaiting them. A part of him had hoped that he'd have been able to fire to see if he would hit his target, another had been glad that the opportunity did not come. If he would've failed, then an officer could be lost, a pair of good men, and that wasn't an outcome he would've hoped for.

He rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand and sighed silently.

What he was, was angry at the way Newbury had risked himself, again, for no real gain. He needed to come up with some way of punishing him that would also teach him not to go haring off without thinking things through.

Cotton wasn't much better. Granted, he'd had Pye with him, but the lad was new to the Rifles and wouldn't necessarily be able to see the best course of action to take.

He glanced up at the sky. "We'll bivouac here," he said to Cavender, who'd fallen back in behind him as the officer passed. The lad nodded and put his bugle to his lips to pass the command on to pitch camp.