25th May Coming early

Now that he was off his feet again, his leg felt marginally more bearable, but he was in no hurry to push the injured knee any further today. His pack served well as something prop his leg on, even though it meant that he had remain sitting up. It was going to be miserable, having to walk back to the baggage train, even without an injured knee.

He barely looked up when Cotton approached, but he was not so lost in his own sulking that he was able to ignore the other rifleman. "Cheers," Newbury replied, accepting the mug.

"You're welcome." Cotton sat down next to him. "How's the leg doin'? Looked like you give it a nasty wrench when you went over, from what I could tell." He took a mouthful of tea from his own mug. "Folks ain't goin' to think anythin' of us goin' back to the baggage, not with you limpin' the way you've bin doin'," he added, thankful that at least he would have the cover of helping Newbury back to the surgeon.

Vickery smiled at Pye reassuringly. "There's no need to apologise. I know it isn't what you're used to, but you'll get used to us soon enough. There's no need to be nervous of me, or of my Lieutenants." He nodded as Pye made his choice. "I'm sure he won't mind teaching you what he knows. From what I've seen, you've been accepted into his mess as one of his friends, so I don't think you need worry on that score. And you do know that you can talk to him, or to Roper, if you've got any worries?"

He looked thoughtful, and then slowly nodded. "I think, I do. I will. Though there's no worries in the rifles." He said hesitantly. "..'cept, sir..., rabbits." He dropped his gaze quickly. "Well that I mean.. not seriously. It's duty first... at all times. " He nodded quickly, managing a small laugh. "Thank ye, sir. For making that choice to take me in. If I may say so." The lad looked so genuinely grateful.

"Rabbits?" Vickery hadn't expected that, and looked a little confused. "What about rabbits? And you seemed the sort of lad who'd do well in the Rifles, so I didn't see any reason to turn you down. And so far, you've amply repaid my faith in you."

"They'll def...de... uh go over to the French because of us riflemen." He answered, torn between smiling and hoping that Vickery wouldn't be upset about what he'd just said. Vickery's next words made his cheeks as red as his collar, which wasn't faded yet, though perhaps in part covered in mud.

"Thank you sir." A good word about his work , he was not used to hearing, and receiving it from someone who mattered, was enough to have him just look utterly lost at what to say.

"Definitely. I don't think they will. The French live off the land too, worse than we do. At least we pay for food we take," Vickery said, and smiled. "I don't think there's anything else I need to say, so you can go and get some hot food."

"Food?" Pye's eyes lit up, and he grinned, giving Vickery a very smart and confident salute. "Thank you sir. ..Um, I'm sure you're invited to, if..'un you want." He smiled. "Thank you, ca'pn. T' week will be over in no time!" He turned on his heel. "N'....Newbury,.. Cotton, sir, they didn' right mean ter do wot' they did... They'um real good men." Vickery would never learn of the plotting that Newbury had done. Never. Since that plan wouldn't happen either, and..it was just talk, like men talk when they're grumpy.

Vickery laughed at the look on Pye's face when food was mentioned. "They are good men. A little too enthusiastic and liable to get carried away sometimes, but good Riflemen even so." He wasn't sure what the week might bring, but hopefully they would learn from it and not be so likely to run ahead next time.

"Yes, sir." He smiled, agreeing. "..Um, Ca'pn, may I ask for a permission to go to the river. Need ter...wash this off." He added, since the mud was making his hair stick too much and while it would not have bothered him, it might others. That, and the dirt seemed to have come through the fabric of his trousers.

"I don't think I want to know how you ended up getting completely covered in mud." He nodded. "When we're in camp, you don't need permission to go looking for water or wood, so long as you don't go past the picquets."

In response to Vickery's first words, Pye grinned and said nothing. The captain didn't need to know, where the lad was, when he conversed with the Portuguese. It could've gotten Cotton and Newbury in more trouble, too.

To the second, said, he nodded. "Yes, sir." and chuckled. "Is there anything else, or may I go?"

"I can't think of anything else I need you for." He thought for a moment. "No, you're free to go."

"Yes, sir." The boy gave the rifle captain another salute and then ran. First in the direction of the camp fire, then he realised he'd wanted to have a wash, and so went off in the direction of the river.

Newbury shrugged. "It's a bit sore, is all." Which was an understatement, but he was not about to admit that he could barely bend the knee. He wasn't all that keen to discuss it either, or the circumstances that had caused the injury. Bad enough that it had happened in the first place.

"Be a long walk back there," he grunted and took a halfhearted swig of tea. The column was probably well strung out, owing to the increasingly bad roads. It would take all day to get back halfway, he guessed.

Pye reached the stream not wasting much time. Since he was already covered in mud, slushing and running through it, wouldn't have added that much to it, that it would have forced him to slow down. So rather than walking he ran.

Once he aproached the stream though, he was again walking so as not to slip on the bank and be carried away by the cold water. Loosing footing would not have been good. And if he'd have fallen in, his chick might've drowned.

He decided to wash and scrub his coat first, and so sat himself on one of the stones from where it was easier for him, to do the work.

Cotton shrugged. "They'm gettin' closer to us all the time, though. Reckon we'd best get back to the road, rather'n goin' over the hills, if your leg's as bad as I think it is. You nearly went head over heels, gettin' away from the Cap'n."

He offered a sympathetic smile. "If there's anythin' I can do to help, you'll say, won't you? 'Cause, well, a body shouldn't have to cope on their own. Ain't right, that. An' you can't sit an' mope alla time. Ain't good for a body."

The closer the better. Any other time, Newbury wouldn't mind walking, but with his leg being off... he grunted. "More tired than all else, I suppose. 'Bliged, though, mate."

"Sounds like you need a kip," Cotton said, getting to his feet. "I'll bring you some dinner over when it's done, how's that sound?

"That'd be lovely," Newbury answered, adjusting the set of his pack underneath his knee. Damn but it wasn't exactly the best thing to use for a prop, was it?

"All right, I'll do that then." He watched as his mate tried to get comfy and wished he could do something to help, though he couldn't think of anything. "Back d'rectly minute, then, Joe."

With his gaiters clean, and his trousers too, he worked his way up to his shirt and his coat. Lying both to the left of him. He began to dunk the shirt into the water, leaning closer to it. Then wrench it, twist it again, leave it to soak, and rub the fabric together. He was shirtless perhaps, and in a pair of trousers that were wet, but still he did not feel as bothered by the cold. More intent on washing his things before the food was served or atleast before it would run out.

At that, Newbury nodded. "Thanks," he said, leaning back against the tree and closing his eyes.

He sought a part that was shallow enough and protected by a few rocks so that the water did not run fast, but rather eased up into a small pool, and then joined again with the stronger current. There seeing it safe, he carried his things closer again, and made sure that his chick was still nice and comfortable before he pulled his shirt off and walked to the edge of the water.

The mud had managed to inch down his shirt and lay in streaks of dirt across his back and chest, shoulders too, where the small particles were just visible enough. He knelt into the water and brought a handfull of it over his shoulders. With his back to the path, he could still be alert of the other bank. It was from there, that the danger could come anyway. Dunking his head under the surface, he held his breath and rubbed his hair.

Cotton grinned and stretched before heading back to his mates' fire. Roper glanced up. "You wouldn't get some water for us, would you, Gabe?" he said, indicating the kettle with his thumb.

Cotton grinned, and picked the kettle up. "Be right back, then," he said, and turned to head down to the river. There were other Riflemen there as well, and he recognised one of them. "Hey, Zack!"