27th May, morning; with wagons

"Wouldn't go too far... we ought to work or way along next to the road, headin' the same way as them, else we're riskin' gettin' into a lot of trouble." He looked at Pye's position. "You want to be at a bit of an angle to the target, though. Like this." He rolled over and sat up to demonstrate the position. "Like that, see? It's a pretty good way of doin' it, but I prefer to kneel or lie flat."

" Sittin' ain't the right'un then?" He asked thoughtfully. "What comfort and accuracy are concerned, I mean?" He'd adjusted his position and looked thoughtful at the woods to their right. The soldiers on their other side were marching in relative silence and having to deal with the raugh terrain every so often as wagons got caught in a dip in the ground.

"Could we try a bit more o'..what's it. scouting like?" He asked and looked up. The sky seemed to promise that the weather would hold, atleast for a while. "Could cut a corner there, to catch up with 'em.. If they go a round.. then we goin' straight over.. would make us catch up, wouldn't it?"

"I didn't say that. I just meant, it ain't one of the positions I like, person'lly, like. You might prefer it to kneelin'. Or, there's this'n, as well, for real long shots." He lay back, resting the rifle on his crossed ankles and curling a little to get the butt into his shoulder. "I don't really like that one, either, but that ain't to say you mightn't. It just slows the rate of fire down, 'cause it's tricky to reload like that." He grinned up at Pye. "You practise all them, an' you'll be 'mazed how quick your uniform stops lookin' so new an' all."

Pye laughed softly at Cotton's final remark. He shook his head and looked down at his uniform. It was already dirty. Of course his instinct would have to be, to clean it up again, brush the dirt out like he usually did. It was just something so drilled into his mind that it was a habit hard put to ignore. "Aye, yer tie me hands behind me back not to touch it up when I get t' urge." He pointed at his coat and laughed a bit more, finding that practice of rolling in the dirt, so to say, would certainly soon make him look as all them other men.

He'd moved in the position showed, so that he'd know it by heart or atleast by example even as Cotton would not be there. With it done he paused and looked at Cotton. "If ...we was to want it, could we go over ther ter the bushes n' trees? Or would that've been too far for us to stray, ..what with Vickery's orders now." And forgetting that there were provosts on the run, very upset and annoyed. But those they could smell a mile of. That made the young rifleman chuckle. Smelly beds, smelly men!

Cotton considered. "I dunno. Might be a bit too far off, them." He might be the senior one of the three of them, but he was still only a Rifleman, when all was said and done - and even sergeants and corporals were known to desert, sometimes. "So long as we stay in sight, I s'pose we can - though I want to get any further from the column than we have to, not really."

Pye noded. "I'd like to try somethin'." He said and got up dusting himself. "N'.. it isn't desertin' Gabe. That I give you m' word.. on me honour n'.. me chick." He smiled. "..whichever you think is better t' give word on." He looked adjusted his grip on his rifle. "The going will be down a bit, we might get out of their sights." He indicated the army. "Not for long I don't think, n' we can run all t' way back, sure." He suggested. "We've got a slip, don't we. So even if they got nervous, we can always show that to 'em." He looked at the front of his coat. Leave dirt there then.

"I know you ain't goin' to do that - not so soon after joinin' the rifles," Cotton replied with a grin. "It ain't in the direction of anywheres in partic'lar, that, either. An' the Frenchies are runnin', too, so we'm hardly likley to be wantin' to join them." He shrugged. "Dunno how much protection a ticket'll give, if they think we'm runnin'. Mebbe we'd best leave our packs and things behind, just for a bit."

"Not ever, Gabe." Pye grinned. "But you've got a point. Why abandon something that's doing good for you?" He nodded at the suggestion. If they had nothing on them they were likely to look less like they were wanting to go anywhere. In full kit they might as well have packed up for a long journey somewhere's. Though Cotton would have no reason to want to go. He had Maggie. Pye's reasons for going would be few as well. He had no lass to be running to, so why abandon the army and the trust of the rifles?

Not that many officers would take that as a good reason for either of the men's intentions being explained. "Let's get those back. N' if Newbury gives a whistle..." He hesitated. "You'll tell me what it means too."

"Leave 'em with Willow; I'm sure Maggie an' Joe'll look after 'em all right for us till we get back," Cotton answered, unbuckling the straps of his own pack. "An' of course I'll tell you what the signals mean. Wouldn't want you to end up all confused right in the middle of a battle or summat, an' the best way of stoppin' that is for us to explain things while we've got the time, ain't it?"

"I can take both packs back if you want. Ain't no reason for both of us going there and back, for them neither." He grinned. "True, I might follow what all of you would do, but.. it's better I know. Sooner's always better than later." He looked up. "..Didn't join your ranks to be a burden. 's why." And then he offered to take the pack himself.

Cotton grinned. "If you'm sure, I won't say no," he said holding his pack out. "Ain't so light as all that, though, you want to be a bit careful with it. You ain't no burden, neither, so don't go thinkin' you are." He grinned at the lad and patted him on the shoulder. "You'm just learnin' your duty, see. Can't be 'spected to know that all at once, can you, now?"

Pye took the pack and secured it over his arms at the front. It would be somewhat easier to carry it that way than just in one hand or so he thought. If it proved harder, he could always shift it to his left or right hand. He grinned. "I'm sure, wouldn't offer it if I wasn't."

Cotton's words sat well in Pye's mind. They were certainly those of encouragement, and perhaps lifted the stress of his mind if he had any pressing on. "Can't be, but sergeants always think it can. Officers too." He said playfully. "Wait for me will you. I won't be long! Just droppin' these over at..uh better the wagon Joe's usually at or Willow's?"

"Leave 'em with the Captain's stuff - y'know the white mule I was leadin' yesterday? I think Maggie's leadin' him, or Jestel is - same jacket as us, only he's got a moustache, bein' as he's German. He speaks English though, so you needn't worry about gettin' him to understand you, if it's him." He grinned and stretched. "See you in a minute, then, Zack."

Pye turned, grinned at Cotton one last time and skidded down the same slope of a hill that they had to climb up, earlier. He half ran, half hopped, and at times he slid more than either of the two. It wasn't as steep on all sides, but he happened to pick just the direction and the part, where it had gotten so. He took great care not to have his rifle caught in between his legs, or on the stones and rock, his other hand clasping onto the pack firmly.

The bayonet sword kept hitting his thigh, but received little attention and notice from the lad. The white mule. That's what he had to find. He looked down the long line of men and of wagons, mules , and some horses. The soldiers had of course, continued marching. There, he thought he just spotted the right mule, and broke of into a run, weighed down by both packs. He must've looked strange and were he continue in such manner, would be tired before long.

Cotton watched him run, and grinned. He was always eager, Pye was, always ready to run for the least little reason. He'd make a good Rifleman, if he listened and learned. The Captain wouldn't have to worry that he'd made a mistake in taking the lad into the 60th. He wondered what the redcoats would make of their make-shift skirmishing. He couldn't remember ever doing any impromptu training or drill when he'd been in the 22nd, and decided he didn't really miss being a redcoat.

"'scuse me." He began, as he came alongside one of the redcoats. No, this wasn't the right mule, and passing the bewildered man he broke of into another run. He ducked between a pair of wagons and then, finally he thought he had located the right mule with a moustached man on one side of it. He didn't look elsewhere to see if a woman was coming along with him or perhaps she was riding in the wagon or at the very last elsewhere.

"..Jestel?" He inquired, though he needn't have to. There weren't many riflemen there. There was Joe Newbury, Jestel, Cotton and himself. And he was slightly out of breath, certainly feeling warm under the weight on his shoulders, but grinning as brightly as if he'd caught himself the Imperial eagle.

"Ja?" He looked across at the lad, frowned, and took his meerschaum pipe out of his mouth. This must be the new lad who'd joined. And that meant he probably didn't speak German - he looked English, anyway. "Yes? How can I help?"

Pye relaxed. Cotton was right. The man knew English and spoke it well. "We've just.. that's me n' Cotton's brought these packs here fer keeps till we are back, couse we's training an'..." He paused and looked at the German slowly dislodging the first pack from his shoulders.

"This here is Cotton's." He said, this time nice and slow. "We need to leave it and mine here."

Jestel took another puff on his pipe. "Cotton?" He indicated the mule. "Put those on there, then." He didn't think he needed to ask why they wanted to leave their packs with him, but if it involved Cotton, there was probably a good reason - especially considering the lad in front of him was a new rifleman.

"Right 'way." Pye smiled and hurried to attach the first of the backpacks securely to the mule. Once there, he tested it and when sure it would not slip or fall he began to loosen the strap on his own backpack. It did not take long that it joined the first. He tested it loosely again and nodded taking a step back. ".Thanks."

He grinned, turned on his heel, now feeling rather feather light, and began at a run back where he came from, though this time easily moving to the side of the road and up the hill much sooner than before. He seemed to prefer the higher ground, overseeing the army, even if it was a somewhat harder and more slippery going.

Cotton found himself whistling The Girl I Left Behind Me as he waited for Pye to return. Only he hadn't left Maggie behind, not now - and not ever again, he promised himself, reaching to feel her locket that was hanging around his neck, the metal warm against his skin. Life really couldn't get much better than this, he thought. Being out in the sunshine under the wide horizon with the hills rolling away into the distance. Life as a Rifleman was very nearly heaven, especially compared to being in the tight ranks of the Line regiments. He gave them barely a glance before lifting his eyes to a hawk hovering in the sky over a distant hill.

Pye advanced past the boulder that stood in the way, then he dropped lower. He began to move quieter like, steadying his breath at the sight of the rifleman. Cotton was looking up, and he seemed to be following something in the sky so Pye had time to cross the more open ground and then drop low. He wasn't sure why he came to the idea, but as his mood had been lifted as high as it could go, he decided he needn't find a reason.

Closer he went, choosing a path that allowed him to move quieter and then, at a part he stopped, and with a clear voice he said: " Bang!" Before straightening up. " n' Back. Gabe. Packs left where they's been said to."

Cotton turned, grinning. "Made me jump," he said. "We'll make a Rifleman of you yet, Zack, me lad. Not that there's much call for sneakin' like that, not on a day like today." He turned his eyes back to the distant hwk. "See that?" he said, pointing. "What d'you think you can learn from lookin' at that?"

"T' bird?" He didn't know what kind of bird of prey it was, but by the looks of it, it wasn't a pidgeon or a prey bird. It was a predator, with its slick characteristic flight and its shape. " It's... a bird." He began uncertainly. "N'.. it's circlin' a bit.. so maybe it's hunting. It isn't.. like those other birds.. the small ones, which get spooked without much warnin' or such. " He hesitated again studying the bird as if hoping that the animal might speak to him from the great distance and hint him to the right answer.

"Maybe there's food over there... or.. if he's huntin' rabbit then that's over there n' we ought to get there 'fore him." He blushed and tried one las time. "Or..could be t' enemy... dead?"

He dragged his eyes down from the hovering bird. "The ones that eat dead meat are vultures - big black birds with bald heads. You'll see 'em sittin' up in trees, all hunched up, sort of. Or circlin', lots of 'em, when there's summat dead on the ground."

He looked up again. "It's a hawk... a kestrel. See the shape of the wings, an' the long tail it's got? It's huntin' for its dinner. They've got real keen sight, them. If I tell you they eat mice, shrews, voles, mebbe even rabbits, does that tell you anythin' about what's happenin' over where it is?"