27th May, morning; with wagons

the lad turned about and grinned. Below them there was a group of the camp followers pointing to each other the strange antics of the green coated men. They weren't alarmed as they saw that even though the other soldiers had spotted the pair, nobody seemed to be bothered by it. Curious and startled they may have been, none aimed a musket at them.

"N' if he's injured?" He asked, ready to stop if only to learn something more both in practice and theory. He hesitated and nodded. "Stop a moment, maybe, yes. .. i didn't mean to be slow, Gabe. Jus' when you fell.. well went to the ground, I didn't know what had happened, n' been a fool to freeze 'stead of acting on what i should've!"

"It's... Well, I know we don't fight in close order, like the redcoats do, but you leave him. It ain't easy, never is, but you have to keep fightin'." He shrugged. "Somehow, it's harder in the Rifles to do that, 'cause your partner is a good friend. You eat with 'em, billet together, all sorts, it ain't just fightin' alongside each other. And even Captain Vickery can't break up a pair without both men agreeing to it - it's why he asked me, yesterday, when he thought it was Joe as pushed the provost, 'cause he thought that the only thing he could do was have Joe partner with Sergeant Fischer, but I had to agree with havin' our pairin' broken up."

It probably didn't make much sense to the lad right now, but given time, it would.

It was something he had to learn, a new difference between the fighting of the redcoats and that of the riflemen. He did have a good friend in the redcoats and knew that he would have to abandon him, if wounded and just allow the lines to be closed. He knew too, that as a rifleman, if they needed to retreat, they were so much closer to the French that there was a greater possibility the wounded would end up a prisoner.

What was bizzare at first, and so very new was being told that if a pair was to be broken apart both men would have to agree. That not even the captain could right out demand it happening. He felt a pang of guilt again at learning that Newbury might've been at the very least, in danger of being paired different only because of him, the man innocent. It was rather strange. He didn't regret pushing the provost, but he regretted having Newbury and Cotton caught and entangled in it.

"M'.. sorry bout that." he murmured. "Didn' mean for the two of you, him.. or you....." He motioned with his hand a bit and fingered the strip of leather attached to his rifle. "Should'a spoken out sooner." He grunted and looked at his rifle. It was clean, taken care of as well as his chick, perhaps even a bit better.

"..does it mean that Sergeant 's the only man without a pair now?" That sounded rather intimidating and quite scary if he thought of it, for the future that is.

"No - I think the Captain's spoken with him as well, an' I'd've ended up paired with Schroeder, who's the Sergeant's partner at the minute. By the time you're prop'ly trained, the Captain'll have sorted things out. You might get put with Roper or someone. Wouldn't want to scare you off by puttin' you with a sergeant, not if you didn't want to. Though Fischer's all right, really. Bit gruff, but all right when you get to know him." He shrugged. "Nice day today, ain't it?" he said, looking up at the wide blue sky.

"Ah." His face seemed to brighten, a smile tugging again at the corners of his mouth. " It is nice a'right. Don't shower us no more, n' have us feel cold." He added and then with a grin. "Not that it's much o' a bother if ye feel cold. Riflemen can take it. ...we could when we was in the..red." He nodded quickly.

"You said it yeself. Sergeant Fisher's got a partner." And he didn't want that partner to get killed. He also didn't know if he could work side by side with one. Maybe he'd freeze. Think of the other sergeants.. or sergeant. He felt his throat a bit dry and was about to drink from his canteen when he realised he'd failed to properly fill it.

"So's..we got pairs, n' Ready n' firing goin' on. Why do you say ready then, or wait for it anyway. Couse nobody would want to load his rifle up front?"

"What you want is to have one rifle ready to fire all the time. If you fire before I'm ready, that means both rifles are unloaded, which isn't a good thing when there's Frogs shootin' at us. It does happen, of course, in a battle, but we try not to have that happen if we can help. So I call 'ready' to let you know you can fire, cause my rifle's reloaded, or as good as."

He stretched. "I don't know how much the captain likes it, or not, but us English folks stick together. We'll try to sort it out so's you'll partner with one of us, an' Roper's the senior rank out of the five or six of us, an' he ain't but a Chosen Man - like a Lance Corporal in the 33rd, that. Ain't a Corporal, but the Captain's keepin' an eye on him an' he'll get the promotion one of these days soon, I'm pretty sure of that, though he's only bin a Chosen Man since Christmas time, same time I was made the Captain's batman."

He'd like it better if that could be arranged. It wasn't that he didn't like the Germans , it was just, he didn't understand their language and that made him apprehensive. It was also that there were things, them fraternizing with the wrong folk, that made him prefer this sort of company.

"A chosen man?...I heard o' that 'fore. But what is that 'zactly?" He asked. "How do yer become a chosen one?" Chosen for what? was it a chosen one for promotion. If that, he knew who won't be chosen for a good fair long while! He smiled. The comparison to the 33rd's lance corporal did help him to imagine atleast what he was suppose to be similar to.

"It's the old name for a Lance Corporal, really, Chosen Man is," Cotton explained. "Works diff'rent with Mister Sharpe's lot of the 95th, though. Just means, well, that you're marked out for promotion, I think. I'm not sure exactly - I never had it explained to me, either, y'see. He ain't no diff'rent to you or me, Tom ain't, apart from the fact he's got a bit o' red lace round his sleeve."

"Oh, I see. But red lace's worse to have. Easier to spot." He tugged at his collar which was still a bright sort of red, and stood out like a sour eye. "Hm... how does it work different in the Sharpe's lot?.. not that we know 'zactly how it works with us." He laughed and then straightened.

"Look!" He indicated with his forefinger in the direction of the trees. A fuzzy tail was seen for a second, a mere moment more and then the owner of it disappeared in the bush its long springy legs the last that they could see.

"Not really. Well, I s'ppose it is, only I dunno what other colour they should have it. Mister Sharpe's men have white, which is just as easy to spot, an' gets dirtier faster." He shrugged. "I think, with Mister Sharpe's men - well, with the 95th, they use the same idea to show the best Riflemen. Wonder if that'd mean I'd be one, if I was in the 95th instead of the 60th." He had to chuckle. "I don't think it'd suit, though."

He looked where Pye pointed and let out a low whistle of appreciation. "You've got good eyes on you, Zack. I'll have a real struggle to win the next shootin' competition, with you around, I can see that."

Pye felt his cheeks colour the same way as his collar was , while he dropped his gaze." Ah know, was just lucky looking the right way at the right time. "He shouldered his rifle and grinned. "N' you know better than me, it don't only count if you see, but how well you can aim n' fire as well." He pointed at Cotton, honestly admiring the skill that the man had. He'd won the competition then, he saw him win it. He saw the shooting and in Pye's mind, Cotton was just an amazing shot.

"Too bad we can't go after it. ..it'd be servin' us a real fine dinner." He murmured quietly. "We could even buy off something to add in the water with it off of the camp followers!"

Cotton smiled. "Seein' summat is halfway to bein' able to bag it, y'know. How much of aimin' a rifle d'you think you can remember? 'Cause that's the other half of bein' able to bag dinner, after all."

" I know a little. t' bit about breathin out, I think, when you fire.. or was it not breathing at all? All in all, 'bout aimin' n' waiting fer your hand to steady, is it right? N'.. layin' it in the shoulder so it don't kick you too much when you fire? Leaning forward a bit." He looked at Cotton seriously, then gazed in the direction of where the fuzzy rabbit had gone. He grinned, having an idea.

"Don't think they'll thank us if we use ball for this," Cotton said. "We'll put 'em on the qui vive - the alert - an' likely get in trouble for it. But we can go through the things you need to know when you're firin', an' mebbe we can get some practise in when we get back up to the Comp'ny. Try the different positions, too, so's you've got some idea of them, 'cause that's vast different from standin' in a line, which is what the redcoats do. Well, you know they do, don't you?"

"I can show you what we do.. er did, well what they do, n' I did. Spankin' good n' proper, from beginnin' ter end all by the rules n' the book." He looked rather longingly towards where the rabbit had gone. No shot meant, the animal couldn't be killed that way.

"But aye, we'd done only that. not as many positions as you do. Can't we say a rifle got off by accident ?" he looked at his. ".. does happen when nobody wants it.. like when you're gone a' sneaking at night.. or somethin'. It'd be proper believable it went off, when's we 'practiced n' trained."

It was a very, very tempting thought, but they were too close to the column to risk it, and Cotton reluctantly shook his head. "What'd we tell 'em, when they see we've got a rabbit to show for it bein' an accident? Takes a proper aim to bag a rabbit, it does, see. C'mon, let's see how this goes. Try kneelin' to do it - that's the position I find the easiest to do. 'Member, you got to have the weapon pointin' nach'relly at the target - we'll use that bent branch on the bush over there." He pointed at the lop-sided branch he meant.

"That we's got a bloody fine luck that nobody ever saw?" Pye supplied, though he saw that perhaps, unless they found a way to smuggle the rabbit back into camp, they could not achieve in catching him for that evening. It was a pity.

He moved to kneel as he was told, careful also where to place his knee. Once ready he lifted his rifle and pointed it in the direction of the branch that Cotton suggested. He relaxed his hold a little. He wasn't afraid to miss it. Not when he wouldn't need to fire to prove that he'd done a poor job about it. Still, even with that fear gone from his mind, he tried his best to see how he might've aimed and fired, if this was real.

"We'd need permishun, wouldn't we?...I mean.. fer wastin' bullet in trainin'."

"Aye, we would. And if we do it anyhow, they'll hear the shot an' wonder what's goin' on." He indicated the road, where the column was making its way north. "Right. Is your position comfy enough? I mean, are you able to hold your rifle like that, aimed at the one place, without it strainin' anywhere? If not, adjust it a bit - even if it's only a half-inch or so."

Pye adjusted his position several times. From reaching an even more uncomfortable position, one that strained his arms badly, to finally shifting into such that he felt comfortable in at least.

"Like this. I think it's best so far... by how it feels. Doesn't make me arm as tired having to stand long in it, and.." He looked thoughtful as he tried to aim at the target better. "Makes m'self somewhat more steady, I think but... you'll know better Gabe. Is this a'right?"

"Rest your elbow on your knee. Well, not right on your knee - you don't want bone on bone, 'cause that'll hurt with the kick of the rifle goin' off. Put your elbow jus' in front of you knee, like this." He knelt in front of Pye to show what he meant. "An' 'member, the position's got to let the sights line p neatly with the target. Line up both sights with the target an' you'll be scorin' bulls-eyes afore you know it."

Knee, elbow, sights, not bone on bone. He looked at Cotton. Adjusted his grip, where his elbow was rested and where his hand had gripped the rifle even. He had to adjust the angle of his rifle a bit too. The sights lined up with the target, he closed his eyes and repeated softly, under his breath.

"Elbow near t' knee, restin', but not bone on bone." Else there'd be pain to be had. "Sights, mos' important!" He looked at the man with a grin. "Think I've done it. What's t' other position then?.. oh, 'fcourse. Ye tell me if I'd done it right!"

"An when you'm firin', you don't snatch the trigger, or it'll jerk the rifle off-target." He looked at the lad. "Looks all right to me, that. Try this'n." He wriggled backwards till he was lying on his belly on the grass, supporting the rifle in both hands, his left hand on the stock and his right hand round the scrolled brass-work of the trigger-guard, where it curled into a pistol grip. "Try to keep it up - an' whatever position you take, you want to pull it right back into the shoulder. It'll stop you gettin' so bruised as you would if you don't. Dunno why that works, prop'ly, but it does."

This was one of the reasons that the redcoats were rather clean, and the riflemen were a motley crew of dirt covered lot. They would lie down on the floor to fire, whereas he'd never known a command for them to do the same.

It looked easy and fun enough altough somehow just not like a soldier would do it. He rolled on his belly, did as Cotton and stretched out. It was comfortable there. It made him the lowest possible target, but it wasn't as easy to fire or probably load, as it was when he was kneeling.

"Do you get a command, what position you need to fire in.. or is it jus' your preference n' t' terrain that tells you what?"

"Your own choice. If I'd reached that rock you had, earlier, I'd've knelt sort of behind it, used it as cover. Like this means you'm a much smaller target. It's possible to reload lyin' down, but it's much harder to do it, though lyin' down makes the rifle a lot more stable than standin' does." He showed the position. "It's just a real good way of usin' the cover when there ain't much of it, this, see."

"I see." Pye kept lying, though he was observing what Cotton was doing with placing himself in his next position. He leaned on his side and propped his elbow under him and his rifle. "How far may we stray 'fore they'll throw a fit about it?" He asked and shifted about in a sitting position. This was the fourth way, wasn't it?