Campfires (open)

[Bog]

Another day over, another evening drawing on. Still no news or orders suggesting movement anywhere and the men in Gibbons' company were beginning to grumble. What was the use in sitting idle when the army could be on the move, re-taking the offensive? They were here to fight, weren't they? Gibbons himself was feeling restless but he let none of that show. He was responsible for helping maintain discipline, not contributing to dissent.

Still. There were advantages to being stationary. One of those was the ability to properly cook their rations. There were only a few Minden men left, Gibbons amongst them, but already the bulk of the company were veterans. They were used to making the best they could with what they given and despite the simmering restlessness, the men were in good spirits.

Around Gibbons' fire that evening, the mood was particularly cheerful. It was Will Kinsey's birthday, or at least what he reckoned was his birthday. He didn't know for sure but few of the men did, for parish records weren't always accurate. It hardly mattered anyway. Their mess was celebrating with an extra issue of wine and some purloined cheese and soft bread, which supplemented their ration of beef.

"Just don't get too loud with it," was all Sergeant Merton had to say about their gathering, but with an extra tot of wine a man, 'too loud' was perhaps inevitable. Even with Gibbons present, the small group became boisterous in their laughter. It wouldn't take much to shift from harmless banter to fisticuffs, for there was little that soldiers liked more than a good brawl.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

The march from New York to New Jersey had taken two days - none of them would admit it, but all of the soldiers in the battalion couldn't wait to sit down and put their feet up. They had decent rations, so they weren't marching on empty stomachs, but it still didn't make the journey any more enjoyable. Occasionally the drummers and pipers had tried to strike up a tune, but the soldiers didn't respond to their attempts to cheer them at all, simply continued trudging on, the same question in their minds: why were they being moved out of New York?

It had been a relief when they'd reached their proposed campsite, where they would meet up with another battalion. A lot of the younger soldiers had hurried off to some of the campfires, some even starting up conversations with other privates they recognised.

Matthew stood under the shelter of a tent, distantly paying attention to the conversation between the other officers there. Anything from war tactics to racist comments to their wives back home was thrown around in the discussion - nothing Matthew saw any reason to add his input to.
Outside, some of the soldiers were getting rowdy, toasting their mugs of alcohol to something or another.

"They're so energetic," an ensign murmured to Matthew, and the lieutenant jumped slightly, frowning when the other officer raised an eyebrow at him.
"They're youngsters," Matthew answered with a smile. "They're bound to be fresh and noisy."
The ensign nodded, putting his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels slightly. Matthew closed his eyes, paying lose attention to the words being thrown around between the commanders, feeling fatigue start to grip him.
"You may go now," the colonel suddenly dismissed the officers. They exchanged looks before leaving, heading straight for the campfires that had been set up by the other battalion. Matthew followed another lieutenant to a fire where the soldiers seemed to be celebrating.
"Not the social type, are you?" The other lieutenant nudged Matthew and the blonde smiled at him drowsily. " 'M just tired, and my feet kill. It starts to get to you when you're standing around for hours listening to your superiors ramble on about such-and-such."
The other lieutenant shrugged, then tried to start up a conversation with one of the other soldiers.
"What's with the celebration?" Matthew turned to one of the corporals there, nodding in thanks to a soldier who passed him a glass of alcohol.

[/size]

[Bog]

The Irishman, Brady, cut himself off abruptly, mid-laugh, and the others around the fire fell quickly silent as well. His warning was clear. Officers. Corporal Gibbons cut immediately into the sudden silence with a sharply grunted, " 'Shun!"

In a second, every man around the fire was on his feet, standing rigidly to attention. It was the only appropriate response, given the two officers' unexpected appearance. They'd be up on a charge if they didn't make the proper obediences, after all.

Gibbons saluted the lieutenant who had spoken. "It's Private Kinsey's birthday, sir." He saw but did not acknowledge it when Brady held out a cup of wine to the lieutenant. Some officers could be kept pleasant in this manner. It was something the men knew well enough, the same as they knew it was wisest to be studiously silent unless spoken to when officers were around.

Also known was that Gibbons was the best one to speak for them, not least owing to his rank. The company's officers respected him, anyway. That alone counted for a lot.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew huffed in amusement at the soldiers stood to attention, and smiled at how relaxed the other lieutenant was with them, casually inviting himself to a seat near the fireplace and stretching his hands out to warm them, paying the privates no mind at all.
"As you were," Matthew nodded, turning his attention back to the corporal again, swirling the alcohol in his glass slightly.
"I see," Matthew smiled back at the corporal. "Then happy birthday to him."
The other lieutenant had already made himself at home, having no qualms about kicking his boots off and lounging back with his hands behind his head. He smiled to himself, glad he had the chance to relax.
Matthew raised an eyebrow at the corporal. "So, any activity recently?" He asked, sitting himself down. He continued swirling the wine in his glass, glancing round at the privates, who all seemed to have quietened down since the officers' arrival.
"It's a celebration," he spoke up, raising an eyebrow. "You needn't sit in silence."

Around the other fires dotted around the camp, the soldiers sat in the same frigid silence, waiting for the newly arrived officers to speak to them before saying anything. The commanders were still in their tent, discussing the current situation of the war. Some soldiers from the battalion were tying up their horses, seeing to it that they had a drink and brush down before heading off to join their comrades. Others had already retired to tents, giving into their fatigue.

They've got the right idea, Matthew thought to himself - but he wouldn't head off to sleep until the Colonel himself hit the sack, just in case he was called to discuss some matter or another.

"Long day marching," Matthew sighed, turning to address the corporal yet again. "How long have you been here, anyway?"

[/size]

[Bog]

At the lieutenant's word, the men sat down again but they remained uncomfortably silent. It did not pass unnoticed by any of them that the second subaltern had also sat down and was dragging off his boots. There was no doubt the pair of officers intended to stay a while and their presence meant an effective end to the grenadiers' festivities. None of the men were keen to even venture close to crossing the strict divide between gentlemen and private soldiers. Neither were they keen to risk finding themselves in trouble for being rowdy, or for any other charge the two officers might care to bring against them.

"Thank you, sir," Gibbons said, aware that he was nominated as the mess' spokesman by virtue of the loops on his shoulder. It was a double-edged sword indeed, he thought wryly. "And no, sir. Been fair quiet, sir," he added. He knew none of the others would speak a word while the lieutenants were present. At least unless they were directly addressed.

This subaltern was an inquisitive sort, wasn't he? A young sort of officer too. Probably new to the regiment. Gibbons shrugged slightly. "It was all right, sir. No more than we're used to. I've been with the regiment since I were ten, sir, or near 'nuff to it. I'm an ol' Minden lad, sir," he added, unable to squash the pride from his voice at that declaration. He was a right old sweat compared to these youngsters. Most of these lads had never even heard of Minden, which was a shame. Having no knowledge of your own regiment's history was disgraceful.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

The two lieutenants exchanged confused looks when the corporal announced the lack of activity in the area.
"Seems beside the point to move a whole battalion from my regiment into another state," Matthew grumbled to himself. What was the point in dividing the regiment up, either? There was no tactical logic in the military's action, unless there was underlying political tensions brewing out of public sights. Matthew shrugged, glancing round at the privates, who watched the two officers nervously. Some of them couldn't have been any older than  eighteen.

Matthew looked back to the corporal again, frowning slightly. He felt slightly bad that this man had been in the army more than three times as long as he, and yet Matthew was already climbing the officer ranks, slowly but surely. 
He racked his memory when the corporal mentioned being a 'Minden lad', trying in vain to remember what exactly he was on about. To save himself looking an idiot for apparently not knowing exactly what the corporal was on about, he simply nodded at him, his gaze focusing on the fire instead as the flames licked at the dark sky. 

"Any idea, corporal, as to why we're all concentrated in this area?" Matthew spoke again, still watching the flames. He looked up as he heard what sounded like a bottle smash from the other side of the camp. Not long after followed a chorus of wavering male voices, slurring out all-too familiar lyrics, loud enough for the rest of the camp to hear them.

"Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules, of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these. But of all the world's great heroes, there's none that can compare. With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, to the British Grenadiers."

Matthew raised an eyebrow and slowly got to his feet. "A great start to the evening - sounds like some of your men have had a little too much of the wine," Matthew turned to the corporal again, his expression a cross between a grim smile and a scowl. He relaxed a little when the men quietened down again after being yelled at by someone of authority, and the camp fell eerily silent again.

Matthew stared at the other lieutenant, who was already having his glass refilled with alcohol, his eyes lidded drowsily. He was clearly fighting to stay awake, turning to the wine in his glass for support. Matthew stared down at his own glass, still full with wine. He again swirled it round, absentmindedly watching it.
"You're the twenty third regiment, aren't you?" Matthew addressed the corporal again, looking up from his glass, before downing the alcohol in one, wrinkling his nose slightly at the taste. 
   

[/size]

[Bog]

Gibbons shook his head. "No sir," he replied. Even if he did have, he wouldn't dare mention it to an officer. It wasn't proper. He listened to the off-key singing from another camp fire and suppressed a sigh. It was roughly coming from the direction of the 17th's bivouac. He might have known, really. Colonel Mawhood's lads were a lively lot. There was no faulting their courage though. The whole army knew of the 17th's steadiness at Princeton.

"That's the Seventeenth, sir," the corporal explained. That regiment could certainly be forgiven a little rowdiness in Gibbons' opinon. He sat up straighter, even though his back was already straight as a ramrod, and added, "Aye sir, that's us. The Royal Welch. Grenadier comp'ny."

Around the campfire, the other men were likewise drawing themselves up. They might not have the same longevity of service that Gibbons did, but they were proud of their regiment. And rightly so! Gibbons eyed the lieutenant's facings and made an educated guess. There weren't too many regiments with Howe who had green facings. But he said nothing aloud. This was, after all, an officer.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew nodded once when the corporal announced the singing rabble of soldiers was the seventeenth regiment.
"Noisy bunch," he huffed, glancing over his shoulder as he noticed the Colonel leave the commaders' tent and head for his own, his dog following behind him loyally. Perhaps that was his que to leave, too?
The other lieutenant sat up properly, smiling sleepily as a private topped up his glass again, eyeing him cautiously and silently.
Matthew half smiled at the corporal, who was clearly proud of his regiment. He merely nodded again in a formal response, frowning as he noticed the corporal glance at his facings.
"Fifty fourth regiment," he confirmed what he presumed was the corporal's suspicion. "Two years service."
The other lieutenant snapped his fingers, drawing the others' attentions to him. "Five years, and goin' strong."
Matthew growled in irritance as he heard the soldiers elsewhere in the camp break out into out-of-time-and-tune song again. They continued slurring out the words, which gradually all started mashing together. Eventually someone shouted, and another glass could be heard breaking.
"They sound like they're at a tavern," the other lieutenant laughed lightly, staring down at his half-empty glass, which by now had been refilled several times.
Makes you question those in charge sometimes, Matthew thought to himself. What with them moving several regiments and regimental battalions down here, where there is little to none military action, and where the soldiers are simply free to get as drunk as possible.

Both Matthew and the other lieutenant looked around as they heard their rank being shouted.
"Sir?" They responded in unison as the Colonel approached them.
"What's all the noise? Haven't your soldiers learned anything of respect and self discipline? Get them to shut up!" He snapped. Matthew lifted off his hat in salute as the Colonel confronted him, the other lieutenant getting to his feet, wrinkling his nose as he realised just how unsteady he was.
"With all due respect, sir, they're the seventeenth, and not 'my men', as you put it," Matthew replied, and both looked around at the shout of 'you picking a fight with me?' from the other side of the camp.
Matthew turned back to the colonel, who seemed lost in thought, slighty red in the face with anger. Beside him, his faithful dog sat, tail beating a steady rythm against the ground as it waggged.
"Seems the alcohol's gotten to them more than expected, sir," Matthew cleared his throat. "Though I doubt there'll be a brawl."


   

[/size]

[Bog]

The 54th. Right then. Only two years with it, though. Gibbons had been more correct in that respect. It was typical. The other lieutenant had held his commission a couple years longer, but both of them were still wet behind the ears when it came down to it.

The lads in the 17th were singing again. There would be trouble this time if they carried on, Gibbons knew. He could do nothing about it though. A colonel - not the 23rd's own, for that would have been ludicrous - approached, addressing the two subalterns in a sharp voice. This time, Gibbons did not need to give the order. He and the other grenadiers around the fire came quickly to their feet, their postures stiff and parade-ground straight.

None of the men spoke and indeed they scarcely dared breathe while this senior officer was in the immediate vicinity. Judging by the colonel's lace and facings, he was of the 54th as well. Gibbons had to wonder why the Devil officers from that regiment were hanging about in the 23rd's bivouac. Unless the Fusilier officers were having an open mess night?

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew tried not to jump as he heard another bottle smash behind him, the noises getting louder as the brawl spread further.
"Sir, how many regiments are within the camp grounds?" The other lieutenant spoke up and the colonel frowned.
"The seventeenth, fifty fourth and twenty third," he answered. "And while we're all here, you two should act as officers to all men, not just your own subordinates."
"Sir," the two lieutenants nodded, glancing at each other, unsure what to do next.
"Well don't just stand there! Do something!" The colonel snapped, his dog getting to its feet, tongue lolling as it watched the two lieutenants glance around at the privates' faces.
"Stay out of trouble," Matthew snapped, then turned to the corporal. "And you best keep them quiet. There's already a big enough rabble without adding insult to injury - wouldn't want to ruin a perfectly good evening, now would we?"

He didn't wait for an answer, simply headed off with the other officer to try and calm the little brawl that had broken out, some soldiers holding each other by the collars of their shirts and jackets, others hissing insults at each other. It was remarkable what a drop of alcohol and a rise in volume could do to an orderly regiment of soldiers.
"Quieten down!" Matthew shouted, struggling to make his voice audible above the yells of the other men. Some of the soldiers stopped and stared at him, wondering who on earth he was. Slowly they all let go of each other, eyeing the two officers up whilst their own regiments' commanders stepped in and pulled their soldiers away, snapping scornful words in their ears.

Matthew sighed when a few privates, and even a corporal, from his regiment marched over to the officers - if you could call it marching, it was more like a drunken swagger.
"You all should be ashamed of yourselves," Matthew snapped at some of the soldiers, who daren't take their eyes off of him. "We've been moved here and the twenty third regiment are offering both us and the seventeenth shelter and security...how do you repay them? You drink their wine and get completely pissed."
The other lieutenant cleared his throat, shuffling uncomfortably.
"Now, you are to go apologise to the other soldiers," Matthew narrowed his eyes at the privates, some of whom had lifted their eyes to glare at their comrades threateningly.
"You will not disgrace your regiment like this again, do I make myself clear?"
The soldiers all nodded slightly, murmuring amongst themselves.
"I said, do I make myself clear!" Matthew repeated, raising his voice.
"Yes, sir!" The soldiers responded sharply, then spun on their heels, heading off to apologise to the soldiers in the other regiments, heads hung slightly in shame.
The other lieutenant glanced at Matthew, eyebrows raised. "Well...that sorted them out."
Matthew huffed to himself and turned to head back to the campfire the pair had been at before they left to sort out the small fight.
"I think I'll catch some shuteye," the lieutenant called after Matthew, who lifted his hand and waved it once in goodbye.
"See you in the morning, Hammonds," he replied, sitting back down around the campfire, clearly annoyed. He glared furiously at the flickering flame of the fire, completely ignoring the corporal, instead simply turning the past few minutes' events over and over in his mind.
The camp had fallen extremely quiet - obviously both the officers and the regular soldiers had realised that the noise level was to be kept to the very minimum.
Matt sighed, finally calming down. He was alright with friendly gatherings with splashes of alcohol, but it was when soldiers turned on their own allies that he got wound up. Still, they demonstrated the same passion - if not greater - on the battlefield. No doubt about it, Matthew was more than glad to be on the British side, in the marching sea of red.

Matthew looked at the corporal, frowning. "Sorry for my regiment's behaviour. It's just the first time they've had in a while to relax, what with the tensions and struggles in New York."

---

OOC: ORZ I rambled too much lol.

[/size]

[Bog]

In fairly short order, all three officers had gone, leaving the men around the campfire to their own devices once more. At last. At Gibbons' nod, the others settled down again, tin mugs reappearing in their hands. The festivities could resume and not before time. Their relief was short-lived. One of the subalterns was returning, and again the handful of grenadiers were back on their feet.

"Yes, sir," Gibbons said in response to the lieutenant's apology, even though he could scarcely imagine why it was being offered. What sort of gentleman was this, anyway? Certainly the 17th's officers were more than capable of looking after their own men. The corporal fixed his gaze on a shadow well behind the now-sitting lieutenant, staring blankly into the darkness over the officer's head. To look down at him was unthinkable. To speak further was equally so.

This was all so odd.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew felt fatigue start to grip him, his eyes lidded as he continued to watch the flames, expressionless. It took all his strength to compose himself to not yawn widely in front of the privates and corporal, and remained stubbornly sat there, letting the fire warm him.
He glanced aside at the soldiers, still stood up around him.
"For Christ's sake sit down," he snapped at them. "You're making me nervous."

He went back to glaring at the fire again, tapping a finger to his lips thoughtfully as he daydreamed. Sometimes, he regretted being an officer - granted, it meant he had respect from his subordinates, and if captured as a prisoner his regiment would most definitely want him back. But - and there's always a but - everyone expected great things of him, expected him to act proper all the time. He was young; sometimes all he wanted to do was relax. And he could very well do that, if he wanted, but everyone around him couldn't. For sure, he could order them to be at ease, but it wouldn't remove the tension from the atmosphere.
He shot a glare at one of the privates, who was eyeing him cautiously. The look was clearly a quit with the damn staring look, but he quickly diverted his gaze again. He was too tired to do anything but sit and stare at the flames.

Eventually he got up, wincing as his neck clicked.
"You all should get an early night," the lieutenant nodded at the soldiers. "We're moving out in the morning, apparently. If I were you I'd consider getting some shuteye pretty soon."
He shrugged, knowing full well they'd probably take his words as a command to put out the fire and retire immediately, but couldn't have cared less - all that was on his mind was sleeping.
"Corporal," Matthew cleared his throat, turning to the man he'd previously spoken to. "Make sure they keep quiet. Do not make me have to come and silence you myself."

He left then, massaging the back of his neck as he walked.
Hah. Maybe I should be more brutal, like some of the other officers. Shout a bit more. Look down on them more, he thought to himself as he crossed the camp to the tent allocated for him. He noticed a guard based a little further down the row of tents, frowning, before pulling back the canvas to his tent and stepping in side, laughing quietly to himself in relief when he could finally kick off his boots, set his hat down and relax.

Hopefully without any more disturbances.

[/size]

[Bog]

Who the hell did this lieutenant think he was? Some subaltern from another regiment, intruding on the Fusiliers' bivouac, making himself at home as if it was his own regiment's part of the camp and then making threats as if the 23rd's own officers weren't up to the task of looking after their own men? Gibbons seethed inwardly, even as he saluted and offered a bland, "Yes sir."

It was a good thing for this gentleman that Captain Mackenzie wasn't about. The 23rd's former adjutant would have sorted him out in an instant if he knew of the lieutenant's behaviour. Once the lieutenant was gone, however, the grenadiers relaxed at once. If that fellow was anything to go by, the 54th wasn't worth much!

"What about a tune, lads?" Will Kinsey suggested cheerfully, his Welsh face beaming. "The King's Ballad?"

Gibbons accepted a newly-refilled mug and smiled. The celebration was, naturally, still on. There was no keeping Kinsey down!

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Outside the lieutenant could hear the soldiers starting up their celebration again, certainly not something the officer appreciated at the time with a headache starting to pulse through his skull. He rubbed his face, groaning slightly with exhaustion.

As the canvas to his tent was pulled back, Matthew quickly got to his feet, frowning as his visitor was announced by the ensign there.
Matthew bit back the smile growing on his face as a Captain stepped into the tent, nodding briefly in greeting.
"Lieutenant," he addressed Matthew. "You have a letter."
Matthew's eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat. "Thank you, sir," he answered, moving towards the Captain who held out an already-opened letter.
"Have you read it?" Matthew asked, glancing up at the Captain as he took the letter.
The Captain glanced over his shoulder to dissmiss the officer at the tent entrance, who let the canvas unfurl and headed off.
"Yes," the Captain replied, turning his attention back to the younger blonde in front of him. "Sam's not very well again."
Matthew stared at the letter, running his fingers over it. "Oh," he muttered. "It's not serious, is it? After all, he wrote the letter."
"He's probably fine now," the Captain explained, pacing around the tent. "You know how long it takes for letters to get here."

Matthew sat down on his bed, opening the letter and scanning the words written there. He smiled to himself.
"He seems to expect too much from me," he huffed in amusement, half to himself and half to the Captain with him, who looked around and frowned.
"And so he should. What, you think we three paid for our commissions for nothing? We have standards to set," he snapped back and continued pacing back and forth.
"You didn't just come here to deliver the letter, did you?" Matthew murmured, staring at his feet.
"I'm not just your brother, Mattie," the Captain stopped and glared at the younger soldier. "I'm also your superior. And as your superior, I've come to ask you to shape up. The idle chatting has to stop, and you need to take more responsibility. Not only will you shame yourself if you keep this behaviour up, but you'll also give myself and Sam a bad name, and put our regiment to dishonour. And whatever stunt you were trying to pull with those privates earlier...it has to stop. You cannot simply go around freely commercing with everyone - your insignia sets you apart from them, and you should be proud of and act like it."
Matthew stared up at his brother then nodded, folding up the letter and tucking it into his pocket. "Yes sir."
"I better not find out someone else of authority has had to come talk some sense into you," the Captain hissed as he turned to leave.
"Don't tell Sam," Matthew called after him, getting up. The other man stopped, hand on the tent canvas but not yet pulling it open. He sighed exasperatedly and glanced over his shoulder.
"Don't mess up," he growled back then added, a bit more spitefully; "again."

Matthew sighed as his brother left, his attention again turning back to his headache. He settled back on his bed, closing his eyes as he listened to the soldiers talking amongst themselves outside.

[/size]

[Bog]

Time change; the following morning.


The drummers were making their usual morning racket, rattling away on their precious bloody drums to waken the men of their regiment for the day's work. Around the large camp, the scene and noise were the same. Smug-faced drummers and hard-voiced sergeants strode down the neat lanes between tents, making sure every man was up and moving.

Despite his mildly sore head, Corporal Gibbons was already up, his haversack buckled on and all his equipment in order. His tent had already been struck and packed away. It would take a heavy night on the tiles to make him slow to rouse in the morning. He noted with a trace of amusement that Will Kinsey was looking the wrong shade of chipper as the young grenadier hastened to strike his own tent before somebody with rank bawled him out for taking too long.

In only a few minutes, Kinsey, now with his haversack buckled on, hastened to take his place in the quickly-assembling ranks. At least he and the others were turning up with all their clothes on straight.

" 'Shun!" Sergeant Merton barked, as Captain Peter appeared. Gibbons fixed his gaze on a point in the middle distance and waited. Morning parades seldom took very long. Assuming, of course, that none of the men were missing anything vital. Like their flints.

"Breakfast on the march today, lads," Captain Peter informed them. The disappointment, though of course not spoken, was plain to the grenadier officer. "Messmen, keep your pots slung. We have been tasked with scouting ahead of the main column, together with a company from another regiment. Sergeant Merton. Weapons inspection, if you please. Ten minutes, then we're on the march."

Merton's salute would have done a Guardsman proud. "Yes sir."

What a day it was going to be, Gibbons thought, not blinking as he and the company's first rank advanced two steps at Sergeant Merton's order. Scouting was only the bloody Light Bobs' job!

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew was pulled from his sleep by the sound of relentless drumming, rattling out the wake up call. It was the same as every morning - four or five o' clock sharp and they'd be out out there to stir everyone from their slumber.

The lieutenant got up, groaning as the vertebrae in his back clicked. He rubbed his face, sighing, before preparing himself for the day ahead, stepping out of his canvas tent. Heading over to where his superiors were, Matthew kept a distance as he waited for the rest of the officers to arrive. As normal, there wasn't a long wait, all of them turning up in their pristine uniforms with stern, determined expressions on their face.
"Gentlemen," a Captain nodded in greeting to the officers as he approached, a chorus of 'Sir's answering him back.
"The second company will be accompanying the twenty-thirds as a scouting party, leading the way for our march. Make sure everything is cleared away, and leave nothing behind. Captains, make sure your companies are lined up and ready, and announce our course of action. Lieutenants, ensure all soldiers are present and nothing is left," the man continued to address the officers, who all nodded in compliance, the captains turning to carry out their orders, leaving the lieutenants to bark orders at the few stragglers who weren't as good with early starts as the others were.

Still exhausted from the previous days' marching, Matthew ordered a few from his own company over to where they were forming up, smart as always, and all of them trying to hide their fatigue.
Well, it won't get better, Matthew thought, smiling to himself briefly. Life was never easy in the military...he often wondered if the lifestyle lived up to all that his brother had expected when he dragged his younger siblings into the services with him. Either way he seemed content as a captain, and was a decent one at that.

"Private, where's your musket?" Matthew snapped, stopping a young soldier.
"Goin' to fetch it righ' now, sir," the private answered quickly, straightening himself up.
"Well hurry up! The companies are already forming up for inspection!" The lieutenant barked, making the soldier jump slightly.
"Yes sir, righ' away sir!" He nodded briskly, rushing off to retreive his weapon.
Matthew frowned around at the rapidly disassembling camp as the tents were pulled down and the soldiers all formed up.
Once everything was cleared away, the lieutenant returned to his company, standing alongside the other officers there, including his brother, the captain of the company.
"The twenty-third's company is all lined up and ready to leave," he told his soldiers. "We'll be following them as a scouting party ahead of the rest, so make sure you have everything with you. NCOs, give them a quick inspection then march them round to join up with the twenty-third's."
The lieutenants followed the captain away, leaving the others to carry out the given orders.
The sergeant major in command nodded, then turned to the company lined up before him.
"Open order, MARCH!" He yelled, the company responding by opening the ranks, allowing the officers in command to inspect them, nodding in satisfaction when they were finished and, at the correct order, closed their ranks once more.
"A good turn out, lads," the sergeant major nodded, returning the the front of the company after inspecting the other non-commissioned officers. "We'll be eating on the move today. Any of you who have any crackers or whatnot may eat them once we get marching in a moment. Messmen, you may hand out found to your comrades once we've got going," he continued to address the lined up soldiers. They all managed to hide their dissapointment and disapproval - the third day in a row of eating meals on the move, something none of them were particularly fond of.

[/size]

[Bog]

Cold beef and biscuit. Not the worst breakfast ever but Gibbons would have preferred the beef cooked. He ate it anyway, as best he could, glad at least they had been given something. While the rest of the army were getting a hot breakfast, the 23rd's grenadier company, together with what looked like a battalion company from the 54th, were already on the march. As he licked the last of the biscuit crumbs off his fingers, Gibbons decided he was better off here.

A couple of miles passed before Captain Peter halted the company and ordered it split up into ten-man sections. This was rebel country and the road, with its surrounding woods, had to be cleared before the main army passed through. It was no task for a whole company in column. Yet again, Gibbons wondered why the Light company hadn't been sent for this job.

To his surprise, he found that his ten-man section was to be paired, roughly, with a similar-sized element from the 54th's company. There would be a lieutenant in overall command of this platoon. Well wasn't that lovely? Gibbons looked over the men he was assigned to and decided they, at least, would do their bit properly. How the 54th would behave was anyone's guess. No time like the present to find out, either, the corporal thought wryly.

"Sir." He saluted the lieutenant who was named as commanding their section. "Lads are all present, sir."

It was that lieutenant from the night before, he noted privately. Interesting. Well. They'd soon see how well this subaltern fared when facing the unknown. Gibbons stood at attention and waited. With an officer present, he could do nothing without orders.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew followed the other lieutenants and the captain round to where the twenty-third's were lined up, having finished their inspection, awaiting the arrival of their own company. When the fifty-fourth's turned up they began the march, Matthew placed between his brother and another lieutenant, both of which had turned to mutter plans and gossip to officers of the same rank the other side of them.
"Lieutenant!"
Matthew looked to his side, nodding to his brother who'd addressed him.
"Sir?" He raised an eyebrow. The captain glanced over his shoulder.
"We're going to split the companies into sections, then pair up to form mixed platoons. I'm putting you in charge of the fifth, with corporal Gibbons," he explained to the blonde, who nodded, frowning slightly.
"The sections are splitting up to search different areas, I take it?" Matthew pressed and the captain nodded. "Correct. The first and second platoon will go on ahead of us and check for any movement on the road ahead. Third, fourth and fifth will check the woodlands surrounding."

They continued marching for a mile more before they fifty-fourth company was brought to a halt with the others. A few orders were barked out as the soldiers split up into groups of roughly ten men, a corporal or sergeant placed with them.
Matthew dispersed from the group of officers to go find the section he'd been placed in command of.
The captain of the twenty-third's, Peter, directed the lieutenant over to the group of twenty or so soldiers, and was greeted by a corporal he recognised from the previous night, who approached him with a salute.
"Very good," Matthew nodded, counting the number of soldiers in his head, before turning back to corporal again. "Get them into pairs and form them up. We're searching the roadside woodland for any guerilla groups, signs of ambushes and the like. We'll spread out to cover more ground, walk in a line in ranks of two," he explained, motioning with his hand to the soldiers stood at attention, awaiting orders from either of the two commanders.

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[Bog]

"Yes sir." Gibbons saluted again, then faced about toward the waiting mixed platoon. "Simple enough, lads. Two ranks, in a skirmish line. By files at three paces' distance. Got it? To the left wheel into line!"

He waited a beat, until the short column had shifted to take the ordered formation, before moving on. "Three paces from the centre, extend!"

This was a wholly light infantry command, given on what should be a wholly light infantry mission. It was only good luck that Gibbons had a mate who was a Light Bob. He wouldn't know this much otherwise. Or being able to communicate the orders into language these big grenadiers and smaller battalion company men could understand.

Still, the mixed platoon seemed to have understood it well enough. Or at least they had spread themselves out in a respectable approximation of a skirmish like. The line was two ranks deep, with two men to a file. Good enough. Gibbons glanced at the lieutenant, then decided he was also meant to move the line into the woods.

"Shoulder your firelocks. To the right, face. At the quick step, march."

He lifted his own musket to his shoulder and turned, keeping easy step with the line. They'd go a dozen paces or so into the woodline, he estimated, before he'd halt them. Then they'd all see how well they could do in 'clearing' the thick stand of trees.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew waited patiently as the corporal formed the ranks up, the soldiers responding swiftly to his commands. There was a pause once they were all lined up, and Matthew cleared his throat as the corporal glanced at him, turning on his heel as the non-commissioned officer got the platoon moving, Matthew following to the side of the group, slightly ahead of them.

The woodland was relatively thick; though the trees were exceedingly tall, they were closely packed together, providing ideal cover for militia to hide. As the group approached the treeline, Matthew looked around. The first and second platoons were already advancing down the road, muskets at their shoulders, their own lieutenants glancing around to check the other platoons were also on the move. The fourth were already disappearing into the opposite treeline, slowing their pace down slightly as they kept their eyes peeled for movement.

Matthew stopped as he and the platoon entered the woodlands, and held up his hand.
"Halt," he commanded, pausing for a moment to listen, narrowing his eyes. Satisfied any noises he'd heard were simply the leaflitter crunching underfoot or something harmless moving through the undergrowth, he turned to the corporal again.
"Close the order to one rank, and spread out. Have them all on high alert," he instructed, glancing over his shoulder and frowning as more leaves fell to the ground from the undisturbed tree canopy.
You're just getting nervous, he told himself, shaking his head slightly. Don't show yourself up in front of these men, Chord. Not again, as John said.

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