ALWAYS remember that my stories are based on real events, with fiction tied into said events. Some events in my stories did not occur in the Revolutionary War, some are not historically accurate, and will not occur in the upcoming game Assassin's Creed III, being released on October 30th in America and October 31st in Europe for PS3 and Xbox 360, with Wii U and PC releases in November.
The End of a Revolution
Part III
October 18th, 1781. Yorktown. Connor Kenway sat atop his horse, riding next to General Washington. They spoke of their current war strategy. Rochambeau spoke in his heavy French accent. "My forces have joined yours in New York, General Washington. We'll be hitting the British on two fronts. It will be a noble battle." Washington nodded. Finally, after a brief period, Connor spoke. "You know that it is my duty to assassinate any Templar I come across." Connor said, keeping his eyes on the ground. "I understand-" started Washington, but Connor cut him off, looking up at him.. "But, if that is your request, I shall honor it. This is your war. I am fighting a different one." General Washington gave him a hard look and nodded as they entered a clearing, the British army already set up on their own side. Buildings sat in the distance. All three of the army's looked restless. The Patriots and French marched onto their respective side of the field. More and more Red Coats streamed out of ships in the port, the sounds of their boots stomping on the ground, overwhelming. Connor, Rochambeau and General Washington sat upon their horses behind their respective lines, ordering their soldiers with their swords, lining up and facing the British that were doing the same. Patriot soldiers set up the cannons around the 3 leaders, and the Frenchmen rose to one knee in front of the Patriot line. Several hundred men faced each other, glaring each other in the eye, about 70 yards of space separating them. Then, the Brits rose their rifles.
"Comte de Grasse has arrived with his troops some time ago. We have led the British forces to believe in an upcoming battle for New York City. We expect for a large portion of their forces to be gone, heading to New York for backup," Washington explained to Connor, who was listening intently. Comte de Rochambeau rode on Washington's left. A very large group of American and French forces marched behind the 3 men. Cannons were pulled on carriages, and every man was armed to the teeth. Each had a musket with a bayonet, two flintlock pistols, and a knife. Connor could only guess how many troops there were. He wanted to say...maybe fifteen hundred?
"And where do I come in?" Connor asked. "Do you just want me to keep the troops occupied? Are there any Templars in the area?"
Washington glanced at Kenway. "Well, Connor, yes, there is a Templar. Lieutenant General Cornwallis. His defeat would mean the end of this war, and a free America. But I have a request..."
Connor tensed.
"I don't want you to kill him. I want to take him as a prisoner. Send him back to his homeland as a failure. Is this alright with you?" Washington tensed as well. The horses click-clocked along, the sound of the heavy footsteps of many soldiers behind them.
Washington rose his sword in the air. "TAKE AIM!" he yelled. "PRENDRE VISEZ!" Yelled Rochambeau. The British army fired their muskets and cannons. The ground exploded all around them, men falling from getting hit with musket balls, others having their bodies blown to bits from the cannon fire, blood and gore spewing everywhere. Many men fell, at which both generals yelled "FIRE!" Washington pointed his sword at the King's Army as cannons exploded around him, muskets firing. Many British men fell, Connor watching red liquid spray from their red coats. He scanned the crowd, watching the horizon of heads for anything that might make a Lieutenant General stand out. He definitely saw him with his Eagle Sense, glowing gold in the distance among all of the red, pacing on horseback, barking commands.
The armies met in the middle, battling it out with their muskets. Connor stood with Washington, watching over the battle. "I've spotted Cornwallis. Do you want me to go in for him?" Connor said.
Washington thought it over for a moment, glancing from the battle to the sky. "Not today, Connor. Cornwallis is smart enough to know that all men need their rest." He turned to the drummer boys. "Signal the armies and tell them to fall back. Get the medics ready and get every man back here alive or not at all, and fix them up." The drummers nodded and ran off to tap their codes. Washington and Rochambeau made their way back to the camp that was being set up, consulting each other on strategy, leaving Connor alone to watch over the remainder of the day's battle.
Connor sat at one of the fires the men had set up, drinking some water, listening to the soldiers discussing whatever they did. The sun had set, and the night was crisp. He wondered, when this war was over, that he might finally be ready to hang up his robes. But he knew better. This war, this "Revolution" as the men were calling it, would end regardless, but his own personal war might not ever end. He finished his water and set down his mug in the grass, tugging up grass and throwing it in the fire. Lost in his thoughts, he barely heard one of the soldiers calling his name.
"Connor, is it?" He asked, reaching out his hand. Connor pulled his hood down.
"I'm Jack. I was just wondering...what's with the getup?" Connor looked him in the eye and chuckled. The man barely looked 17. He had light brown hair, with fine tufts of it growing around his lips. His eyes were bloodshot and wrinkles were forming in his forehead. He was obviously battlehardened.
"Well, soldier, if I told you that, I might have to kill you." He chuckled again. "But yes, I'm Connor. Connor Kenway." They shook hands as he spoke.
"And where are you from?" Jack asked, picking up the mug and pouring more water for him. Connor didn't answer for a long time. "Not from around here, I suppose," he finally said.
Jacked gave him a strange look. "Well, I'm from New York City. Have you...ever been there? It's really nice. I hear that there's a battle going on there now. I just hope...my family..." He waved the thought away. "Connor, do you mind me asking, what your role is in all of this?" Jack looked puzzled.
Connor looked him in the eye once more. "Do you believe in freedom, Jack?" He didn't let the question linger. "Well, of course you do, you're fighting FOR your freedom. I guess you could say I'm also fighting for your freedom. Everyone's freedom." He sighed. "I use my life to take the lives of men who insist on control. Domination. People who want to do bad things."
"Is that what the symbol on your belt stands for? Freedom?" Jack asked.
Connor looked at him again. "That would be correct, Jack. And, if you want, I could make this the symbol of your life, as well...if you wanted it. I lead a hard and dangerous life, and I don't want to get anyone involved. Not as many as there already are." He sighed again. "But, I can answer your questions much more thoroughly, Jack. In time. Once this fighting is over, if you want to do it, find me. For now, soldier, I think it's time for you to rest." Jack started to resist against his words, but Connor raised his hand in silence. He picked up the jug of water and splashed it over the fire. Connor and Jack shook hands before heading for their tents.
October 19th, 1781. The Battle of Yorktown.
Connor sat on his horse on the front lines, pacing, waiting for the British soldiers to take their formations. Hundreds of troops sat behind him, eager to get the fighting under way. The sun was coming up, but was blotted out by the Kings Army coming from over the hill. They lined up, and prepared their cannons. As soon as their formations were constructed, the order was given. Fire rained down upon the enemy, craters forming from the cannons, blowing more men to pieces, other men falling to the guns. Then, without warning, Connor snapped the reins, and his horse took off towards them.
He made it about halfway across the field when they fired. He ducked his head behind the head of his horse, which took several musket balls. Cannon balls created craters around him, his horse falling into one, dead. He jumped off the steed as it fell, continuing to charge. He heard a loud rumbling behind him, and turned his head. Hundred of troops ran with him, their flag raised, their bayonets sharp. Connor turned his head back, getting very close to the Kings Army. He slid behind a rock as they fired again. He vaulted over the rock, running at full speed. He drew his flintlock pistols and fired into the crowd, who were quickly trying to reload once more. But it was too late. Connor, the Patriots, and the French were upon them.
Many Patriots and French soldiers ran their bayonets into the Red Coats, some of them firing into the crowd, taking out several soldiers. Connor jumped off of a body that had recently dropped, extending both of his Hidden Blades and ramming them into the faces of two soldiers that were backing away. He flipped over a soldier and grabbed his musket, ramming it into his spine, then pulled it out and brought it down on the head of another soldier with his back to Connor. Bayonets clashed all around him as soldiers fought, some of them with their bare hands. Connor kept running for the boundary line. A British soldier fired his musket at Connor, who ducked, the ball hitting another Brit. Connor pulled his tomahawk, stabbing it into him several times, then spinning to his right, catching another bayonet with his knife, ramming the blunt end of the tomahawk into the man's chin, then slitting his throat. More and more soldiers were falling around him.
Connor spun around a charging Brit, slamming the tomahawk blade into his skull, grabbed the man's musket and fired it at another charging soldier, spinning the rifle and bringing to bayonet blade into another foe. He grabbed the tomahawk and threw it, hitting a Brit in the spine, extending his second Hidden Blade, making short work of every Brit he could see. The double blades pierced the back of another soldier, flipping him over and launching the bayonet into yet another Brit. Cannons were firing, taking out large chunks of infantry. He threw a charging musket into the crowd, kicking the attacker in the groin, then raising his knee into his face. He turned around, knocking another blade out of the way, flipping it in midair and lodging the bayonet in the man's forehead, pushing down on the trigger.
Connor ducked under the swinging rifle of another soldier and kicked his feet out from under him, stabbing down on his throat with his knife. He picked up the rifle, spinning around, pushed it through another soldier, and fired, killing another two men with the ball. Connor snatched up his tomahawk and sheathed it, pulling his bow from over his shoulder. He spun in circles, firing arrows at whatever Red Coat was in range, sometimes saving the life of a Patriot or a Frenchmen. Many, many men lay on the ground around him, Connor himself dripping with sweat. He ran between the fighting soldiers, and found himself at the British Army boundary line. And right in front of him, on his horse, was Lieutenant General Cornwallis. Connor jumped off a pile of bodies, notched an arrow, and while falling back into the crowd, released the bow string. Cornwallis was hit in the right shoulder, falling from his horse.
Connor watched from atop a tree after the battle. Many good men had lost their lives, and Cornwallis sat atop his horse in front of General Washington, negotiating peace. Cornwallis was bandaged up, giving Connor a dirty look every few moments. Washington's army, the French, and Rochambeau, or what was left of the two, stood behind Washington and Rochambeau. A young soldier, named Jack, opened his pouch to drink some water, and found a note. He opened the note, and on it, two simple sentences. "Nothing is True. Everything is Permitted." He looked up and around, looking for another sign, and saw the cloaked figure watching from the tree branch. He started moving through the crowd toward him.
After the negotiations, General Washington looked up into the trees, but Connor was nowhere in sight. Jack was missing as well. Riding back to the camp, a feather gracefully fell through the air, and landed on Washington's hat. He removed it and held it up to the light.
It was the feather of an Eagle.