centerbA KNIGHT'S CHARRED ARMOR/b
Night settled silently on the British soldier's camp as fires burned themselves out; while men on horseback patrolled around the camp as soldiers slept. Just on the outskirts of the tents dwelled a lone tent, which harbored one Colonel William Tavington. Tavington thrashed violently in his cot as ghosts of his victims haunted his sleep. His eyes snapped open as the surprised, yet pained, image of the militia soldier (Gabriel Martin) faded from his mind's eye. Tavington gingerly touched his side where the bullet grazed him and realized tiredly that he woke in a cold sweat. Without realizing it, his thoughts floated back to Benjamin Martin's farm, to the teenage boy he had killed. Tavington allowed the slightest sense of sorrow to peek through then, but now the sorrow came back and refused to budge. A tear, unnoticed by Tavington, slid guiltily down from his left eye.
Slowly, he lay back down on his cot and stared at the top of the tent. He closed his eyes and imagined the gates of Heaven. Men he had ordered to die in battle stood on either side of him, looking at the beautiful golden gates. God, the supreme being, moved from one person to another. A soldier, the young militia soldier he had killed only earlier that day, walked forward to the golden gates where his brother and a woman waited patiently, and lovingly, for him. Fear gripped Tavington because, not only was no one waiting for him, but he realized that he killed so many and never once asked for forgiveness for his crimes. Tavington watched those at the gates as God came to him. Their smiles where replaced by frowns; their eyes spoke of such sadness, he had to turn away. Tavington opened his eyes and viciously wiped the tears from his eyes as he turned over. His last thoughts before fatigue swallowed him were simply wonders if God and his victims would ever forgive him. But, even more so than that, would he ever be able to forgive himself?