Dear Felicity,
I am off to make myself worthy of you. As I am about to enter my first battle I cannot help to admit that I am nervous.
Henry bent over the parchment as he tried to find the words to express his true feelings for Felicity. Lost in his thoughts he was suddenly jarred back to reality by the blast of a bugle. Momentarily confused, he quickly addressed the letter, placed it in his breast pocket, picked up his musket and followed the troops as they gathered round the orator.
"We came here as Virginians, Georgians, Carolinanians. From thirteen colonies we gathered, but today we fight as one. I am not a Virginian—I am an American!" the voice called out, answered by a resounding, "huzzah!!"
Henry made a nervous smile and fell into rank, marching towards battle.
"First battle mate?" the minuteman marching next to him asked. Looking down at his musket, Henry mustered a confident, "Yes."
"Just focus on them officers, without the officers they have no order." The man winked and they continued marching in silence. As he came closer to the British troops his eyes widened at their sheer number. He looked around at the rag-tag group he was a part of; some in Continental uniforms, others in farm clothes, others, the French, in their military uniforms. There was hardly any uniformity in their group and yet they were fighting in part to unite their country. The thought suddenly amused his: "the army could barely unite themselves and yet they want to unite an entire country?" Oh, G-d, he was so nervous he was getting giddy—"pull yourself together man! Focus!" His legs seemed to move on their own, stepping in tune with the beat of the drums.
"Halt!" the order and drum beat called out and Henry stopped in formation and loaded his musket. He waited for the call, holding his breath he took aim and pulled the trigger. Breathing a sigh of relief he watched as the Patriots' first volley ripped through the Redcoats' line. He reloaded and prepared for a second volley as the men were fired upon. His second shot was steadier than the first and he breathed a little easier even though his heart was pounding in his ears.
"CHARGE!!" the order was given and chaos seemed to ensue. Henry's mind was in a haze. He tuned out all sound, all emotion, all he could think about was: aim, focus, shoot, reload, repeat. He tried to keep count of how many men he hit but even that was too complicated. Smoke rose from the cannons and the muskets. There was the think smell of brimstone and the agonizing cry of the wounded; but Henry did not hear or smell it, the adrenaline of being in battle consumed him.
BLAST! Henry felt a fire worse than any he had ever felt before consume his body. He lost his balance and fell to the ground: the cannon ball had claimed his leg. He clutched the knee above where a leg had once been. As he clung to remains he glanced up to survey the scene around him, for a moment catching the eye of a young solider before he was hit by a musket ball. Far in the distance he saw the flag waving against the sun. He steadied his gaze on the red, blue and white waving above the ensuing battle as his breath grew steadily shallower.