The War of 1812 was a 32 month military conflict between the United States and the British Empire and their allies over issues involving the former colony's government and trade. The still infantile state suffered many costly defeats at the hands of British, Canadian and Native American troops over the course of the War of 1812, however, American troops were able to repulse British invasions in New York, Baltimore and New Orleans, boosting national confidence and fostering a new spirit of patriotism.

But the men did not fight alone…


Lieutenant Sturges and Captain Heald rode to Fort Dearborn, needing to evacuate it of troops before British forces captured it as they had Fort Mackinac only a week earlier. There nearly all of the men had been killed and those who hadn't were taken prisoner sometimes a fate worse than death in the time of war. "General Hull has ordered us to destroy all the arms and ammunition," Heald said as Henry rode alongside him, the soldiers marching on behind him. "We are to give the Indians the remaining goods from that fort in order for them escort us to the Fort Wayne stronghold."

"Do you believe that to be wise, Captain," Henry questioned, looking back at the Potawatomi Indians that trailed their squadron.

Heald looked at his subordinate and sighed, shaking his head, "Not at all Henry. Not at all."

Turning his thoughts away from the country's rather ridiculous military, a pale hand moved up to stroke a slender throat, acknowledging the burning thirst there- it had been a long time since he had been able to feed and he could sense his resistance faltering every time a human came too close for comfort.

Henry choked out a gasp as his mind conjured up the smell of Laure, her sickly-sweet honeysuckle scent wrapping around him like a blanket. He did the best to ignore it, turning his horse away from Heald so that his dark eyes would not capture his attention.

"Henry? Did you hear me, son?"

He fought to speak, his voice hoarse, "I am afraid not. My apologies, Captain Heald."

"Ah. So it is her again," the captain replied knowingly, slowing his horse as they came upon the fort. "The one that haunts your soul so. I know how it is to lose a woman… You feel lost and without purpose. You feel as if there is no more reason to living, but you must know that there is still a chance for redemption, as long as your heart still beats."

"I am afraid that this woman has made it perfectly clear that she wants nothing more to do with me. It's the reason I am here in the first place."

The two men took leave of their horses and moved into the fort where their men caught up on rest, Henry allowing himself to take in their surroundings and their visitors. The Potawatomis were visibly uncomfortable being around so many whites and Henry could see that at their first chance, they would either run or turn on the Americans.

He brought up his concerns to Captain Heald and trusting his commerade's intuition, that very night they destroyed the surplus arms, ammunition and liquor destroyed for the fear of the Indians' improper use against them or their allies.

The next morning Henry and Heald gathered the garrison of Fort Dearborn's residents- fifty-four United States soldiers, twelve militia men, nine women and eighteen children under the age of fourteen- and started on their path to Fort Wayne, Henry giving up his horse to a young child to spare her the burden of walking.

She reminded him so of Laure, with her unruly curls and green eyes, though they were of a darker, more subtle shade. He learned, as he led the horse, that her name was Niva; the girl was of such a gentle, warm demeanor, that he could almost close his eyes and think of Laure without the pain of such thoughts in normal times.

Captain Heald led the group with some of their escorts and Henry kept his eyes on the men, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. They talked amongst themselves, catious, suspicious eyes flickering back and forth between Henry and Heald. He readied himself to call upon the captain, but the child upon his horse had other ideas, reacing out and plucking Henry's hat off of his head. "Hey," Henry said as she placed it on top of her own head and grinned.

"I'm a soldier now, mister-"

There was a shout from behind Henry and he turned to see a tomahawk flying through the air as it struck one of the militia men just to his right in the back, his eyes taking the entire scene in. The Indians had broken away from the rest of the garrison and they must have sent word ahead, because at first when there were only a dozen escorts, there were now close to fifty.

Heald pulled his horse back around from the head of the caravan, rushing back to help Henry. The young lieutenant smacked his horse in the flanks, sending him forward away from where the fighting was. Henry was uncomfortable with the strong scent of gunpowder in the air as the militia men fired their guns, charging the mutinous Indians. "Do not go forward," Henry shouted, knowing that they were becoming separated from the wagons. "Pull back to protect the civilians, men!" However, his words went unheeded in the overwhelming din of the fighting and the overwhelming Indian force charge into the gap, dividing the two groups and surrounding both. He could hear the screaming of women and children as the Potawatomis began to attack the wagon train, struggling with his duty to defend them and the need to protect his secret. Henry saw the bloodshed began and upon smelling innocent blood, became overcome by his inner beast.

Henry could see his reflection in the eyes of one of the dead as he tore into the Indians, sinking his teeth into their native flesh and draining them dry and taking their lives. For all his effort and resistance as a penance to the wrong he had dealt his beloved, Henry could no longer be content with fasting while there was so much… blood.

He was shaken from his doings by the almost-silent twang of a bow and the immense pain that brought him to his knees, Henry's hands curling into claws as he looked at the arrow protruding through his chest. Another two arrows finally felled him, the wounded vampire lying on the ground motionlessly. He knew that the arrows had not pierced his immortal heart and so he waited for the eventual scalping and beheading that would come, wanting only to be done with living once and for all.

Henry had known long ago that without Laure, only death was left.

And it was finally here.