Review replies;
Cartoonatic55: You might even say it was Washington's thing! :D Thanks for reading.
Gokiburi Prince: I understand. :) Midterms are more important, anyway. Thanks for reviewing!
TweenisodeOrange: Well, I'd cover those, then I'd make fun of both sides and make many many enemies! =) Thanks for the review.
Solid Sun: Well, quite - indeed, it ended up being completely pointless for both sides in the long run, because nobody actually got anything. Anyway, thanks very much!
OddAuthor: Oh, indeed, they were. And while I'm not entirely well-versed on the defense of Washington, I'm fairly certain that's what happened. Although most of the army were militia, so there's that. Anyway, thanks!
Zim'sMostLoyalServant: I'll see what I can do, but I have a few more requests I want to get done, so it all depends on time. Danke schon!
21/10/13: With Fire and Steel
The force Captain Fenton had at his disposal was small but quite diverse.
He had a handful of marines and ratings from the Devonshire, plus two dozen regulars of the British Army. This number was augmented by crewmen from the pirate vessel Revenge and their captain, Captain Crocker. He also had a few gentlemen in green uniforms.
"You there!" he called to them, "Who are you?"
"95th foot, sir!" called on the men, "Rifles!"
Fenton nodded.
"Well then, rifles, cover our advance," he ordered, "We move up the rocks – bayonets ready, there will not be much room to manoeuvre up there..."
The Governor raised his brow as the Captain of the Guard dragged Timothy into his office.
"A boy," he noted, "Why is he in a gaol?"
"Theft of bread, sir," replied the Captain of the Guard.
"Ah, a vagrant," nodded the Governor, "Shan't be missed, I suppose. Still, I cannot help but find our...activities...unseemly when performed on such a young boy. Find me someone else."
"And the boy?"
"Chain him up somewhere, I care not where," grunted the Governor, "Just...make sure he can see what we do."
He knelt down and looked Timothy in the eye.
"I apologise that you have to witness this," he said, "But innocence is fleeting, I suppose."
There were few better shots then a marine.
The sentries on the gaol walls were finding that out as they and the Rifles fired up at them, preventing them from putting effective fire on the advancing shore party. Fenton grinned, and reminded himself to thank Colour Sergeant Shortman later.
Now was not the time, however – the party had reached the gate, which quite predictably was shut.
"Captain!" he shouted, "Do your lads have any..."
"Move over," sneered Crocker, the hunchbacked man waving up two pirates.
The two men placed fused satchels in front of the gate and lit the fuses. They doubled back and the whole group took cover.
"Gunpowder?" quizzed Fenton.
BANG!
"Gunpowder," nodded Crocker.
"Right," grunted Fenton, "Men! Forward!"
The party advanced through the ruins of the wooden gate, right into the waiting bayonets of the defending blackcoats.
"Once more unto the breech," sighed Fenton, drawing his sabre.
The Governor looked out the window, his back to his terrified captive.
"You can always tell when the British attack," he mused.
He shook his head.
"Not because of the coats, mind you," he added, "They are no more conspicuous then the Frenchman's blue, or the Austrian's white. No, it's something else."
He smirked.
"It's the bayonet," he replied, "No army likes the bayonet more than that of England."
He breathed in the air, smelling the moisture gathering around.
"And here comes the rain."
"Rain, sir! Rain!" shouted Seaman Dash Baxter.
"I had not noticed, Mr. Baxter," grunted Fenton, rolling his eyes as he kicked a blackcoat off him.
Rain was never a good thing in a battle. It made the field wet and slippery, and damp powder made misfires a certainty.
"Into the cell blocks!" shouted Fenton, "It'll keep the powder dry!"
He and his men barrelled towards the cell block doors. Baxter hit the door first, smashing it open with his shoulder.
"Blimey, this place smells," a soldier cringed.
Fenton found himself standing in a cramped corridor surrounded by small cells. Slowly, he made his way down.
Prisoners were chained to the floors of their cells with heavy irons. They were all emaciated, and their only furnishings were hard cots. They were covered in crime and filth.
"...good lord," whispered Arnold, "This is horrible."
"It's a gaol," reminded Baxter, "It's supposed to be a punishment."
"This is too far," said Fenton, shaking his head at a small child literally chained by the arms to the cell wall, "It's barbaric."
"...all right, this will do, grab him."
Fenton heard a voice around the corner.
"Aye, captain, but I shall need a key."
Fenton, Baxter and Arnold crept round the corner.
A blackcoat officer – presumably the Captain of the Guard – and two soldiers were dragging a boy out of his cell. Fenton drew his pistol, Baxter and Arnold raising muskets.
"Unhand him."
The Captain of the Guard looked up at Fenton and his men, his backup raising their muskets.
"You heard him," snapped Arnold, "Drop the boy!"
The Captain sneered.
"Go to hell, redcoat."
There was a series of bangs. The Captain of the Guard and his men fell to the ground.
Fenton walked up to the downed officer as Arnold grabbed the now hysterical boy, attempting to comfort him.
"What are you doing here," demanded Fenton, "Why treat the convicts like this? Why fire on us? Why?"
The Captain of the Guard coughed.
"Didn't I say...go to hell?" he breathed.
With that, he expired.
"What now, sir?" asked Baxter.
Fenton clenched his fists as he turned around.
"We finish this."
The Governor looked at the clock, then at his captive.
"Well," he said, "I suppose the Captain isn't coming."
He sneered.
"But that's alright," he continued, "I have a second plan."
He pulled a dagger from his jacket. Timothy paled.
He was therefore surprised when the Governor walked over to his door and shouted at one of his guard.
"Go to the mine and bring me the first convict you see!"
"Steady boys, just one more push!"
Fire. Smoke. Rain.
"Colour Sergeant! Mr. Baxter! The door!"
A crash – shouts of fear and pain.
"Company, forward!"
Calls for help – for God, for mothers, for him – all go ignored as he does his work.
Then the door opens.
There was the enemy leader himself, standing next to the body of a convict chained to the floor of his ornate office. He was carrying a dagger, and strange symbols were etched in blood on the wooden floor.
"Jesus Christ," one of the infantryman breathed.
"You are under arrest in the name of His Majesty King George the Third," snapped Fenton, pointing his blade at his foe, "For the crimes of extortion, fraud and murder of British subjects."
"How do you justify this?" the infantryman breathed again, gazing down at the corpse.
The Governor simply glanced at his window.
"I fear there is no justification you will accept, Captain," he replied simply.
"I don't suppose there is," snarled Fenton.
"Sir!"
One of the infantrymen had found a boy, chained to the clock and muttering to himself in shock.
"Free him," snapped Danny.
The infantryman nodded, taking the bayonet off his rifle and hacking at a link in the chains.
"Can I expect you to come quietly?" demanded Fenton.
"No sir," replied the Governor, "I'm afraid you really can't."
In a sudden movement, he thrust his dagger into his stomach. There was a shot, and he fell to the ground.
Fenton glanced at the second infantryman, his musket smoking.
"I really don't think that was necessary, private," he grunted.
"Sorry, sir."
Fenton nodded and knelt down over the Governor's dying form.
"Well, that certainly has not helped you," he noted.
"Oh, but it helps me a great deal, Captain," sneered the Governor, "This life is fleeting, I'm sure you know...but the next is an opportunity."
"I doubt God will be forgiving," snarled Fenton.
"God won't have a hand in it," replied the Governor, "My destiny is my own. I have seen to that."
And with that, the Governor died.
Dispatch to London from HMS Devonshire;
Governor is dead, convicts reclaimed and are being sent on to New South Wales. Gov. Macquarie indicates that pardons may be offered. Full list of dead sailors and troops enclosed. Recommend dynamiting fort remains.
D. Fenton, Captain
"Well, that was grim."
Danny shrugged as he put the papers back in his dad's file cabinet.
"Eh, if I can pass history on it, it's good enough for me," he said.
"True," nodded Sam, "Still, it'd make for a heck of a horror..."
She was interrupted by the doorbell.
"Hold on, I should get that," sighed Danny.
He walked out of the room, leaving Sam alone.
Danny soon arrived at his front door, and opened it.
"No, for the last time, the ghost weapons are not..."
He was cut off as a parcel was forced into his hands.
"You don't have much time! Read it!"
Then the door was shut and Danny was alone.
"...odd."
He shrugged and walked upstairs, looking at the label on the parcel.
"Sam? Do you know anything about 'El Dorado?'"
*dramatic music*