Author's Note: This is a short vignette based on the young British officer who first arrived on the Martin's plantation before Thomas was shot, the one who thanked them for their help. For those of you who don't know or remember him, he was the one who actually felt bad for Thomas's death. He was also in the party taking Gabriel to be hanged and was killed by one of the Martin boys during the rescue. Now if you like this little story and you would like me to expand it, tell me and will be more than happy to. This is my first Patriot fanfic, so I welcome all constructive criticism and critiques. I wrote this just to write something really, so I don't have much of a plot to follow it up. But I will try and come up with something. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Patriot.
All the King's Men
I felt the leather pommel of my saddle beneath my hand. I massaged it gently, before gripping it tightly and hoisting myself upward on my horse's back. The animal snorted and the harness jingled quietly. Behind me thick black smoke was curling upward, reaching the pure blue sky. I shuddered, despite the heat of the day. The poor man was still cradling the body of his dead son. I gagged, nauseated by the horror of it all. A cold wave ran over my body once more and I gripped the reins tightly, my knuckles turning an icy white. It had started off innocently enough. I had been ordered by a superior to attend to a plantation nearby that was playing host to some of our wounded. Nothing was out of the ordinary with this; many of the natives still loyal to the crown took in our soldiers. But oh how things had gone so terribly wrong. The memory of it all came rushing back to me and I sighed, reliving it once more.
"Thank you for the care of His Majesty's soldiers," I was genuinely grateful for this man's help. After such a difficult night of fighting, we needed all the aid we could get. I stood upon a whitewashed porch, sun bathing my tired face. Scattered near my feet were wounded soldiers, from both sides of the warring fractions. I let my gaze travel briefly over their faces, recognizing a few men in my company. I ignored the Rebels. They were near death's door anyhow. All would have turned out well, had the merciless pounding of hooves not sounded upon the roadway. I glanced upwards, feeling my stomach drop. Green Dragoons were nearing the plantation, headed by none other than the infamous Colonel Tavington. Even I, a fellow soldier had heard of his brutal tactics. He spared no one. Today would be no exception. I watched in desperate horror as the house was burned, the soldiers killed and a young boy slaughtered before mine own eyes. Never shall I forget the screams of his father, the frantic cries of his brother, now being led away by my company to be hanged. His siblings had crowded around him, whimpering in terror and sorrow. Colonel Tavington rode off, unfazed by his destruction.
As I urged my horse onward I could not help but notice the look of grim fear set upon the face of my captive. He seemed to sense my eyes on him and threw me a hated glare. I turned my face away. After all I could hardly blame the man. There was no reason for him to be hanged, I knew it, Tavington knew, everyone knew it. But there was nothing I could do. I was a mere lieutenant, forced to obey every command my superiors gave me. We had moved on to a wooded area now, the large green leaves of the trees shading us from the brightly shining sun. I surveyed my men, marching in formation in front of me. A wagon clattered nosily ahead of his, the prisoner being bound by his hands to the back of it.
"Lieutenant McKenna?" I raised my head at the sound of my name. Another young lieutenant pulled his horse up besides mine.
"Yes?" I asked, my tone dead pan.
"Are you quite alright?" the man asked quietly. "You look awfully pale."
"I'm fine," I lied, nodding in reassurance to him. The man seemed satisfied and trotted his horse up to the front, riding in the lead. I slowly slipped back into my thoughts, the torment of them greater than any I had every experienced. For a moment I thought I heard the sound of a snapping twig, the hushed voice of somebody whispering. I ignored it however, adjusting my seat in the saddle. Suddenly the forest was astir with noise.
Pain. I bent forward in the saddle, shocked by it. All around me the world was exploding with the sounds of musket fire. My men were screaming, some shouting half coherent orders at each other in an attempt to slay the foe. I could feel the hot musket ball working its way through my back, shattering bones along the way, ripping tissue, muscles and veins. In a burning rush blood poured out from my mouth, dribbling down my chin and the front of my uniform. It matched the color of my crimson jacket. The bitter taste of it was not unfamiliar as I vaguely recalled an incident when one of my boyhood rivals had punched me in the jaw. Memories like this and more, came flooding through my mind as I slipped from the saddle. Weakly, I grasped at my horse's neck but too no avail. I fell, for what seemed like miles, but in reality it was a few feet. The ground was soft, covered in dead leaves and muddy earth. I inhaled the scents around me as chaos reigned.
A whirl of color, a flash of the hand to hand combat came before my eyes. But the blinding effects of agony soon took over and my vision was clouded. The treetops above me swirled and danced like fireflies on a warm summer's eve. I remembered wandering out on the lawns of my family's estate many a night, bringing empty jars to catch the amusing insects with. My father had taught me to be still and let them come to me before carefully covering them with the jar. That all seemed distant now as I laid, bleeding into the earth, which would soon envelope me in my grave. The mere thought terrified me, even more than the pain. I did not want to die. Not now, not when I was so young and had so many more things to experience in life. I choked, blood mingling with my sobs. The sounds of battle had dimmed around me suddenly and an eerie silence fell over the roadway. I was lying in wait for death, surrounded by men who shared my fate. A shiver ran up my mangled spine as a breeze tickled the forest. The world was growing darker, my pain now subsiding. I felt my body slowly begin to relax and a sort of hazy comfort set itself upon me. I smiled now feeling at ease with my predicament of a sudden. The darkness increased, until it had completely caved in on me, leaving me in blessed peace.