The tears poured from his eyes, and he raced his horse faster and faster. His breath rate quickened, his heart pounded and tore. Blonde curly hair flew back out of his face, along with the salty teardrops. The only thing in his mind was anger, and revenge. He dare not tell his father his plans, for he would surely stop his son. And that wasn't a possibility in his mind.

His hands were shaking. Never in his wildest nightmares did he imagine losing a newlywed wife and brother at the hands of the same evil man. That man. Gabriel could envision his devilish face, those smug blue eyes laughing at his victims. It made the young man shudder to think of him. His mind switched to the face of Anne, with her flowing brown curls, those mysterious eyes, and goofy smile. Never again would her lips be kissed, her body touched. He longed to hold her in his arms that very moment, and think of all this as one big dream. But it wasn't. And he would make that man pay with his life for losing Anne.

Following him were a band of militia, each filled with the same burning hatred for Colonel Tavington. He had been the cause of all this, and no it was time to end his reign of terror. They arrived by the creak where the enemy lay. Colonel Tavington's men were totally surprised by the attack, and many did not have the chance to escape.

Gabriel charged the men with his baronet, enraged beyond recovery. Left and right the dragoons fell. Finally he saw his target. The colonel was slicing his way through the militia, desperately trying to escape. Then he saw Gabriel. A trickle of both fear and happiness overtook him. At last he could kill the wretched Martin boy. But he knew of Gabriel's rage at the moment, and that could play both to his advantage and weakness. He decided that rage can be a powerful ally, if played right. He came after the boy, pushing others away. He saw the preacher loading his gun, but before the old man could fire Tavington shot the fool. Finally it was only he and the boy left. He grinned. An easy victory.

The colonel lifted his gun in triumph, only to be surprised when Gabriel shot first. The bullet hit him in the shoulder, but the man went down anyway. 'Let the fool think I'm dead…' he thought to himself, lying perfectly still. He heard the boy come closer, and knew it was time to attack. He spun around, and right as the blade touched the boy's skin, another bullet shot through the sky, accurately hitting the dragoon's chest. Before the sword could dig its way deeper into Gabriel, the man let go, the life drained from him. Blood poured out of Gabriel, as the wound to his stomach was about an inch stuck in. Another inch and he would have been dead in seconds. He took the sword out of him, and dropped to all fours. He knew the wound wasn't deep, but his vision was beginning to blur. He looked around for the person who shot the dragoon, but soon all he saw was blackness, and he closed his eyes.

He awakened in the dead of night, the crackling of a fire blazing in front of him. His eyes soon adjusted, and he glanced around, still not quite aware of what was happening. He made an attempt to get up, but soon dismissed that notion when a pain shot through his body. His wound. It was coming back to him….the fight….Colonel Tavington stabbing him…someone killing the dragoon…him blacking out…

A voice interrupted his thoughts. "he's awake! Go tell Kris!" He turned his head, seeing two girls, both no more than 16, peering down at him. Suddenly he heard footsteps and turned his head to the right. A young woman, about nineteen, just a few years older than the rest appeared. She had pulled her blonde hair back, so he couldn't tell how long it was. She gave him a sympathetic look with her pure green eyes, and bent down next to him. Her attire was simple, not fit for a young woman.

"Where am-"

She cut him off. "Shhh", she cooed. Her voice was soft, though stern. "You need more rest. I'll tell you more in the morning." Being too weak, he took her advice.

When he awoke again, it was into those same green eyes as the night before. Feeling a little stronger, he enquired, "Miss, where am I?" She put a cold cloth on his head, rubbing his forehead gently. Her tender care made him think of Anne.

Finally she answered. "Our forge. Our hide out." He looked around. The only thing in sight were trees, bushes, and huge boulders that seemed to cover them from all angles.

"Its….nice…"

She suppressed a small smile. "It's not much, but no one has managed to find it yet. Its perfectly safe." He didn't realize who this 'no one' was, but he assumed she was referring to the British army.

"Excuse me, but what do you mean 'our'?" The girl looked at him curiously.

"My militia and me, of course."

He peered around, and all he saw were ten young girls, all between the ages of 16 and 20. "I'm sorry, but I see no militia here. Perhaps my mind is playing tricks on me." This made her laugh.

"Maybe so. For you see, these girls are the militia." The look he gave her bade her to continue. "My militia."

"Your militia? Dear girl, the only militia in the Carolinas is the one my father is in charge of." Her expression changed.

"Your Benjamin Martin's son?" Her eyes opened wide.

He nodded, rubbing his head. "I've always wanted to meet your father. Is he near?" She sounded excited, and anxious to Gabriel.

He gave her a quizzical look. "Well, that depends, miss. Where exactly is this place?"

She grinned. "That is not our concern now. I will fetch someone to find your father and tell him you are safe." She got up to go, but he gripped her hand. She looked back.

"I can go myself," he valiantly proclaimed. She rolled her eyes.

"Please," she said contently. "You probably can't even walk, let alone ride. First you recover, then you may leave."

He half grinned, half looked annoyed. "I don't recall you being the authority over me, miss. If I want to leave, I WILL leave." He never faltered his grip on her. She stared right back at him, with no intimidation bearing on her smooth face.

"And I DON'T recall a 'thank you' for saving your life."

He laughed hotly. "Oh, I think I could have managed without your help." I can't let this woman get the best of me, he thought. I can't deal with this now.

"Oh yes, I'm sure you would have had the whole situation under control. You who was an inch close to death. That blade would have killed you for sure." He knew she was right.

"Yes well, I have the tendency to think on my feet. I could have thought of something. Anyways, I must get back now, so if you'll excuse me…" He got up, the pain almost to much to bear. But he started walking, trying desperately not to cringe in front of her. He limped along, trying to find his tunic. The girls watched him, giggling in delight at his bare chest. He found it and put it on.

"This really isn't necessary, Mr. Martin. You don't have to impress me with your valor."

He turned back to face her. "Impress you? Listen, MISS, I am just trying to get back. And you are making it VERY difficult." She crossed her arms and sighed in disgust.

"And YOU are being hotheaded and stubborn. How far do you think you'll get before the British army tracks you down? On foot, and with your injury, you'll be dead in three hours."

He did not reply to this, but kept on walking. She flailed her arms and said to her friends, "I give up! Let the moron get killed!"

He had been traveling all day and night, with no sense of direction coming to his head. His wound hurt, his feet hurt, and he was undernourished. All he could think about was Anne. 'She's dead, you idiot. And its all because you left her to venture off into some war. You could have been with her, protecting her, stopping that ravenous beast that called himself a man,' he thought. He stopped and sat down on a rock, burying his head between his legs. 'Why did you have to die?' he repeated this in his head. Suddenly a drop of rain appeared in the sky, followed by thousands more, but he paid it no mind. All he could think about was her. Soon the tears mixed with the raindrops. "Anne." he stated.