Chapter 5 - Pain

MIKE

Dirt, stones, and wood rained down on them. A high-pitched sound penetrated Mike's hearing. The air was thick from smoke. Something heavy was holding him down. He felt the grass under his cheek. Shouts. Mike still felt dizzy. What had happened? They had tried to get him. He had to run. Some kind of explosion had bought him a bit of time. Time he would need to escape. He pressed his body off the ground, rolling over. The unmoving body of one of his comrades lay on top of him. His burned uniform was merely white and blue but covered in soot and dirt.

Mike tried to find out what had happened. The building had burst. Obviously, this had been some kind of magazine too. He saw a few more bodies scattered and broken on the ground. Some still moved. He decided to run - now. It would be his only chance. The sound in his ear the explosion had caused still overrode most other noises. He had to get rid of his jacket and all signs of which troop he belonged to. Without thinking twice he slid down his powder bag, ripping open the buttons of his blue jacket. Mike took it off, throwing it into the still-smoldering building. He climbed over the rubble of the outer wall of the Fort. Mike came across many dead. He now heard shouts from the other side of the fort.

Then some Redcoats fled away toward Newark, passing too close to him, shouting, "Retreat!"

He slid to the ground to hide. But they didn't even look at him. He came to a halt next to another dead soldier of the British army. He needed cover if he wanted to make it to Newark to hide.

The dizziness the bite caused didn't help as he tried to get the uniform jacket of the poor man next to him off his dead body. Finally, he was able to get it and put it on. Fighting back to his feet he stumbled on.

Another group of three Redcoats came from behind, seeing him.

"C'mon, lad, hurry to Newark. We gather our troops and leave. The Americans have taken the Fort." Said one of them to Mike. The man grabbed his arm and pulled him with them.

*** EST ***

MIKE

He found himself on a wagon with wounded. They drove for a while and he had time to bind a makeshift bandage around his neck with his necktie. Nobody spoke. Mike blacked out at some point. He had fought against the numbing poison in his veins since the vampire had bitten him and he just hadn't any strength left.

He didn't remember much about how he got here but he found himself at the entrance to a provisional field hospital with many stretchers full of injured soldiers. With the smell of smoke still in his nose, he was glad he wasn't able to smell the scent of sickness and blood all around him.

Someone ushered him to a free cot and the man who had brought him here left. Mike felt the exhaustion taking over. A nurse with dark hair like Diana's hurried through the rows toward him.

Hastily she looked at each of them, deciding if they needed a doctor. She came past Mike, gave him a quick once over, and pushed a gauze into his hands. "Here press this to the wound at your neck. I'll come back later." She headed on doing the same quick check with every other soldier.

Mike took away his necktie he had used as a pressure bandage so far and pushed the fresh clean gauze to his neck. The blood had soaked the material of his necktie and even now he felt the gauze getting soaked quickly.

He looked around him. All he saw was destruction and blood. Desperate and shocked looks on every face. He heard screams from some, whimpers of others, and the whispering of the nurses and commands the doctors gave.

What should he do when they asked him for his name, his rank, for his unit? What would they do with him when they found out he was an American?

Before Mike had the chance to think this through, the nurse was back with a man at her side. He gently pushed Mike to the stretcher. "Hello. I'm Dr. Pike. Let me take a look at you, Son."

Mike tried to stop him. "I'm fine, doctor. Others need more help. I just need to rest for a while."

The doctor seemed not to have listened to his words. "Were you near an explosion? You're talking very loud. You have burns on your face and this wound at your neck is bleeding."

Mike decided not to say one single word more if not necessary. The last thing he needed was more attention, so he let the doctor work and just nodded. The doctor had not the time to wonder about the wound itself. He ordered the nurse to put some tincture on it and bind it. "Good luck, Son," the man said, hurrying to the next soldier.

A private walked through the wounded and talked to each of them, noting something on a pad. He stopped in front of Mike. "What is your name?" he asked.

Mike just stared at the young men. He had a total blackout on what to say.

The private looked up from his notes, searching for the reason for his not answering. The man's gaze wandered over Mike's blank expression to his neck wound and down his jacket. His eyes darted to a small lapel pin, Mike hadn't noticed before.

"Where did you get this jacket from?"

He felt the panic creeping up his throat. He had to come up with a good explanation. Obviously, the private knew to whom this uniform jacket belonged.

The private dropped the pad, grabbing Mike's lapel, "I asked where you got my brother's jacket from?"

"I'm … I'm sorry, your brother is dead, I came across his body," Mike said.

The shock in the other's eyes was obvious but he gathered his control quickly, "Why are you wearing his jacket?" The other shook him again.

Two other soldiers came to the scene. "What is the problem here?"

The private turned his head to the two, "He stole my brother's jacket from his dead body."

The taller of the two addressed Mike, "What is your name and unit, we will discuss this with your officer."

"William Smith, 3rd Regiment of Foots," Mike tried.

The man exchanged a look with his friend. "There is no such Regiment here, my friend. Who are you?"

This was it. He was discovered. Mike rolled over the cot and tried to make it out of the tent. He had no chance. Only a few paces further he was stopped brutally by a huge guy with a punch to his face. He crashed to the ground, groaning.

A strong hand grabbed his scalp tilting his head back. "He is an American spy!"

The tall one said, "Get him to Sergeant Black. He will have fun with the asshole. Maybe we will get some precious information about their troops and plans."

They ripped the Redcoats-jacket from him with the words, "You have to earn these colors, bloody Yankee."

All his hopes for a quick escape were destroyed. With a final blow to his face, he blacked out again.

*** EST ***

Mike was ripped out of his oblivion by an ice-cold bucket of water that was poured over him. Gasping for air from the shock, Mike opened his eyes.

He found himself hanging chained from a log in a dark cold room. They had taken off his shirt and boots. His arms ached from the awkward position.

"What is your name!" a man screamed at him.

Mike was too occupied with catching his breath to be able to answer. The man's steps echoed on the hard stone floor, coming closer. He punched him hard into his stomach with a club. Mike grunted out in pain.

While he tried to recover, his punisher shoved the club under his chin and lifted it so that Mike could face the man. His skin shone pale like a banshee and the red hair color didn't make it any better. A mean grin spread across his face. "Well, if you don't want to answer, I'll start. My name is Sergeant Black. And I have the pleasure to be your inquisitor so to speak." He let out a burst of weird laughter at his joke.

Mike hated the man instantly, even if he had not just hit him so hard that he felt like throwing up. "Pòg mo thòin," he pressed out.

"So, you are a Scottish bastard. I happen to speak the nasty Scottish tongue. A terrible language. Be careful what you wish for," Black whispered in his ear before he stepped behind him. The next blow hit his butt so hard, Mike yelped out loud.

"Why did you spy in our camp?" the officer demanded.

Mike knew he should not answer this. He was strong he would not give them information so voluntarily. But he already felt him opening his mouth to tell them. He fought against the urge to speak, biting hard on his lips.

"So you are a fighter, huh?" the man started rounding him. Let's see how strong you are, my friend."

Several hits from the hated club rained down on him. Mike fought as hard as he could not to speak but couldn't resist. Though he managed not to tell them what they asked for. He screamed all the swearing in Gaelic he knew at them - maybe the name his mother had given him was under the information too, but nothing the British could bring in unison with who he really was.

After the beating two soldiers dragged him to a nearby tree and bound him on it. Not that it would have been necessary, every inch of his body ached. If he had thought before he might have a broken rib, now he was sure of it. Running was no longer an option even if he could get free from the tree. Black had probably broken his left shinbone. Hot firey pain radiated from there, forcing the tears down his cheek. Mike just lay there more dead than alive, getting desperate over the thought of how low his chances were to see Diana ever again.

*** EST ***

WILL FITZGERALD

The boy entered Fort George on the 28th of May. He delivered the messages to Major General Dearborn first and was finished with the rest an hour later. The last one he had a letter for was Corporal Lenard. Will found the man occupied with another man to bury the dead. Around 50 had fallen during the storm on Fort George. 120 were wounded or missing. Will had been in the field hospital too. He wondered how much the missing amount was.

Will came closer to the corporal, "Hello, Corporal Lenard! Here is a letter from home for you."

Lenard stopped his work and turned with a smile. " Will, you're back! Hope you had a good trip."

"Yes. I've heard some are missing. Is there a chance they will show up again?" Will asked, interested.

The man smiled mildly at him, "Some yes, others were blown to pieces with the explosion of the magazine. We only found parts of their clothes. Like this one," He pointed to a pile of clothes and other equipment parts. "But the really poor ones got captured.

"Which magazine exploded?" Will wanted to know.

"One of the buildings on the west corner exploded when Lieutenant Gallaway was about to clear it out. They didn't know it was a powder magazine. None of the men around him survived."

Will took a closer look at the pile. A partly-burned sleeve of a blue uniform jacket was on top. A piece of checkered fabric on it caught his attention. Mike had worn this little patch of his clan on his sleeve. He grabbed the destroyed jacket. "Can I have this? It belongs to a friend I believe," he said sadly.

"You knew the man who owned this jacket?"

Will nodded, now sure it was Mike's. They knew each other for only a few weeks but they had immediately had a kind of understanding. In these few weeks, they had become friends. Mike reminded Will of his big brother.

"I'm sorry. Maybe you can write to his family. Most who were near that explosion could not be identified. I lost my father in the war of Independence. We never found out what happened to him. The uncertainty is worse than getting a note about his death."

Will folded the fabric carefully and retreated to his tent. Taking a deep breath, he spread the jacket on his cot, evening out every fold. He began talking to himself, "Oh, Mike, you knew there was something about this battle. I saw it in your eyes."

Will brushed over something solid. Confused, he fumbled for the little pocket, revealing a coin with a crest and some words to it. NE OBLIVISCARIS. It was Mike's talisman. He had told Will that his father had gifted him this coin when he had left Scotland.

He would write to Mike's Diana. The corporal was right. Getting no message at all was worse than death.

*** EST ***

DIANA

Diana didn't feel good this morning. She had to throw up right after she had been on the washtable. Usually she was up with the birds and rode out even before breakfast. But today she felt lazy and powerless. Maybe she had eaten something wrong yesterday. She had raided the kitchen for something sweet and ended up devouring two leftover desserts.

Heading back to bed she stopped at the drawer shelf and took her sketching folder out to take it with her. Snuggled back into the warm blankets, she seeked comfort in Mike's words. She pulled the first letter from him out and read it for the hundredth time.

5th of May, at the Rutherfords

My sweet Diana,

I arrived in Philadelphia today. I spoke to Thomas Rutherford and he assured me he'd talk to your father. He will send me to meet the Army of the Center and deliver a message to Mayor Etherington. I will be under his command then. You will see this will work as I had planned it. Maybe in August I will be at your side again.

It's only three months. What could probably happen in three months? Not much I guess, but considering that already three days are killing me it is like torture to have to be without you for so long.

I can't believe it has only been three days since we were together. I still feel your lips on mine. I felt like Romeo when I climbed up that flower ladder to you.

How I miss you - I can't wait to hold you in my arms again and hopefully then, no one can separate us.

Forever yours,

Mike

Smiling brightly with her thoughts still with her lover she got dressed. The dull feeling wasn't completely gone yet but a bit of fresh air would maybe help. She put the letter back and stored the folder back on the shelf.

Diana had just got outside in the garden for a short walk when she spotted the postman coming along the long driveway to the farmhouse. The mail was delivered early today. Patrick already nodded at her when she shot him a hopeful look.

She had received five letters at once three days ago and hadn't really counted to get new letters today although she hoped every day for a letter from Mike. She missed him so much and though his letters were only words on paper, they twisted to pure poetry when she read them.

The last one had been of the day before the battle at Fort George. She had meanwhile heard rumors that the Americans were victorious and had taken over the Fort.

"Good morning, Miss Diana. I have a letter for you," Patrick said with a smile as usual. He was a man who had a smile for everybody on his lips.

"Good morning, Patrick. I haven't hoped for a letter today. But I will not complain," Diana said slightly blushing when she reached for the letter.

Patrick probably already guessed that she had a suitor at the front. She looked at the letter and frowned. It was not Mike's handwriting on the outside and it was much heavier than a letter should be. Her smile faded somewhat. Unsure, she opened it in front of Patrick today. A coin and a piece of fabric lay inside. That explained the weight. She took the items and began reading the text inside. The first words quickly confirmed that it wasn't from Mike at all.

Fort George, 28th of May 1813

Dear Miss Diana.

My name is Will Fitzgerald. I deliver the mail for the soldiers here in camp. I delivered many for Mike to you.

I'm truly sorry to be the bearer of bad news today. Mike had fallen yesterday in the battle at Fort George. We found only his uniform jacket in the remains of the magazine which exploded.

I know how much you meant to him and there are no words in this letter that could provide you with any comfort. All I can do is send you his talisman. I found it in the pocket of his uniform jacket. All other personal belongings have already been sent away. I don't know where.

Keep him in mind as the great man he was. He truly loved you. He never sent other letters to any family. So I hope you are able to contact any of them if there is someone who has to know.

Will

No! This could not be true! This was not … Diana stared shocked at the coin and the checkered patch which had been inside the letter. Her hands began to tremble. She didn't know about the coin but the checkered fabric was a tiny piece of Mike's blanket. An ache stung in her chest like someone had pushed a dagger through her heart, spreading through her entire body. "He is dead," she whispered.

She felt her knees getting weak only a second before she broke down in the yard not able to catch a breath.

Patrick's smile faded with that and he was quick to catch her fall, "Miss Diana! Miss Diana!"

*** EST ***

PRISCILLA WILMINGTON

She fumbled the red thread through the needle eye and began filling the rosebud. Priscilla hadn't worked on the fine rose vine embroidery for a few weeks. Today she had decided for this work to sort her thoughts about what to do with Diana but had ended with a mean headache over the issue. She hadn't talked to Henry yet. Maybe she should talk first to her daughter? To tell Henry his daughter was pregnant from Mike would probably result in a fit of rage and that was the last thing his health needed. She wished Wade was here.

Shouts from the yard stopped Priscilla's stitching. In fact she was glad for the disturbance. With a sigh she let the frame sink to her lap, "Annabeth! Who is shouting in the yard?"

Annabeth quickly went over to the window with a view to the yard and gasped. "Oh Lord, it is Miss Diana!" Diana's governess rushed to the front door.

Priscilla didn't understand. "Anna, what did Diana do now?" putting her stitching frame to the side she hurried to follow though the door Anna had left wide open.

The postman kneeled on the ground next to her daughter who didn't move. "Diana!" Priscilla rushed to her daughter's side where Annabeth already tried to wake her with slight shakes.

She addressed Patrick. "What happened, Patrick?"

The man had stepped back to give the women of the house some space and looked so out of character without a smile and nearly no color in his face that Priscilla began to worry.

Patrick's voice, barely a whisper, told her what she wanted to know, "The letter for Miss Diana today were no good news, Mrs. Wilmington. I'm sorry, she just fainted. Will she be alright?"

Priscilla spotted the letter on the ground and reached for it. She only read the first few lines up to the point where this 'Will' wrote that Mike had fallen. Her heart sank. Oh Lord, poor boy. She knew Mike since he was fourteen, this was now over ten years. He was his son's best friend and had been a constant guest in their house. Always polite and caring for all around him. Though Henry was right in general that he was not wealthy enough that she would have considered him to marry their daughter, he had been a good person she had liked. Priscilla was always sure that Wade was safe in Mike's company. He didn't deserve to die in a battle he only fought to impress Henry. And Diana? And Wade? They both loved him and they would suffer for it.

Diana finally reacted to the concerned shaking and shouting. With a slight moan she opened her eyes. "What happened? Mother?"

"Diana, darling, It's alright. We're going to bring you to your room." She turned to the others who had come to help and told them to bring Miss Diana to her rooms.

Patrick offered her his arm to help Priscilla up from the ground. She gladly accepted, "Thank you, Patrick."

"Of course, Mrs. Wilmington. Do you need me to do anything?" the man asked with a concerned frown.

Priscilla took a deep breath and considered his words. Should she call for a doctor? Henry was out until evening. No, she should not overreact. Diana was just in shock. But it was unavoidable to talk to her now. If she was pregnant. They had even more problems now than she had thought. "No, thank you Patrick. I would prefer it if you would not talk about what happened here."

"Of course, Mrs Wilmington. Give Miss Diana my sincere condolences." Patrick nodded and turned unsure before he straddled his horse and steered it off along the long tree-lined driveway leading to town.

*** EST ***

DIANA

Fluttering, her eyes opened. She felt dizzy. The concerned faces of Annabath, Joe, and Gabe. Her mother was there too. Why did she lie on the ground in the yard? "What happened? Mother?"

"Diana, darling, It's alright. We're going to bring you to your room," she said, her voice full of concern.

Diana felt something solid in her hand. She slightly balled her fist to feel what it was. It was a coin. The memory hit her with full force. The coin. Mike! No! He was dead!

Before she had the chance to fall apart again, supporting hands helped her up and carried her to the house. She had almost no strength to stay on her feet. Desperately she clutched to the coin and the little patch in her fist. She wanted to die. What was there to live for when Mike was gone?

Diana didn't remember how she got in her bed. She just stared at the opened window where the sun illuminated the tips of the trees in the distance in bright green. Birds were singing. A slight fresh breeze that promised a warm summer kissed her cheeks.

But Diana felt nothing of this.

Annabeth tucked her into her blanket and stroked her hair softly. Whispering, shushing words of comfort before she left.

She felt dead inside. The world around faded to non existence.

She touched the soft fabric and the solid metal in her hand under the blanket. Her mind kept spinning around thoughts of Mike. Where was he now? In heaven? Had he suffered? Had he thought of her with his last breath? Did he wait for her? Countless tears were streaming down her cheeks.

It must have been some hours later. The light outside had changed with the rise of the sun, when someone entered the room.

"Diana?" her mother asked carefully.

She didn't even move. So her mother was forced to walk around the bed to see if she was awake. Sitting down on her bedside, she brought a hand to Diana's shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Diana. I know you really loved him. He was a good man," Priscilla waited a moment for her to say something - to react in any way to her words. When nothing came she kept talking. "We need to talk about something of high importance. As much as I hate to ask you this," her mother took a deep breath. "Are you pregnant?"

Did she hear right? What had her mother asked? It hit Diana nearly as hard as the message of the morning. Suddenly the sickness and the food craving began to make sense and first of all, her bleeding was overdue. She hadn't paid any attention to the fact. But when she thought about it now, she was two weeks overdue. Was she? Did she carry Mike's baby?

She gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. "Oh God!" Diana whispered.

"Shh, honey, we will find a way. I have no idea how to explain this to your father. Maybe we won't have to," Priscilla answered reluctantly. "Maybe we can call the doctor and he can give you something."

Shocked, she realized what her mother suggested. No! How could she say something that cruel to her? It was Mike's baby. A part of him. She could have a part of him. She would never allow anyone to take this from her! She sat up in bed, protectively holding her free hand to her belly. With the other one she clutched the coin fiercely. "No! You will not call the doctor. You have no say in this!"

Her mother tried to touch her arm but she jerked away. "But honey, you are only seventeen. You can not keep the baby and stay unmarried. Either the doctor can remedy your misstep or we have to find you a man who takes you as his wife. And trust me men don't like used things or bastard sons."

Diana found an unknown strength within her. "Get out, Mother!"

Prescilla raised a brow and got up. At the door she half turned, "You have to think about this all. But you will see in the end I'm right."

When Diana heard the door was closed she couldn't hold back the tears. The first shock of the message had sunk in and left her with nothing than more desperation. What was she supposed to do now?

TBC