Twilight's Last Gleaming - Chapter 4
Well I have managed to survive my first few days at work. (Yay!) And now I'm back to bring you all chapter 4. Btw, this particular chapter is inspired by actual historical events during the Battle of Long Island, the first major battle after the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Therefore, some parts of Arthur's battle plan are not original. Characters are still not mine. Also, the rating has been changed to M due to violence. Enjoy!
Btw, has anyone else ever looked up "fanfiction" on urban dictionary?I did yesterday and I was very sad and disgusted to see how judgmental people are. Like it's ok that some people might not like anime, or a certain TV show, or just fanfiction in general, but they can choose to not be a part of it if it bothers them so much. It shouldn't bother them so much what other people do. And idk I'm just like...:/ (Sorry for the rant.) But does it bother you guys too how people judge fanfiction and say that it's poorly written, plagiarized smut? Let me know in the comments.
It was the day of the first battle. Arthur had spent a week perfecting the perfect plan of attack. During that week, he hardly slept or ate. His obsession with winning and with putting Alfred in his place took precedence over everything, even his own health. Then when Arthur was certain that nothing could possibly go wrong, he and his men sailed to America. In fifty days time, after a relatively uneventful voyage, they made landfall on Staten Island, a small island separated from Long Island by a channel of water. Now, the men were gathered around a campfire, in front of a sea of tents. It was dusk, and Arthur was standing behind the campfire in his red general's suit and cape. A hat with a large white feather adorned his head.
"LISTEN UP MEN!" Arthur yelled. The troops fell silent, and stood at attention. "Tonight is the start of a new era for our country, England! Tonight, we teach the American scum where they stand in the ranks! Also, we will teach them respect! We have only tried to protect them, and what do they do? THEY REBEL! Too long England has struggled with this tiny, baby country which claims it can survive on its own. I laugh sometimes at how powerful they think they are. NO ONE CAN DEFEAT ENGLAND! WE ARE ROYALTY, WE ARE DESTRUCTION AND WE ARE THE ULTIMATE POWER! Their egos are much too big, and today we will show them that they are weak! WE WILL FORCE THEM TO BOW DOWN TO US, AND WE WILL GRIND THEIR DROOLING, BABY FACES INTO THE SAND!"
*yells of excitement from the troops*
Arthur smirked as he sat down on a log next to the fire. His mouth twitched upwards into a cruel, twisted grin. He chuckled quietly. The flames of the fireplace rose higher and higher in front of him, almost concealing his figure on the log, and making it almost seem as if he was coming out of the fire. The firelight danced and flickered across his face, illuminating it and giving his face a creepy, sinister vibe.
Arthur grabbed his sword from its sheath and started drawing out a map for his men in the sand. He drew two pieces of land, separated by a channel. A circle was drawn on the right side.
"Here I have positioned a small group of men. They are over on the other side of the channel as we speak, hiding in the woods. They have already been notified of the plan. Their leader will be telling them shortly to do a surprise attack on General Alfred's troops."
Arthur drew an x on the right side, near the circle, and connected the two with a short arrow.
"This first group will confuse Alfred's troops, and make them think that we have a much smaller force. While they are busy fighting, our troop will sail across the channel. When they see us, they will know that they are outnumbered and they will panic.
He drew another circle on the left side of the channel, and connected it to the x with a long arrow.
"Now men, we go hunt some Yankees." Arthur said, his face contorting into another smirk.
Arthur and his men had been riding on their boats for a while, and were starting to draw close to shore. By now, it was nightfall. Two dozen massive, wooden warships swarmed the coast, sailing so close together that from the shore, they appeared to make an impenetrable line. Shouts of panic and fear could be heard from the shore. The American men were visibly distressed, and scrambled around like mice trapped in a cage. Arthur landed his boat on shore, and the others gradually followed suit. In the shadow of Arthur's massive boat stood Alfred himself, holding a lantern. Arthur looked down on Alfred from the bow of the boat as Alfred looked up at Arthur. For what seemed like a full minute, the two men stood there with their lips parted, feeling a bit shocked. Emotions ran through Arthur's mind, emotions of longing and sadness. Alfred's blue eyes were so beautiful. They matched his blue general's uniform. Then suddenly there was a loud banging sound that snapped Arthur out of his trance. A bullet whizzed by Arthur's head, almost grazing his ear. Then there was a sputtering sound and a thump. Arthur turned around and saw that one of his men had been shot in the chest. Arthur's eyes narrowed. His fists clenched tightly and shook with anger. Soon Alfred's gaze matched his. The moment was over just as soon as it had begun.
"ATTACK MEN!" Arthur yelled.
Arthur's soldiers spilled out of the boats onto the land in a sea of red coats, and moved towards Alfred's troops. It was as if pools of blood were flowing out of the boats and over the ground, foretelling the doom of Alfred's troops. Then there was the first clang of two bayonets hitting together, and more gunshots. Arthur stood at the top of the boat still, overlooking his men as the slaughter began. Arthur looked out a little farther to see that Alfred had moved to a safe location, and was watching his troops fight on the sand from his fort on the edge of the tree line. Arthur felt relieved. Even though he was angry at Alfred and wanted to teach him a lesson, he didn't want him to die. Out on the front lines, the American soldiers struggled with holding back the English. Fairly quickly, the English were mowing through the Americans with their bayonets. Lines of crimson liquid trickled over the sand into a nearby creek in the woods. The water began to run red. The stream's red liquid ran down into to the ocean and started turning the foam pink. Meanwhile, the American troops closer to the forest were in trenches, and were shooting at the English soldiers from farther away. As more and more men in blue coats fell down onto the ground, the more the Americans began to panic. Arthur could see the fear in their eyes. It was in the eyes of the young soldiers especially. The fact that the battle was taking place at night did not help ease the worries of the Americans. Only the light of the full moon, and some lanterns here and there lit the scene. The Americans' fear was multiplied by the darkness, by the uncertainty. Yet Alfred did not seem to want to surrender. There had to be some way...
Arthur turned to his lieutenant and whispered in his ear. His lieutenant nodded, then spoke to the three other high-ranked soldiers who were still aboard the main warship. The three men disappeared and returned with a cannon. Arthur reached into his pocket and withdrew a flare. He placed the flare into the cannon. Then on his signal, the men launched the flare through the air. The remaining American soldiers looked up in confusion when they saw the sudden flash of light above them. However, they looked too late. The flare landed in the foliage of a tree. Then another flare was launched, and another. The forest area surrounding Alfred's fort was starting to burn. Arthur picked up his binoculars and focused on the fort.
"Retreat! Retreat!" Shouted Alfred from inside of the fort. He then quickly ran out, away from the flames. The American men quickly ran into the woods, happy to flee the scene, and avoiding the falling, flaming branches as much as possible. Just before entering the woods, Alfred looked back. Arthur saw Alfred through his binoculars. Alfred looked sad, and was staring directly at Alfred. Then he disappeared, the singed feather on his hat leaving behind a trail of smoke.