"How did I get here?" Was all that Will could ask himself over and over again. He couldn't move. He didn't dare move. Will had fought pirates, battled on the raging seas, held his own between blasting cannons, but not once had he felt this kind deliria. Something or someone had rendered him unconscious. He had no way of knowing how long he had been out of sorts, his head throbbed and his eyes blurred horribly.

Will concentrated the best he could and attempted to get his wits about him. He flinched his hand then his foot; finally he turned his head a bit. Being facedown into the ground there wasn't much comfort in his position. Attempting to roll over, his efforts were hindered by a dead soldier lying atop him. At first Will was startled and threw the body away from him and was quickly disgusted at the thought of the corpse lying over him. Then he noticed that he was surrounded…not by enemy soldiers but by dozens of dead bodies. There was no more shouting, no more gun fire, only…faint talking in the distance. It was the same fate as the soldier whom which jacket he was wearing. He was lying next to an unfinished ditch, halfway dug, left to be completed the next day, ready to be filled with the corpses of young men.

"How did I get here?" He repeated incredulously.

Then it came back to him – what happened mere hours ago felt like days in the past:

They camped at night, old MacDonald was weary from the days journey and although the coast was only a few hours away he said there would be no harm in staying in the clearing for the night. So that's what they did. All 1,500 men unpacked their things, some not even removing their boots, for thinking, what was the need when we arise in a few hours and walk only 15 miles? At dawn they all rose again, lazily and without haste the men trekked on, ready for their journey to be over and ready for a proper place to sleep. They only had a couple more hours until safety was definite. Why would they keep their guard up? They were in loyal territory now…

That's then they saw them. The Rebels were standing at the mouth of the bridge, the only crossing across the creek, arranged and ready – anticipating the Redcoats arrival. Of course, on demand the soldiers all lined up in their formation: a row of men down on one knee- rifles poised to fire, another row behind them – guns pointed, and so on and so forth. But the Rebels didn't rest on formality and hardly recognized the European's way of engaging in combat, so with out a moment's hesitation they fired upon the methodical Brits…that's when hell was unleashed.

Will wasn't stupid, he knew the way to live was to stay out of sight. So instead of filing himself in formation like a sheep being lead to the slaughter he dashed over to the side of the clearing- near the woods. There, he was out of the way, out of everyone's way…even the General. Now was his chance for escape! Will took a glance around him; he looked towards the Rebel's frontline, and then hesitated. "Nathan?" he whispered.

Will, squinting his eyes, emerged from the protection of the nearby trees and attempted to get a better look. Still crouched and moving slowly, he made his way a bit closer. It was Nathan! His clothes were filthy and his hat was tattered – but it was him! His blonde haired, blacksmith friend with a big ready smile was firing at the opposing Redcoats fierce diligence. By now, Will had almost moved back to the group of men, now horribly out of their formation and fighting for survival rather than victory.

At about the same time, while Nathan wheeled his rifle around towards Will, and Will lowered his – the two men saw each other and a wave of relief flooded them both. They were alive.

BOOM!

That's when the cannon fired and the mass of bodies were flung together, over, and around each other. Will was lucky – he was merely hit in the head and knocked unconscious.

For a moment Will awakened. His head throbbed but he tried as hard as he could to lift it – to see what was happening, he saw what seemed to be a thousand or so Rebels, all of them coming out from the forest, some joining their counterparts on the other side of the bridge, and regrouping. What had seemed like a hundred or so during the battle turned out to be an ambush…and from the looks of it – what had been 1,500 Scottish and British soldiers, was reduced to hundreds of beaten and wounded men, shackled and chained, being captured like savages, a few dozen or so unfortunate ones were still lying in the field or at the bottom of the creek, pustularating in their own blood. Even with all the shouts of victory and the moans of pain, all he could think of was 'I never got a chance to write to Elizabeth.'

Then he blacked out again, and in the gruesome camouflage of dead bodies all around him, he was easily mistaken for another casualty, one of thirty in the short battle.

Nathan walked alone, along the rows of dead men. Some of his own, some of them British and Scottish loyalists…all with a past and all with families who would never see them again. Who he was really searching for, was his friend William Turner. He had seen him for a brief moment on the battlefield, he knew that he had saw him also. Nate had already been to where the prisoners were kept, none of the Redcoats answered him or even looked his way when he querried about the young blacksmith. None, except one. An officer by the looks of him, one with a finely polished pocket watch in his hand. He only held an expression on his aging features, one of surprise – perhaps surprised that a Patriot was asking about his wellbeing, or maybe that he still could be alive. But now that Nate saw rows upon rows of dead bodies, he was sure that Will had to be among them. Then he heard it…a moan, a soft, agitated groaning coming from one of the bodies in front of him. He knelt down, searching the pale faces, then just to his right he recognized his neighbor.

"Will!" He said, pushing one of the stiff bodies away to get his friend to come to.

Another moan, then Will's hand moved towards his head, rubbing his temple, removing dried blood that had been there for some time.

"Will. Are you alright? Come now, get up from there." Nathan said as he put Will's arm over his shoulder, lifting him from the heap.

Will's legs began to slowly take strength, though his head was still spinning. Once his feet touched the ground and he was put upright, he saw dots swimming in front of his eyes, but he allowed himself to momentarily rely on Nathan as a crutch. "Yes, I'm fine…but my head."

Nate looked at the gash just above his temple and saw that it was already starting to close up. "I think you'll heal. But that was a nasty fall you took. No wonder you were mistaken for dead! You've been out for almost five hours."

"Five hours?" Will asked in disbelief. "What – what about all the men, what happened…where are they?"

Nathan sighed and walked with Will over to a nearby tree, large enough for both men to rest against, and out of view of the rest of the camp that was still visible. "Most of them are taken prisoner. Only thirty or so loyalists died. But we won Will, we were out-numbered by at least 500 but we won. With one dead and one wounded, the rebels won." He explained, looking at his friends face with anticipation of his thoughts.

Will merely nodded, still cradling his head in his hands. After a moment of nothing spoken between the two of them, he lifted his head and focused his eyes ahead of him. "I have to leave Nate. I have to go home." He began to stand and take a few steps forward.

Nathan scrambled to his feet and tried to speak in protest. "No, you can't go. I mean – how will you go? If my men catch you you'll be shot…if you're men see you you'll be known as a deserter and tracked down for sure, and pay with your life."

"I don't care. I'm going home." He said definitely. Then he stopped and turned around to face his friend. "You should too."

"What? No, I cant." He said, slightly caught off guard.

Will stepped forward and took his shoulder. "Sure you can! Lucy is at home, waiting for you Nate! Theres no use for you here…the loyalists know they're losing, its an uphill battle! Go home."

He was silent for a moment, thinking, contemplating, and weighing his options. He didn't want to be known as a coward – running away from his responsibilities. But he knew Will was right. It was a losing battle – his regiment might not even notice that he was missing, and if he was careful enough, no one would see him go. "Alright."

Will couldn't help but smile. "Yes? Good…now…how do we go about getting out of this place without either one of us being seen?"

Nate shook his head. "That's the hard part…We can't go this way" He said gesturing towards the forest. "Just over there is the officers stay. But maybe…" He said, still mulling over his options. "We could go past those tents. After we get past the prisoners quarters it's a straight shot to the coast."

With a nod of his head Will agreed with his neighbor. "At nightfall, you and I are going home."

The two shook hands.

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Thomas stopped, he rested his weary body against the side of a tree, then let himself slide down and sit on the moist ground. He had been running for hours, away from the battle and away from the fighting. Sure, he was a deserter, a dishonorable man in the view of his fellow soldiers but in the heat of the moment it was the only thing he could do – run. As soon as shots were fired the young man turned and headed for safety. But not before… not before he saw him fall. Thomas had turned around just in time to see the look of bewilderment on Will Turner's face, then the explotion of dirt, bodies and cries of pain. After the dust had settled he saw the young man unmoving, heaped together among the other dead bodies. He was dead.

Now it was too late to turn back, he was headed north. And now that he carried this burden it was only right to tell her. Thomas was going back to New Bern and tell young Mrs. Turner that her husband had fallen at the hands of the Rebels…it was the right thing to do.