Part 15 - new world 1775-1783 Eastern USA - american revolutionary War Part II
Soil rained down on me from all directions tinged with the scent of fresh blood. The concussive blasts ripped through the air and shook the ground with a force capable of sending men flying. My platoon had walked right into an ambush and we were not coping overly well.
Our journey through the war had been a relatively quiet one. We had spent time in Philadelphia where the colonists were all too anxious to show their displeasure towards us. In honesty that was a town I was very happy to get out of. As we travelled south we only encountered a few hostile situations, and finally we thought we were able to relax as we passed through Virginia, but my old friends the French were here to make sure that didn't happen as they routed us with cannon fire.
My men split and ran in several directions with the long range riflemen of the French picking them off as they ran clear of the battlefield. I found myself standing in the centre of the mêlée unable to move for the feeling of helplessness and the instinct to feed held me bound to the spot as yet another blast hit close enough to have killed me if I were a real man. And that's when I remembered what I truly was and woke up.
In a flash I was out of the action and running around the rear of the enemy, trying to locate their gunners in my haste. There, peering over a ridge were around twenty men with rifles, and another thirty more behind them to re-load for them. The first one I reached fell to the ground as I twisted his head to an impossible angle, the crack ringing out above the distant sound of cannon fire. Two ran at me with bayonets, their feathered hats flapping in the wind. In the blink of an eye they were on the ground throats slit with their own blades, writhing in agony. I looked up as several more approached with caution. This was when I let the beast loose. Until now the gunners had been preoccupied with the battle but now they were turned, yelling in French, trying to level their weapons at me, but I was too fast. I had a bayonet in one hand and nothing in the other, but that did not prevent me from cutting a swath through these highly trained soldiers. Occasionally I would pull one close so that I could tear out his throat with my teeth, creating a double effect in that I would get my shot of adrenaline soaked blood and the enemy would see a demented madman covered in the blood of their brothers.
I honestly could not tell you how long the fight lasted. To me it felt like an eternity and a blink all at once, but when it was over there was one person standing and that was me.
Without hesitation I knelt and picked up one of the fallen rifles and lifted it to my eye. The sight was clear and simple, and I could see a good distance ahead of me, as far as the cannons on the ridge some two hundred yards away. Perfect. I assumed the prone position I had seen the French using, levelled the rifle and squeezed off a couple of shots. Through my sites I could see confusion as one of the gunners fell to the ground. Perfect. I lay down a covering fire to allow what remained of my platoon to escape the kill zone. Once they were all clear I scooped up as many guns as I could carry and rushed off to join them. As I retreated I could hear the French voices approaching. I had to get out of there before a greater number arrived to cause me problems.
I met with my men in the woods near the battlefield and ushered them away from the approaching Frenchmen. Once we were in the clear and I could no longer hear our enemy I called the men to make camp and asked them to to gather around. I passed out the guns I had found keeping one for myself and listened to the excited murmur of the men. They ran their fingers over the cold steel and held the stocks to their shoulders to peer through the sights, checking their aim. This weapon was entirely new to us, and it explained how the other side had gained an advantage over us in recent battles. We had to return these to England so that we could manufacture our own, but for now all I could think of was survival. Not my own, of course, that was never a doubt, but the survival of my men was paramount to me at this point. Having lost so many in the ambush I was determined to return to the battalion with as many soldiers as possible. Frankly, returning on my own to explain how I had lost an entire platoon was becoming rather tiresome.
A distant crack alerted me to a presence. The French were coming. I could hear their deep voices and the faint waft of smoke preceding them. I quickly ordered my men to climb the trees that surrounded us. The coverage was thick and the trees were not difficult to climb. We did not have enough rifles for all of us, so I kept one and set up those without as watchmen on the perimeter of our area. I knew our ammo was limited, however, so I instructed them to only fire when they were sure of their shot.
Soon enough the dark blue of their uniforms swam into view, and the watchmen gave out the hand signal. I had the leader in my sights from the first moment I saw him, a tall, arrogant looking man who was not taking the time to check his path. This was going to be just desserts.
The first shot rang out and silenced their voices, then it was followed by a series of cracks. I took my shot, taking off the head of the nearby leader, and then hit as many other targets as I could. By the time we were out of ammo there was a pile of bodies and the sound of undergrowth being crashed through as evidence of our actions.
The men chatted eagerly as we returned to base, and when we handed over the weapons our commander seemed very pleased. However, he did not reward our efforts with time at the rear, instead sending us off to join another group of men heading for battle with the Spaniards.
As we travelled further south the weather became warm and muggy. Often we would be marching when a storm would break over our heads leaving us soaked, only to immediately clear and be replaced by relentless sunshine. At the height of midday I would try and cover up as best as I could, not wanting to let my true nature be revealed to the men.
Soon enough we were in yet another battle situation. This one was far more dire than the battle with the French, as the Spanish blindsided us and quickly had us on the run, forced towards the Atlantic coast. Cannon fire rained down on us and the bodies of my men flew through the air in what was becoming an all too familiar sight. War was changing, and it was somehow more dangerous than ever. The close combat was being replaced with explosives and this concerned me.
Another blast kicked up a tonne of dirt, shaking me from my reverie. They were advancing on us now, rifles raised and moving in for the kill. My platoon of two hundred had been reduced to a dozen and I stood in front of them, catching sight of the advancing men.
Then I was gone, running into the crowd. I felt a blast of shot hit my shoulder tearing my uniform to ribbons, but that was soon forgotten as I turned into the whirlwind of death, trying to save the life of my men. As was my style, I tore them apart, sometimes as many as three at a time, moving so fast I was a blur. It didn't take me long to reduce their number to a few hundred retreating men, and I turned to find my own survivors, shocked to see them all lying dead at the feet of a beautiful redhead.
"Fair's fair..." She said, smiling. I approached her slowly, noticing that like me she was drenched in blood. We adopted fighting stances as I drew closer, and then when I was close enough to see every detail of her face I took it in my hands and kissed her deeply.