Disclaimer: I do not own anything having to do with the Patriot.
A/N: Yes, I finally decided to add onto the this short story. I know most of you are rejoicing right? looks around hopefully It's been so long since I wrote anything for ! But anyways, after many people begging for more I decided I will indulge you all.
This story will be rated PG-13, mostly for language because these guys just can't watch their mouths. I will try to keep the characters to canon, but as you know they can take on minds of their own. This also means the events will be as canon as possible, even the ones we don't like if you catch my drift. This is will be nothing more than a plot less funny/semi serious (because honestly these guys take themselves so seriously) short story. There is no romance or anything deeper than O'Hara and Tavington getting back at each other. However, I will be throwing a few women in for entertainment. grins wickedly Oh, and this will be picking up on the morning after the event that started this mess. I think that's about it.
So begins the series of unfortunate revenge.
"General O'Hara," Cornwallis addressed his second in command as he looked up from the map he had been studying. Whatever he had just been about to say was forgotten instantly. O'Hara stood before him in his usual poised, dignified manner except this time there was one major problem this morning. His general's jaw was swollen to about twice its normal size and resembled something of an over ripe melon. He blinked in surprise as he worked to regain his lapse of composure. O'Hara appeared to be trying to ignore his rather blatant stare with stony faced silence.
"General O'Hara," he repeated at length. "May I inquire as to what happened to you?"
The younger man sighed silently, looking to have been dreading that question. "I would rather not say, my lord," he replied in as dignified a manner as he could manage. However, the effort was rather fruitless considering he sounded like he had swallowed a mouthful of cotton.
Cornwallis choked back the laughter at the amusing display of his most trusted officer. O'Hara looked greatly displeased. The General managed to school his expression back into a somewhat calm look. "Then, O'Hara, I must insist."
"I was involved in a bar brawl," O'Hara answered shortly.
Cornwallis's semi-amused expression immediately vanished. He had sent O'Hara off last night to talk to Colonel Tavington. If there was a bar brawl that could only mean one thing.
"Did Tavington star another private war last night at the pub?" Cornwallis asked in a deadly calm tone.
O'Hara swallowed with some difficulty. "You might say so, my lord."
"Dash it all! That man is far to hard to control! Even with someone watching him, he still finds a way to cause trouble and injure. Violence is the only thing that man understands! If he was not such a good fighter and leader I would have him discharged and thrown to the rebels!" he ranted. He banged his fist on his desk, and shouted for his messenger.
A short little man scurried in, and bowed. "Yes, my lord?" his voice was disturbingly low for a man of such short stature.
"Go to Tavington's tent at once and tell him to report to me immediately!" Cornwallis snapped.
The little man left quickly, closing the door carefully behind him. Cornwallis got up, walked to the window, and stared out for several long moments. He turned back at last to face O'Hara. His second in command straightened his back, if it were even anymore possible to do so without falling over backward. "Now, general, is you would please give me a full detailed description of what exactly took place last night at that pub."
"Well, uh, my lord. That is...," O'Hara began to stutter.
"Out with it, O'Hara!" the General spat.
O'Hara began to babble nervously. "Really, my lord, Tavington is horribly appalling when drunk. I must insist that you suspend him from visiting the town. His behavior is most unbefitting an officer of his station, especially when inebriated. And perhaps I did provoke him somewhat, but that does not excuse–"
"General O'Hara, are you suggesting that Tavington was the one who did this to you?" Cornwallis's gaze went as cold as the icey winters to the north.
O'Hara stammered unintelligently. He was saved from burying his own proverbial grave by the timely arrival (for O'Hara) of one Colonel William Tavington. The Green Dragoon's commander looked like he had been dragged through hell and back hanging by the stirrup of his horse's saddle. His face was haggard, drawn, and pale. His crystalline blue eyes were blood shot, hardly open to more than mere slits. His uniform was rumbled attesting to having been slept in. He smelled strongly of stale, old beer. It was apparent by appearances alone that Tavington was suffering from a severe hang over.
"Colonel Tavington!" Cornwallis snapped out the colonel's name with distaste. Tavington cringed at the sudden loud noise. O'Hara looked like the cat who swallowed the canary.
"I would like to know what happened last night," the General snarled.
Tavington stared at him for a long moment as though trying to comprehend what he had just said. He glanced sideways at O'Hara and barely hid the smirk that threatened him.
"My lord, clearly he is still to intoxicated to remember," O'Hara put in quickly.
Cornwallis sighed heavily and spun to face the window. Tavington shot the other general a suspicious look, all senses now immediately on the alert. O'Hara gave him a warning look.
"Please, Colonel, tell me what you do remember," the General spoke over his shoulder.
"Bordon and I were at the pub last night," he started slowly. "There was a fight..."
"I stepped in to break it up, and Tavington struck me by mistake," O'Hara lied smoothly.
Cornwallis whirled about and stared at the two men in front of him. There was something else going on here. He could sense it, but who was covering up for whom? And for what reason?
"Is that what happened, Colonel Tavington?" Cornwallis pressed.
Honestly, Tavington remembered everything that had happened perfectly, but he was not about to sell himself to the hounds now that O'Hara had played his hand. He would have to convince the General that his nemesis's story was the "truth." He knew why O'Hara was covering up for him. He did not want Cornwallis to know how easily Tavington had overpowered him and that he had been unable to do anything to stop it. It would reflect badly on him as well as his abilities to control his subordinates. Despite wanting Tavington discharged and thrown out for the rebels to have their way with him, he also wanted his honor and reputation to stay in tact. If that was the way O'Hara wanted it, Tavington could play his game.
"Yes, my lord, that is what happened. However, it is all rather a bit of a blur," he replied evenly.
Cornwallis stared at him a moment longer before stalking back to his desk. He sank into his chair and glared menacingly at Tavington. "Never the less, you struck a superior officer, Colonel Tavington. You will be punished for such poor conduct of character. You are forthwith suspended from entering ? Town again under any premise. You are also excused from your commanding duties to the Dragoons for the next three week or until further notice."
"But, my lord, really–"Tavington's protest was cut short.
"You will be acting as a scout until your suspension is over. I suggest you use that time to try to locate where the Ghost may be hiding. Your captain, Bordon, will be assigned to go along with you so he may make sure you do not stray from your orders. Is that understood?"
Tavington bit his tongue to keep from unleashing a string of curses and insults that would have made a sailor cover his ears in shame. He merely nodded instead.
"I must make it clear that should another incident like this occur you will be discharged no matter how vital you are to the cause at the time. I will not put up with anymore of your foolish antics. Do we understand each other?"
Tavington murmured a soft, "yes, my Lord."
O'Hara looked extremely pleased with the outcome of the whole situation. He had won the next battle in the war against the great William Tavington. He would not be satisfied until the Colonel was as thoroughly humiliated as he had felt last night. The General waved his hand at Tavington, effectively dismissing him. Tavington bowed and turned towards the door. He glared coldly at O'Hara as he stalked out.
Oh, this is not over yet, you pompous little pansy, he thought angrily. He would get his revenge.
Tavington stormed back to the tent he shared with John Bordon. Whoever or whatever came with in his path was violently kicked, shoved, or hurled aside. People dodged, horses shied back, dogs ran, and inanimate objects were snatched out of his way before they met an unfortunate fate. Even his own horse, a chestnut mare named Audrey, flattened her ears to her head and eyed him fearfully. Had he been in a even a slightly better mood he would found it all somewhat amusing. As it was, he was severely pissed off and ready to mangle anyone who got to close.
He cursed the cheery morning when the sun glared in his eyes, openly slandered the birds when they launched into their perky songs, and wished a sudden rain storm would drown everyone in its torrents of water. He reached his tent and flung the tent flap open. He stalked in, muttering furiously as he kicked a bucket across the length of the tent. Bordon paused in the buttoning of his uniform jacket. His long, dark hair was already neatly done up in its traditional queue. He looked as fresh and ready to work as he always did even after the events of last night. Tavington fixed his subordinate with a malicious glare. Right at the moment he really hated Bordon. So what if he was the only friend the Colonel had.
Bordon gave him a disgruntled look at the open animosity in his commander's gaze. He was not at all surprised by Tavington's foul mood. He just wondered why it was aimed at him. He had been expecting someone to come fetch Tavington all morning. An incident like last night would not go unnoticed for long. Despite his efforts to quell the Colonel's rage last night the whole thing had ended up being a disaster like normal. He knew it would come back to haunt Tavington, and apparently he had received the proper punishment for his behavior.
"A scout!" Tavington burst out suddenly.
Bordon managed to keep his startled flinch discreet. "Beg your pardon, Colonel?" he asked politely.
"That arrogant wind bag suspended me for the next three weeks and made me a scout!" Of all the humiliating, dishonorable position–!"
Bordon interrupted quietly. "At least, he did not punish you further. You were not discharged."
"Not punished further! Everyone knows scouts are expendable. They are the ones that are killed the most. Well, if he hopes to get rid of me that way I will not give him the satisfaction. I would live just to be a thorn in his ass!" he paced back and forth down the middle of the tent.
"Really, Colonel, you should watch your tongue. It could be worse," he tried to reason with the irrate man before him.
Tavington spun to face him. "Oh, you think so! Then you will love this part, my dear Bordon," his voice nearly dripped with icey cynicism. "You are to be my keeper. You have to come on every scout errand I am given to insure that I do not cause more trouble."
Bordon stared at him in shock for a long moment before stammering out some kind of answer in disbelief. "B-but who will be in charge of the Dragoons while you are away?"
"No one! They will all be relaxing on their lazy white asses while you and I are made out little better than lackeys!" Tavington snarled at him.
Bordon was silent. He wanted voice his own opinion at the unfairness of the situation. Why was he being punished? Was it because he had been unable to control Tavington last night at the pub? There was a man that could keep his commanding officer in check he would dearly like to meet him. He glanced up at the Colonel, who was waiting for him to get angry so he could throw it right back in Bordon's face. Bordon sighed heavily. He would not do that. It was best just to deal with the situation with exuberant amounts of patience.
"We will have to make the best of it, sir," he remarked quietly.
The Colonel stared at him for a long moment before deflating. As usually, Bordon's reason drained the anger right out of him. Besides there was no way he could hurt his subordinate for being reasonable. He sighed heavily and sat down on the edge of his cot. He was horribly tired and a throbbing headache had begun to pound just behind his eyes. His hangover seemed to have returned with a vengeance. He had completely forgotten it in the wake of his anger.
"Bordon, go fetch some coffee," he ordered in a deadpan tone.
Bordon nodded and left quickly, no doubt glad to get away from him for a few minutes. Tavington reached down and pulled his blanket over his face to block out the sunlight. It was going to be a long three weeks, he could feel it already.
Alright guys! That's it for now. Tell me what you think. Should I continue or take this down and just leave the story alone? I'm counting on your opinions y'all, so be a responsible reader and review!