Disclaimer: I do not own anything of or pertaining to The Patriot. If I did I'd have entirely to much fun dressing O'Hara up in drag and Tavington would be mine to do with as I please.
A/N: I'm back! This story is going a lot longer than I ever thought it would. It looks like I'll still have enough material for several more chapters as well. So stick around for them. Also I am aware there were quite a few typos last time. I'm sorry about that. I was just trying to slam the chapter out as fast possible. Same with this one. So please forgive me for them. I know they are there. I intend to fix them eventually. On that note I have just gotten enlisted in the Air Force Reserves. I leave for basic training in Sept. (I'm Security Forces. A freaking cop baby!) So while I am gone at that obviously this story will be on hiatus. But it would be an awesome going away gift if I could get a hundred reviews for this story before I leave. So c'mon guys! Help me out here! Anyways, with out further ado. More Harassing O'Hara!
Chapter Eight
"Well, here we sit again, Bordon. All I want is to get good and sloshed, hopefully find a whore or two to for some pleasurable company while trying very hard not to think about a certain little weasel faced conniving son of a bitch."
"Perhaps, sir, that is not a very good idea." Bordon suggested.
"It sounds like a perfectly good idea to me."
"If I may ask, sir, why is it you are in such a poor mood? Your punishment is finally over. You are once more in the General's good graces and from what I heard was given a fair bit of praise for your efforts. Did O'Hara do something again?" Bordon inquired delicately.
"Is it not always O'Hara, Bordon? The little prick stole my moment of triumphant! Somehow that pansy wormed his way through to Cornwallis once more so that it is I who now has to give O'Hara thanks for coming up with such a lovely punishment. The whole situation reeks worse than my father did after a night of drinking and sleeping in his own piss!" He banged his fist loudly on the table top, making several nearby men jump.
"That is rather unfair." Bordon agreed quietly. He did not dare say so to loudly for fear of another superior officer hearing.
Tavington glanced over at his friend before shaking his head. "Quite," he answered dryly.
"Did you have any ideas in mind for how to 'repay' O'Hara?" Bordon asked cautiously.
"No. I would rather show my appreciation by shooting him and dumping him in a river." Tavington smiled tightly.
Bordon frowned. "I do not think that would go over well with General Cornwallis."
"You think so, Bordon?" Tavington gave the captain a dirty look. He was beginning to wonder if the man had a sense of humor or maybe he was drunk enough at the moment that he was missing it.
"Well, if you would like my advice, Colonel-." Bordon started to say.
Tavington interrupted. "It seems I will get it whether I want it or not."
"–I would say do something as simple as possible." Bordon finished.
"Fine advise, but that gave me no ideas," the Colonel said sarcastically.
Bordon rolled his eyes. "I have heard, sir, that General O'Hara enjoys strong liquor. Perhaps a bottle of port may do the trick."
"Trying to find a bottle of that or anything else will cost quite a bit," Tavington muttered.
"It was merely a suggestion, sir."
Tavington sighed. "It was a good suggestion, Bordon."
Bordon smiled slightly. "Thank you, sir."
Tavington waved the bartender over. "Do you know anywhere around here that might sell a decent bottle of port?"
"Y-yes, sir, I have few bottles of port I would be willing to sell," the man nervously replied. Tavington had been to his pub several times. He knew the Colonel's reputation and most of the recent bar fights had all been caused by Tavington as well. He was not overly anxious to be near the Colonel.
"Name your price," Tavington demanded.
Bordon smiled reassuringly at the man. The man stammered out the first price that came to mind. It was obviously far to cheap for a fine bottle of port, but that did not bother Tavington in the least. Sometimes it did pay off to be known as the 'Butcher.' He felt no need to bargain further for the bottle. He quickly paid for it, and waited impatiently for the man to bring it. He would rather get the whole humiliating thing over with as soon as possible. The man rushed back to the table with the bottle then disappeared behind the bar.
"Come, Bordon. Let us get this done with," he sighed, standing up.
"Yes, sir." Bordon followed him dutifully. It was perhaps the first time in a long while that he had not left the bar in a wreck from the Colonel's actions. He was a little amazed. He glanced back for a moment to make sure the bar really was intact. Perhaps it had been a dream?
Tavington glanced back. "Quit dawdling, Bordon."
"Yes, sir!" Bordon answered, snapping back around.
Tavington stalked all the way back to his horse and somehow managed to make it look like his horse was stalking back to the fort. Or perhaps that to was Bordon's imagination. In any case, they arrived back at the fort rather quickly. Tavington dismounted before throwing the reins up to his subordinate. He climbed the stairs to the headquarters all the while grumbling about O'Hara having a proper room when he should be out camping with his men like the rest of the officers. No, that was not good enough for poor little O'Hara. God forbid his back become bruised from sleeping on a cot. He marched stiff legged all the way to the brigadier general's room then knocked (well pounded rather) on the door.
"Enter," O'Hara called in that stuffy voice of his that grated so at Tavington's nerves.
The Colonel swung the door open, and with out a greeting walked over to where O'Hara sat at his writing desk. Tavington slammed the bottle of port down on the table in front of O'Hara. "A token of my appreciation, General O'Hara. Perhaps it will help dull the sting of your break up with Miss Winston." He smirked at the outraged expression on the little weasel's face before turning and walking out before the general had recovered enough to say anything. That one comment was worth having to spend the money on the port. That expression was ten times worth having to give the port to O'Hara instead of drinking it himself.
He returned his own tent where he promptly dug out a bottle of ale he had kept hidden under his cot then went to find a free female camp follower to keep himself busy the rest of the night.
P.A.T.R.I.O.T.
Oh God, he felt like hell. He knew he must look like hell to but that fact really didn't upset him as much as the roiling in his stomach. Why in the world had he gotten drunk last night? Oh yes, celebration for that perfect look of hatred and indignation he caused to appear on O'Hara's face. That was almost worth the hang over. He sat up slowly, but the movement alone was enough to make him revisit everything he had swallowed in the last twenty four hours. God, life was a bitch. Could he never catch a break? Just once. Was that to much to ask for? Wait a minute, why the hell was he asking God anyway. The oh Great Spirit had not answered a prayer of his since...never.
"I am being punished for living," he grumbled, lifting his eyes heavenward. "What the hell did I ever do to You?"
"I hope you are not referring to me, sir," Bordon's voice made him jump then cringe as his stomach flipped over.
"I would thank you to please be quiet and not startle me, Bordon! I feel like shit that has been trampled on the high way more than a dozen times," Tavington growled.
Bordon did not seem perturbed by his threatening tone. "Forgive me, sir."
"Just shut up, dammit!"
"Perhaps you do not want the bread and coffee I brought–."
Tavington reached up and snatched it away from his subordinate before the man could finish his sentence. Bordon wisely kept silent this time although Tavington did not miss the amused look in the man's eyes.
"Sir, the young lady you had with you last night asked me to deliver a message," Bordon spoke up quietly.
Tavington paused in the act of draining his coffee cup. Young lady? It took him a moment to remember he had brought a camp whore back to his tent last night then proceeded to have a very good time. He smiled slightly. "Yes?"
"She said, sir, that she enjoyed your company very much–," Bordon told him.
Tavington smirked. "I am sure she did."
"–And that should you ever require her services again she would be more than willing to accommodate you," his subordinate finished.
"I will certainly have to remember that." Tavington's smile was enough to make Bordon shiver slightly. Tavington went back to his breakfast.
"Sir, General Cornwallis–," Bordon began only to be rudely interrupted once more.
Tavington snarled, around a mouthful of bread. "What's the damned man want now?"
"Sir, you should watch what you say," Bordon warned then had the compulsion to hide behind something when Tavington shot him the trade mark 'Butcher' look. He cleared his throat and continued with what he had started to say. "General Cornwallis heard rumor of the Ghost's militia in a nearby town and requested we go to scout it out."
"I swear he must know when I am horribly hung over," Tavington grumbled softly.
Bordon blinked. "I'm sorry, sir?"
"Nothing. Never mind. I'll be ready to leave in a half hour. Have the horses saddled." he stood up very slowly before reaching for his clothes.
"Yes, sir." Bordon turned and strode out the tent.
Tavington sighed heavily. He had a very bad feeling about the day. Or maybe that was his stomach just protesting having to move...
P.A.T.R.I.O.T.
Dammit! Dammit! Damn Cornwallis to hell! Sending me out on another mad goose hunt because of a rumor! He did it on purpose! He knew I was hung over! I just know he knew, Tavington fumed silently to himself.
He was still feeling sick. The swaying of his horse, Audrey, was not helping his stomach feel any better. He just wanted to go back to his tent at the fort and curl up on his cot then never move again...if that could be managed. But no, Cornwallis had to send him off again to chase the Ghost's militia. The whole thing stank suspiciously of a trap or someone trying to get the better of him. Not so much as a word about the militia for days and now he was out hunting them once more. It just had to be O'Hara's doing.
Oh well, whatever the punishment, his own moment of revenge had been well worth while. It did not quite make up for what O'Hara had done to him. However, that could be corrected all in good time. An evil smirk began to spread across his face. Besides him, Bordon began to studiously watch the opposite of the road as he tryed to ignore that look (not that Tavington noticed).
As he suspected, when they arrived at the god forsaken little town, there was no sign of the rebels. His irritation increased ten fold. Another pointless trek through the wilds of South Carolina only to learn that there was no substance to the rumor at all. Now, he was not only tired and hung over, he was angry. He was about to turn around and ride right back to the fort–maybe burn a house or two just for the hell of it along the way–when he felt someone touch his boot.
He glanced down to see a beggar standing by his horse staring up at him with red rimmed eyes. He leaned down to shove the man away when he caught a good look at the beggar's face. It was all he could do not to smile viciously. It was one of his spies. He had planted several of them through out the nearby towns in hopes he might gain a clue or two as to where the rebels might be hiding. It seemed his efforts were about to pay off.
"What do you want?" he growled, maintaining the outward appearance of contempt for a poverty stricken man.
"Please, sir, only a sympathetic ear," his agent sniveled.
Tavington curled his lip. "Then be quick about it."
The 'beggar' lowered his voice. "Sir, I have word of were the rebels plan to strike the supply lines next."
"Go on." Tavington pressed softly.
"The King's Highway," the 'beggar' glanced around nervously. "In three days."
Tavington straightened in his saddle. "I am in a rather generous mood today. Take this and get out of my sight." Tavington threw a handful of coins at the man before wheeling his horse around and galloping out of the town with Bordon at his heels. He glanced over at his subordinate when they were a safe distant from the town. "It seems that O'Hara is doing me more favors than punishments lately. I will certainly have to thank him," Tavington sneered delightedly.
This time all the praise would be Tavington's. This time he would have the rebels in his grip and Cornwallis would be forced to acknowledge him properly. Everything was falling smoothly into place.
P.A.T.R.I.O.T.
Tavington stood in Cornwallis' office, impatiently with his hands clasped behind his back. He was ready to set his own plans into motion for the capture of the militia men, but once again Cornwallis was having his doubts.
"You are sure that is what your spy told you, Colonel Tavington?" General Cornwallis asked for what must have been the tenth time.
Tavington suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, my Lord. He made it quite clear."
"How can you be certain this spy's sources are valid," General O'Hara put in.
"I installed the man there myself, General O'Hara. He is reliable," Tavington practically snapped out.
General Cornwallis waved his hand for them to desist their arguing before it escalated. It was no surprise he always left the room with a pounding headache after speaking with them. "I will accept your source of information, Colonel Tavington. Now what should we do about this?"
Tavington was a little surprised to be asked his opinion. It took him a moment to regain his composure. "My Lord, I would like permission to take charge of this operation–."
"I will decide that as soon as I know what operation you intend." General Cornwallis glared at him.
"A trap, my Lord. One which they will not suspect in even the slightest," the Dragoon's commander answered.
Cornwallis nodded, sitting down in the chair behind his desk. "What kind of trap?"
Tavington had hoped to have permission to lead it before divulging his scheme, but there was no avoiding it now. He carefully began to lay out his designs of the trap that would be laid. It was clever, shrewd, and in a manner rather ironic. He knew without a doubt that it would work if only Cornwallis allowed him to be in charge of it. He did not trust anyone else not to bungle the whole thing.
"It was a very well thought out plan, Colonel Tavington. I commend you for that," Cornwallis commented when he was finished.
Tavington nodded respectfully. "Thank you, my Lord."
"However, I wonder if you are quite up to executing it," Cornwallis frowned.
"I had hoped, my Lord, that with the success of my last assignment you might think otherwise," Tavington remarked casually.
Cornwallis smiled slightly. "And so I have. I will give you the assignment, Colonel Tavington. You may use your dragoons and the militia you trained, but I can spare no more men for this. Our forces are stretched rather thin as it is."
"I am very grateful, my Lord. I will do my best," Tavington replied eagerly.
"See that you do, Colonel Tavington. You are dismissed," Cornwallis gestured towards the door.
Tavington bowed before heading towards the door. He glanced sideways at O'Hara and sneered at the pale general. O'Hara drew himself up to his full height with a haughty sniff. Anger, hatred, and contempt shone clearly in the brigadier general's eyes. Tavington left without another backward glance, leaving a seething O'Hara behind.
P.A.T.R.I.O.T.
Alright, that's it for now. Be a responsible reader and review! C'mon y'all help me hit that 100:D Thanks for all the awesome reviews so far! You have no idea how much those make my day! Until the next chapter!
P.S.: Also for all those who like to e-mail me the address has changed because yahoo was being a prick and I had to make a new account. It's