The Nightmare of Death

"It's a shame."

"What is?"

"What will happen to Colonel Tavington."

"Does he know this?"

"Yes, and there is nothing he can do about it, but die. Truly a shame."

Doctor Harris to Lt. Colonel Tarleton

"Tarleton!"

Oh good God! Banastre thought angrily. O'Hara again!

"Lt. Colonel, are you listening to me?" General O'Hara hissed at him.

I'm trying not to.

"Yes, General O'Hara, I am listening to you."

As if anyone could ignore you?

"I said, what did you and Colonel Tavington find on your patrols? Any of use?"

Tarleton shook his head.

"We found nothing today, General. However, there is cause for concern."

"About what, Lt. Colonel?"

"The Rebels have gotten closer, far closer then we had expected at first. They have been running amuck all over the countryside, and even though we routed them last week…they seem to have returned in force."

O'Hara eyed him coolly.

"How close are they, Tarleton? I need to report to the Lord General."

Ban muttered under his breath.

Silly fool. Must report to the Lord General. Oh, do make yourself look vastly important and superiour to the rest of us. Smug bastard!

"About two days, Sir." Tarleton bit back the remark he dearly wanted to say.

O'Hara seemed to study the wall behind Tarleton for a long time, before he finally replied.

"How close will they be, once they reach here? Where exactly will they end up?"

Tarleton gritted his teeth. He really didn't want to say the name. All he could think about was what Tavington had told him.

"Well Tarleton?" O'Hara snapped.

"Cowpens."

"Thank you Lt. Colonel. You are dismissed."

Banastre Tarleton shivered.

"Thank you, Sir." He bowed slightly and left the tent.

He shivered once more.

It was happening too soon.

The dream began as it always did. Running from something he could not see, but as always, he could hear it. It never seemed too far away, yet it never caught up with him. When he would try to confront it, it disappeared for a brief moment, only to return once he began running again.

Why was he running from it? He was Colonel Tavington for crying out loud! He ran from nothing! He feared nothing. He was The Butcher! He put fear into others!

This was absurd. This dream.

Yes, it began as it always did. But not this night. No, this night, it had changed. This night, it was dragging him to something he did not want to see. Did not wish to experience.

He could do nothing to stop it. Nor could he keep himself from being drug to his own fate.

Hang me! For god sake, just hang me! He thought wearily. I would not suffer then.

But, this dream did not heed his pleas. It sent him kicking and screaming to a fate he had condemned others to. A fate, even he, The Butcher, could not escape.

The pain seared thru his belly and he clutched desperately at it. When it had given him but a taste of what was to come, it began its quick ascent to his throat. Again, he clutched at his throat, desperate to end the pain and suffering he knew he would feel.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, the pain was gone. And in its place, was a bright light. It beckoned to him with its warmth and safety, and he ran to it like a drowning man to a raft.

Then it, too, was gone.

A slow smile spread over Doctor Harris's face. He raised his glass to an unseen entity, and saluted it.

"Soon, Colonel, soon."