Chapter 11: worlds come crashing down
Warning: the descriptions of the battle can be a little graphic (at least pg-13 level). Honestly, I'm not quite sure why they turned out this way. I blame video games. Even though I don't really play video games.
My ownership of liberty's kids is still in question? Fa! None shall suspect my true ownership if I keep denying! My plans for world domination will soon be complete! Mwahahahahaha!
Sarah pov
Sarah felt a little ridiculous, sitting in an ornate chair and peering through a bass spyglass on top of a lonely mound. Standing next to her was the Lieutenant colonel, peering through his own spyglass, waiting for the spectacle below to start. He was in his forties, and while he may have been an impressive figure in his youth, age and a frivolous lifestyle were slowly but surely catching up on him. 200 yards below them, tom's company was preparing for battle. Off in the distance, Sarah could see a group of tiny specks, which she assumed to be the colonists, barreling towards them at an unprecedented speed.
"Look at them! So disorganized! We'll have them thrashed in ten minutes, and be back in England just in time for midsummer!" the Lieutenant colonel bellowed. Sarah turned an uneasy eye towards the mess she unwittingly created. She wasn't entirely sure that she supported the crown on his decision. True, the colonists were being rebellious, but the crown taxed them unfairly, forced them to house British soldiers in their homes, and was now trying to unlawfully seize people and weapons.
Sarah closed the spyglass shut as a wave of frustration washed over her. She could barely see anything through the minuscule lens. She needed a closer look. A quick inspection of the Lieutenant colonel saw that he was focused entirely on the men, mouthing orders to them under his breath, despite the distance. Walking on the balls of her feet, Sarah slowly zigzagged her way down the hill, trying to remain in the Lieutenant colonel's blind spot at all times.
Reaching the bottom of the hill, Sarah stopped to take in her surroundings. A large group of British soldiers lackadaisically prepared for battle in front of her. To her right, a stone wall slumped down upon itself, giving it the look of a long tried castle on the verge of ruin. It looked a bit worn, but baggers can't be choosers. It was perfectly placed to give protection from both sides. Sarah dashed over to the wall and ducked behind it.
Sarah couldn't have moved sooner. A few seconds after she was in position, the militia ended their trek towards the regulars. For a few minutes, the two parties eyed each other uneasily. Birds sang uneasily in the background. Then, from somewhere, a shot rang out, unleashing chaos.
And what chaos it was! Shots rang out left and right. Sarah was forced to duck in a rather unladylike position to avoid the oncoming volleys. From behind the wall however, Sarah herd it all. The shots pounded on Sarah head, like waves did on a ship in the middle of a storm. Aggravated yells were traded by militia man and regular alike. But the most horrible were the almost inhuman shrieks of the injured and dying. There was almost an animalistic quality of their cries, making them sound more like mountain lions then men. A single cry would hang in the air for a second or two, then die down, replaced by another of its kind. The anguished yells made Sarah claw her ears in a useless effort to block them.
Finally, it stopped. Without the gunfire vying for attention, the cries of the wounded and dying were all the more potent. Grown men cried out for their mothers, sweethearts, water, and for god to take them. Peering over the wall, Sarah found that the sight far outdid the sound. Portions of the once green grass were stained red, perhaps eternally. The soldiers themselves lay in heaps; those who were not dead were trying to distinguish themselves from their former allies. Some were so disfigured by the blast, she hesitated them human. Sarah scanned the battle field with her heart in her throat. There, at the edge of the field, sat Tom. Gathering her skirts, Sarah carefully but swiftly made her was across the hectic remains of the "glorious" battle, stepping around the once human carnage.
Tom was sitting partially in the shade of a nearby oak. The darkness of the shade made him look even paler. His clothes looked as though he hadn't been able to hold his lunch or his water during the fight. Tom had never seen a battle before. Sarah only remembered that fact then. Luke's head lay on his lap twisting and turning in some mysterious nightmare. Tom's coat, once a stately, gallant red now the color of rusty blood, was laid gently across his upper body
"Is he… dead?" Sarah could hardly bring herself to think of such a thing. She hadn't been in camp for a long time, but even she could tell that Luke was very dear to tom. He would never recover if something happened to Luke. Tom looked up at her with half dead eyes.
"No, not yet. He took a Bullet in the side for me. I'm not going to leave him alone, not until the medic comes." His voice was only a shadow of its former joyful, lusty tenor. Tom didn't sugar coat anything. In normal circumstances, this was one of the things Sarah liked about him. He didn't guard his speech from her, just because she was a lady. Now though, it made her sick. Her mind fled to James. Where was he? Dead? Bleeding? Every fiber of her prayed that he was all right.
Sarah sat with tom for a while, before the medic finally arrived. The old man took one look at Luke and began working with vigor. He turned to tom and reassured him," your friend will be all right. He's still got a lot of the fight left in him. Now your company's moving towards the old south bridge. I suggest you join them." see the look of hopelessness of tom's face, the medic turned to Sarah, "you look like a proper English girl. Make sure your brother rejoins his company before the fighting begins. God save the king."
Sarah did as she was told. Taking one arm, Sarah lead tom, who was focused on Luke, towards the large group of soldiers gathering in preparation. Once Luke was no longer in sight, tom settled, if on a bit uneasily, among the group. He waved goodbye as Sarah positioned herself behind an old tombstone in a nearby cemetery, a rather morbid location at best.
Once she was in place, she could then focus on what the old medic said. There was going to be more fighting? What was the point? Many loyal soldiers and farmers were already hurt and dying; and they wanted to continue just for pride's sake. That's all this matter was, really. Defending the pride of the British crown with the lives of her people.
God save the king? Sarah questioned silently to herself. No, god save us all.
James pov
James waited for something, anything to happen. The militia had finally arrived to where the regulars were, and the two parties were eyeing each other with equal distain. Then, suddenly, a shot rang out, the origin hidden from all but god himself, turning the uneasy feel in the air to outright brawl. James ducked behind the wall, cursing the fact that his view of the British was blocked the militia. He could only hope that Sarah was covering thing okay on the British side of things. Maybe together, they'd have a decent story.
The sight in front of James was so grisly, he had to fight to keep his food down. Men only a few years older than him were howling in anguish. Gray haired farmers, who probably grew up hearing of the great Indian battles, were dropping like flies. Voices boomed like cannons, yelling nonsense. Bullets tore through the air in a mad dash, stopping only when they meet their victims in a deadly collision of human will. The victims fell to the group as if pulled there by the angel of death. Everything with marked with an ungodly shade of red. Officers cried orders to their men, trying in vain to regain the order that would never again exist.
Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped. James quickly followed the militia in their retreat, not wanting to stop and take in what he had seen. He felt sick and weak. Try as he might, James knew he could never do anything like what the men did. He could write about great deeds, heroic adventures, and the glory of battle, but he would never have the courage and will to participate in them himself. He couldn't tell whether that made him hypocritical or sane.
James turned toward the young militia man (more of a boy, really) and studied him. His clothes were dotted with the dark red, almost brown, mark of the dead. He couldn't have been more than a few months older than him. This was probably his first time fighting, his trial by fire. He must have grown up with stories of courageous actions taken by his father during the last war. James needed his story.
"Excuse me, my name is James hiller, and I'm a reporter. I'd like to hear your story, if you don't mind." The solider boy turned to him, and gave an uneasy smile. He spoke, in a voice that was once filled with confidence (and maybe a little cockiness) but was now a hollow shell," it's okay. I'm glad someone wants to know. I'm Daniel parker. You've meet my dad, captain john. "
"Yes, I have. Did you join the militia because of him?"
"You got me!" Daniel laughed. "I guess I spent so much time listening to his stories, I wanted to make some for myself. Mr. Dent, I'm apprenticed to him, agreed to give me some time to train with the militia men. He's a good man. Most wouldn't do that."
"You're an apprentice too? What are in training for?" James needed all the facts, and he was beginning to like Daniel.
"Ship building. It's a good trade, if you can find the wood. Half of the navy's made in good old New England. One day, I'm going to have a shop of my own. I'll build the best ships in the colonies, and you can quote me on that."
"I wouldn't dare to leave it out." James joked. But getting serious, he felt the questions he should be asking slip off his tongue. "What's your opinion of the British sending tropes over to the colonies?
Daniels merry attitude faded slightly, "I hate it. I understand paying back debts own, but to taxes us without a voice is just inhuman. I hope we can settle things soon though. Going to war with the largest navy in the world is bad for business." He smiled and his own poor attempt at a joke.
The men were near the old north bridge preparing for another encounter at that point. Captain parker turned and motioned Daniel towards him. He gave him some orders, which Daniel answered with a large," yes sir" and a clumsy solute, cashing the men to chortle. Daniel hurried his way back to James.
"My father says that he wants you to take cover. There's a graveyard at the other side of the bridge that should work okay. You'll have to sneak across the river, but it should be easy enough."
"I will, thanks. Meet me after the battle. You still owe me half an interview." James joked. Then, waving goodbye he got into position for the second time in just as many hours.
James hoped it would be the last.
End
Well, the revolution has finally officially started! Kudos to all of you readers for putting up with me for so long! It was bound to happen eventually.
I know in reality, captain parker didn't have a son at the battle, but Daniel will come into play later down the line. Ship building really was a big industry in New England during the colonial period, because of the poor soil in the region. The stuff you learn in AP. An apprenticeship in the 18th century basically meant that when you were about 12 or 13, your parents signed you up to work for anywhere from 5-10 years with a trade master and learn the trade yourself. Basically, your master "owned" you for that time. Masters varied from person to person and trade to trade. You were basically their servant in order to pay for your education. Ouch. Sounds a lot like modern student loans.
Well, comment and fav, if only to cure my boredom in English. We're reading Huck Finn.