A/N: First off, this is from Dipper's POV. This is a darker chapter, and our usual insanity-laced comedy is missing. Also, there is character death.

Dear Father,

Things have been rough this past year. General Washington's army has suffered horrid losses as Brandywine and Germantown. Worst of all we have lost Philadelphia to the Redcoats, and the Continental Congress has fled. We are always on the move, as Washington hopes to find shelter before winter sets in. We have are now in the small village known as White Marsh, though I have heard that we might heading to Valley Forge later this month. But don't fear for our safety, Father. My brother and I have lived through worse.

Your son,

Dipper Pines

I handed the letter to a messenger, and he rode down a dusty old trail that led to my father's cottage in Massachusetts. I sighed, feeling a little homesick. It had been a few months since I had been back home. My brother noticed me and walked over.

"You okay?" Soos said. I managed a smile. Soos, who was nearing his 18th birthday, was the finest brother a person could have. Back at our cottage, he taught me hunting, fishing, farming, and how to be a good person. Soos was large for his age and moved a bit awkwardly, though he made up for this in his spirit and determination. His loyalty through the latest engagements had earned him a promotion, something he held with pride.

"Don't worry, Soos. I guess I'm just a little...nervous about our next battle," I told him. I glanced at a few wounded soldiers carried on stretchers.

"You'll get over it. At least you got put in our Great Uncle's unit." I nodded. Great Uncle Stanford fought and lost his right eye and in the French and Indian War, and because of his experience he gained the rank of Major in the Continental Army. A gambler, drinker, and a fighter, Stanford lived life to the fullest and took crap from no-one. He was also the cheapest man I have ever known. For a mere bribe, he let me, a fourteen year old boy, into the army.

But I'm grateful. Our crusade for independence must not fail.

"Oh, and before I forget." Soos rummaged through his napsack for a moment, then pulled out an old dusty book. Peculiarly, it bore a golden, six fingered hand on the mahogany-colored cover. "This is the book I bought at the auction in New York last summer. I think it's time you got to read it." I took it from his hands carefully. The book was one of Soos' prized possessions, and he had never let anybody else read it before.

"Soos, just...thank you!" I showed my gratitude. Soos noddded, then took off my tricorne hat and ruffled my hair. He placed the hat back on my head, and walked back to his tent. However, he interrupted by a large wail coming from the camp's entrance. I turned and my jaw dropped. It was the messenger!

Soos and I sprinted over to help him. The messenger was grabbing his side in pain, his face twisted in agony. A trail of blood followed him. Soos grabbed the man just before he collapsed. "What happened?"

"It was the British!" the messenger cried. This got the attention of a few more men, who sprinted over. However, Soos stopped them.

"We need to get this man to a doctor! Someone get a doctor!" He commanded. A rebel nodded then ran to the doctor's tent. Soos turned his attention back to the man. "Stay with us, dude!"

"What's all this ruckus?!" I heard a gruff voice question. Major Stanford jumped off his horse, landing right next to me. He saw the wounded man and frowned. "What happened, son?" I resisted to urge to vomit, but I'm not sure it was from the messenger's wounds or Stanford's breath.

"The British are coming, sir! A whole lot of them," the messenger responded. Soos picked up the man and carried him toward the doctor.

"How many are there?" Stanford asked.

"Must have been at least 15,000, all under the command of Colonel Gideon Gleeful." Stanford swore and spit out his cigar. "They're probably going to reach us in 15 minutes!" the messenger continued.

"Corporal Soos, take this man to the doctor. I'll go rally the troops." Soos nodded and scurried away. Stanford then sprinted toward a barn, where he rang a large bell hurriedly. Everybody stopped what they were doing and stood in attention.

"Men, the time is now at hand. The British are approaching our positions, hoping to take away our rights, our liberty, our FREEDOM! Can we let this happen?!"

"NO!" The patriots roared.

"No, we cannot. So let it be determined, here today, that we can stand up for ourselves. Now, BATTLE STATIONS!"

"OOOOORRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH HHH!" Everybody cheered. A rebel started ringing the bell as the base got ready for the attack. Men retrieved their powder kegs and rifles, while others carried large boxes of supplies. I went to join Soos in the medical tent, but Stanford stopped me in my tracks.

"Pines, I need you to help the cannon crew on the ledge over there," he ordered. I gulped nervously. I've never seen combat before, and I expected to stay with Soos the entire time.

"But-"

"No buts!" Stanford interrupted. "When you signed up, you agreed to do whatever I say. Now move!" Stanford shoved my back, and I stumbled forward on weak knees. I picked up a rifle from a stand, and ran over to the cannon's position.

The leader of the cannon crew was a 22-year-old man named Robert V. He loathed me, and I had no idea why. Perhaps he was having issues with his fiance and decided to take it out on me. But what could I do? I'm just a 14-year-old punching bag.

I approached the cannon crew. Most of the men peered out of the ledge, looking at the huge size of the advancing British army. A man named Nate turned around and noticed me. "Sir, we have another man to help us out," he told Robert.

Robert saw me and laughed. "Man? It's just that stupid Pines kid." I sighed. I was not enjoying this at all.

"Major Stanford-"

"Major Stanford is a half-blind fool!" Robert interrupted me. "He's caught up in his own issues, and has no idea how to lead an army." I looked at the other soldiers. All of them looked uncomfortable about Robert's somewhat treasonous words. A few frowned. However, we were all interrupted by the first shots of the battle. Robert looked back over the edge, attempting to judge the British position. He smiled. "C'mon, boys! The British' days are numbered.

A few cheered, then set to work. A burley man named Thompson picked up a cannonball and passed it to Patriot named Lee, who pushed into the cannon's barrel. Nate threw a pack of gunpowder to me, which I managed to catch. I poured some of it into the barrel, then forced it down with a large rod. When it was all set, I signaled Robert, who rolled his eyes. He got behind the cannon and fixed its aim. He then lit the fuse.

A large BOOM shook the earth as the first cannonball fired. We watched it sail across the sky before hurtling into a British platoon. We smiled as they scattered in confusion. Unfortunately, our victory was short-lived. Another platoon took the fallen men's place. So we repeated the process, careful not to make a mistep. The cannon fired over and over, but whenever a British unit went down, another replaced it. We could not stop their march. Unfortunately, their cannons came into range.

And fired at our position.

Robert saw the projectile first. His voice, now screechy in terror, yelled in alarm. "EVERYBODY DOWN!" The patriots panicked and dove behind whatever they could find for cover. As for me, I ducked behind a tree, praying this wouldn't be the end.

The cannonball struck our position, destroying the cannon and wounding a few men, whose screams were all too loud. The smoke from the destruction blinded me, so I dropped to the ground. The snow crumbled under my weight, and for a moment I felt safe and secure. Snow would protect me from this madness. But that's when I heard the cry.

"THEY'RE COMING OVER THE TOP!" I looked up and saw that several British troops scaled the ledge and were now sprinting toward us, bayonets at the ready. The wails of the rebels as they were ruthlessly cut down were nearly unbearable. A few of them attempted to fire back, but the British were overwhelming. I noticed Nate firing into the redcoat mass, but he too was struck down.

It was then when I realized I had no weapon. I crawled around, ignoring the carnage as best as I could. I found a rifle on top of Thompson's dead body, and picked it up gingerly. There was blood on the weapon, but I held onto to it anyway. I stood up, and peered into the smoke and death, looking for red jackets. I saw one, and fired.

I have no idea if I actually hit somebody, but at the moment it seemed as if 20 musketballs were sent my way. Thankfully, they all missed me, insteading hitting trees and bushes and other rebels. I struggled to reload my weapon, then realized it wouldn't be worth it. I threw the rifle and sprinted back down the path, away from the deadly warzone.

It appears the other rebels had the same idea, as Robert and the remaining patriots all followed. The British fired at us, and I saw a few of my comrades collapse. I continued sprinting as the musketballs whizzed past my head. I rounded a corner, nearly slipping in the snow. I grabbed a tree branch to steady myself, and then flung myself forward. The rebels and I must have looked pretty scared out of my wits, because we heard the British yell at us.

"YOU YANKEE DOODLES ARE ALL COWARDS!" they taunted. "RUN, WEAKLINGS!"

I may be a weakling, but at least I'm a living weakling.

Our retreating forms made our way back to Stanford's position. The Major was leading some soldiers who were defending the barn from the British onslaught. He notciced us and glared. "What are you doing here?!" The other men ran in another directions, leaving me with Stanford all alone. "Well, kid? What happened?!"

"The B-British!" I said in between gasps for air. "They overran our p-position, sir!" The memories of lifeless bodies entered my mind.

"Blast it!" Stanford swore. He gazed across the battlefield. Most of the Patriots were retreating from the British, who still remained in their neatly formed rows. They had nearly reached the barn. Stanford looked through his bag and pulled out of a flute. He forced it into my hands. "Pines, get up to the front lines and play the tune for 'retreat'." I gripped the flute tightly, and sprinted away. I forced myself through the mass body of retreating figures, who were clearly scared out of their minds.

The chaos of the battle made the notes jumble around in my mind. "Remember, Dipper, remem-" It was then when I saw Soos.

Through the retreating Patriots, I could see him stay in his position. With a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other, he fought off several British soldiers while his comrades retreated. I smiled and reached for my knife, hoping to help him. However, the sound of calvary interrupted my thoughts.

Colonel Gleeful was personally leading the calvary charge. He stood out among his other officers, who slouched forward, mentally preparing for the upcoming attack. Instead, Gleeful stood straight, casually striking at Patriots with a sword he held in his right hand. The Patriots ran away from him, though he continued to slice them down. I then noticed he was heading directly at Soos.

"SOOS!" I screamed. My brother turned and gave a faint smile. I swore, because then I realized I had distracted him. This allowed Gleeful to strike at Soos' back, sending him to the ground.

Time seemed to slow as my brother lay there. Gleeful just sat on his horse next to him, slowly pulling out a pistol. "MAJOR PINES!" he called. Nobody answered, and I held my breath in fear. "I believe I have something that belongs to you!" He pointed the pistol at the prone form of Soos.

I then noticed that Soos was simply unconcious, and was slowly awakening. He sat up slowly, until he came in contact with the front end of the pistol. He looked up with his eyes, realization slowly dawning on him. His jaw dropped.

"If you hadn't noticed, a rebellion of this sort is treason!" Gleeful continued. "And the punishment for treason is death!" He placed his finger on the trigger, and my knees went weak. "Because you haven't shown up and faced the consequences for your actions, I put your great nephew in your place!" It was then Soos saw me. He gave me another light smile. I fell to one knee, unable to cope with the situation.

"CONSIDER THIS...AN INVITATION TO OPEN WAR, MAJOR!" He yelled. He gave whoever was watching one final victorious smirk.

He then pulled the trigger.

If time had slowed, it had now stopped completely. The gunshot echoed across the battlefield, somehow standing out among the others. I managed to stand, and stumbled to Soos' body. Blood was all over the snow and his remains. Soos was a great brother and great friend. How could someone kill him? I glared daggers at the colonel. He must pay! "Gideon Gleeful, I swear, one day, I will find you and KILL YOU!"

Gleeful jumped off his horse and laughed spitefully. Surprisingly, the colonel was the same height as me. "Why not today?" he asked. He got into a fighting stance and pointed to the knife in my hand. "Kill me boy." That's when I snapped.

I screamed crazily and lunged at him with my knife, aiming at his chest. He sidestepped me, and my mometum carried me past him. I attempted to turn, but I slipped in the snow and fell. Gleeful laughed again. "Can you kill me?" I stood back up and jumped towards him, hoping the downward momentum would help my knife attack. However, Gleeful grabbed my wrist and threw me sideways. The sudden stop was so surprising it caused me to drop the knife.

I crashed into the snow, and landed on my stomach. I couldn't move; I was too exhausted and tired. Gleeful picked up the knife, twirling it in his hand. "I'll mark that day on my calendar, boy." He raised the knife, then striked.

And everything went black.

A/N: I hoped you enjoyed this. This story arc is harder and longer to write, so a few more chapters will be posted before the sequel to this is posted.