The Immortal American

  ~*~

  Jacque was right, the Regulars made their way out of Lexington a few minutes later. Mathew’s pocket watch read it was four in the afternoon, and as soon as the field pieces were incapable of firing, the militia began their attack. There were more than twice as many redcoats now. Flanking the long red line were fresh troops, eagerly searching the woods for something to fire at.

  I paralleled Mathew at all times, and now Sam was stationed next to me. Mathew’s platoon were getting very good at finding the perfect covering, firing upon the Regulars, then racing away without injury. The Regulars were a walking red target. They did not fare as well.

  Within a half hour the Regulars and Provincial militias approached the small village of Menotomy. By then the fresh Regular troops had gotten very accurate at firing into the woods. Further the Provincials were beginning to get arrogant—not a good combination. I could understand the Provincials’ cockiness. Throughout the last few hours the other town’s militia’s kept pouring in men. Sam had told me that Colonel Barrett, who was no longer the commanding officer, had thought that at least four thousand militia, minutemen, and other Massachusetts men who wanted to join the fight crouched in the woods, firing on the redcoats. Four thousand.

  Perhaps because there were so many militia, not soldiers who had been trained into obedience, all hell broke loose as the redcoats entered Menotomy.

  “Shit,” Sam offered as we watched several militiamen get shot as they approached the redcoats. Some militiamen hid behind houses. If the Regulars discovered them, the redcoats shot the men then barged into the house that the militia soldiers had hid behind, firing off more rounds in the home. The cacophony of hundreds of shots being fired made my ears feel like they might be bleeding from the inside. Then militiamen emerged from the copse and fought in the open.

  “Go,” Sam yelled and shoved me up the hill. He pointed with his eyes away from the village, away from the turmoil.

  The militia chased after the Regulars. Both armies ran into the town of Menotomy, firing their muskets. The skirmish transformed into something even more brutal—hand-to-hand combat.

  “Go!” Sam yelled again.

  I shook my head, watching the world blaze on fire, but let him shove me away again. Then, he turned and ran for the village. Orange flames licked a barn close-by and burned my brain. I hadn’t thought this would happen. We were supposed to just snipe at the Regulars, make them sorry for what they had done in Lexington and the North Bridge, then when we ran them back to Boston, we’d all have a good laugh at their expense. No. No. This was not supposed to happen.

  Mathew.

  Like an earthquake rupturing my senses, everything in my body reminded me to find him. I had to find Mathew.

  He was my everything.

  I packed a bullet into my rifle and began running, my eyes searching for the bright red orange of Cherry. Racing into the outskirts of the fighting, I saw men wrestling, punching with their muskets, or bayonet for the redcoats, or using knives or their own fists. Not the whole lot of the militia joined in the face-to-face fighting, and I’d wager that most of the militia were still burrowed in the woods, but it was enough to look like complete chaos. Where was Mathew? He was only fifteen feet away when some of the militiamen ran into Menotomy, then Sam had yelled, and when I looked again, Mathew was gone. He had to be in here, somewhere.

  I almost stumbled across a redcoat on his belly who gripped at the grass. He coated the lush green lawn with his red blood. His red coat mushroomed darker at the center of his back. He looked up at me, blinking, and oddly smiled.

  “An angel . . .” Then his head heavily fell against the ground.

  Pivoting, I looked for Cherry. There were many horses in the Common, but none as bright a red as Mathew’s sorrel. I got into an altercation with a redcoat, who punched my ear, then upon seeing my face said, “Oh, pardon me, miss.”

  I broke his nose with the butt of my rifle and ran away.

  My ear throbbed, and when I checked it was bleeding. I heard the beating of my heart better. It was a loud infernal noise, amplifying the picture before me of fighting men, vicious fists, wicked sharp edged knives, wounded flesh, and so much blood. From my periphery I caught sight of a bright red orange. Cherry!

  He was without his owner.