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Authors: Traitorous Hearts
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different stories. I don't
suppose I'd have much trouble getting my superiors to believe me."
He flicked his hand slightly, his forefinger upraised. At the
signal, his troops lifted their muskets in one move, each selecting a target in
the front lines of the colonial forces. The Americans raised their own weapons,
determination steeling each man. They were untrained, but they had their
families at their backs. There was no better incentive.
This couldn't be happening. Bennie felt a trickle of sweat slide
between her shoulder blades. How could she be sweating, when she was so cold?
Around her, women rushed to get their children into the fragile shelter of the
buildings, but Bennie was rooted in place, unable to make herself move.
This could not be happening.
Rising to her tiptoes, she took a look over the heads of the men,
suddenly grateful for her height. She could see only the back of her father's
head and shoulders, so she moved to the side of the main body of colonists,
oblivious of the fact that she was leaving herself an open target.
Silence. How could so many people make so little noise? There was
no creak of leather boots, no rustle of cloth, not even the whisper of the wind
through the trees. Just overwhelming, terrible silence.
A loud, squealing wail shattered the quiet. A fat pink pig from
last spring's litter, not quite grown, bolted between the two groups of men.
Splotched black with mud from the hollow, it shouldered its way through the
tiny space between the captain and Cad, leaving dark streaks on the captain's
white breeches and gaiters. He stumbled back, only at the last instant managing
to regain his balance and avoid falling ignominiously on his rump.
The pig continued to dash wildly through the crowds, squealing
loudly, as if a butcher was after it. It wove between the alert soldiers,
pushing them out of formation, causing several to drop loaded muskets, which
they frantically scrambled to grab before the weapons could accidentally go
off.
It was chaos. Half the men stared agape at the unexpected
intruder. The other half dodged to get out of its way.
"Somebody get that stupid pig!" the captain shouted,
staring sadly at the soiled mess of his best dress breeches.
"I'll get it, Cap'n!" Jon charged through the men, his
massive shoulders causing nearly as much commotion as the pig. He stumbled
after it, diving and missing, only to jump to his feet and tumble after it
again. He trailed in its wake, his arms spread wide as if ready to embrace a
lover, not even noticing the havoc he wreaked.
At least half a dozen men, both colonial and British, were upended
as Jon shoved his way after the frantic animal; they rose grumbling, nursing
bruised posteriors.
"Almost got him!" Indeed, he did seem to be gaining
slowly. The desperate animal took off at a dead run for its favorite mudhole.
Reaching the hollow, it took a reckless leap into the dubious safety of its
brethren, burrowing itself deeply in the sticky mud.
"I... got it!" Jon took a massive, rash dive. He landed
with a splat, spread-eagled face down in the muck, sinking in at least a
handspan with the force of his landing. Black clumps of mud flew, splattering
the already grubby pigs.
Both arms wrapped around the wriggling, struggling pig, Jon rolled
over to face the astonished spectators. His hat was gone, his mud-bedaubed hair
stuck out in wet clumps, and he was black from top to bottom; his pale eyes
showed light in his grime-covered face, as did his broad, triumphant grin.
"I got it!"
The crowd on the common was quiet with stunned disbelief. Cad and
Captain Livingston cautiously approached the edge of the wallow, staring down
at the pigs scrambling around the lieutenant.
"Well, Leighton, you certainly did get it," Livingston
said calmly.
Laughter swept the clearing, ripsnorting, sidesplitting laughter.
Laughter that swelled through both groups of men, an irresistible wave of
gaiety.
Cad held on to his sides, trying to suppress his monstrous
suppose I'd have much trouble getting my superiors to believe me."
He flicked his hand slightly, his forefinger upraised. At the
signal, his troops lifted their muskets in one move, each selecting a target in
the front lines of the colonial forces. The Americans raised their own weapons,
determination steeling each man. They were untrained, but they had their
families at their backs. There was no better incentive.
This couldn't be happening. Bennie felt a trickle of sweat slide
between her shoulder blades. How could she be sweating, when she was so cold?
Around her, women rushed to get their children into the fragile shelter of the
buildings, but Bennie was rooted in place, unable to make herself move.
This could not be happening.
Rising to her tiptoes, she took a look over the heads of the men,
suddenly grateful for her height. She could see only the back of her father's
head and shoulders, so she moved to the side of the main body of colonists,
oblivious of the fact that she was leaving herself an open target.
Silence. How could so many people make so little noise? There was
no creak of leather boots, no rustle of cloth, not even the whisper of the wind
through the trees. Just overwhelming, terrible silence.
A loud, squealing wail shattered the quiet. A fat pink pig from
last spring's litter, not quite grown, bolted between the two groups of men.
Splotched black with mud from the hollow, it shouldered its way through the
tiny space between the captain and Cad, leaving dark streaks on the captain's
white breeches and gaiters. He stumbled back, only at the last instant managing
to regain his balance and avoid falling ignominiously on his rump.
The pig continued to dash wildly through the crowds, squealing
loudly, as if a butcher was after it. It wove between the alert soldiers,
pushing them out of formation, causing several to drop loaded muskets, which
they frantically scrambled to grab before the weapons could accidentally go
off.
It was chaos. Half the men stared agape at the unexpected
intruder. The other half dodged to get out of its way.
"Somebody get that stupid pig!" the captain shouted,
staring sadly at the soiled mess of his best dress breeches.
"I'll get it, Cap'n!" Jon charged through the men, his
massive shoulders causing nearly as much commotion as the pig. He stumbled
after it, diving and missing, only to jump to his feet and tumble after it
again. He trailed in its wake, his arms spread wide as if ready to embrace a
lover, not even noticing the havoc he wreaked.
At least half a dozen men, both colonial and British, were upended
as Jon shoved his way after the frantic animal; they rose grumbling, nursing
bruised posteriors.
"Almost got him!" Indeed, he did seem to be gaining
slowly. The desperate animal took off at a dead run for its favorite mudhole.
Reaching the hollow, it took a reckless leap into the dubious safety of its
brethren, burrowing itself deeply in the sticky mud.
"I... got it!" Jon took a massive, rash dive. He landed
with a splat, spread-eagled face down in the muck, sinking in at least a
handspan with the force of his landing. Black clumps of mud flew, splattering
the already grubby pigs.
Both arms wrapped around the wriggling, struggling pig, Jon rolled
over to face the astonished spectators. His hat was gone, his mud-bedaubed hair
stuck out in wet clumps, and he was black from top to bottom; his pale eyes
showed light in his grime-covered face, as did his broad, triumphant grin.
"I got it!"
The crowd on the common was quiet with stunned disbelief. Cad and
Captain Livingston cautiously approached the edge of the wallow, staring down
at the pigs scrambling around the lieutenant.
"Well, Leighton, you certainly did get it," Livingston
said calmly.
Laughter swept the clearing, ripsnorting, sidesplitting laughter.
Laughter that swelled through both groups of men, an irresistible wave of
gaiety.
Cad held on to his sides, trying to suppress his monstrous
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