Day of Honor 01_ Ancient Blood - Diane Carey [107]
On O’Heyne’s last two words, a Dover infantryman rushed up and tried to go over the barricade between Picard and Alexander, and was met by a musketblast that twisted his head full about, though his body remained facing forward.
Alexander blinked right up into that terrible sight, the laid-open face, the stare of a remaining eye, until finally the man stumbled backward—was he still alive?—and dropped to his knees. The mass of gore wobbled, and fell forward on top of Alexander.
The boy yelled out his fear and kicked fiercely. Picard shoved the heavy body off the boy and thought about holding the program.
But he didn’t say it.
“Sir!” On Picard’s other side, Nightingale came to life and pointed at the British lines.
Picard, O’Heyne, Jeremiah, and the others all peeked through the barricade. The British, rather than being driven back by the appearance of the Dover Light Infantry, were rising from the bloodied dirt.
Another officer, or someone who had taken that role, waved a sword and screamed, “Chaaaaarge!”
And the invasion became a stampede. Hell cracked open. British soldiers plowed over the barricade to meet the Dover Infantry. Men from both sides fell in heaps, entangled enemy with enemy, and died in each other’s embrace.
“Fall back!” Picard shouted.
He grabbed Alexander and rushed to his right, shoving
Nightingale before him, hoping the others would follow. They were just in the way now.
Suddenly he tripped over something and slammed to his knees. Before him, Edward Nightingale’s neck had been torn open. Picard had tripped on the midshipman’s paralyzed legs.
“Aw!” Alexander choked as if it had been his neck instead of the midshipman’s.
Half of Nightingale’s left shoulder was gone, too. The young man’s eyes pleaded and his hand dug into Alexander’s sleeve.
“He’s still alive!” Alexander gasped. “We’ve got to save him!”
Picard put the muzzle of his long rifle to the midshipman’s chest, careful to angle it so the ball wouldn’t roll out. He pulled the trigger. The gun discharged, blew a hole in Nightingale’s heart, and the young officer’s beseeching eyes glazed over mercifully.
“I can’t believe you did that!” Alexander choked.
“You came here to learn,” Picard said coldly. “Now you’re learning. Let’s go.”
With Seaman Bennett stumbling before them and Sandy and Jeremiah after—there was no sign of O’Heyne now— they dodged into the protection of a building. On the street behind them, a mass of uniformed men tangled. More and more redcoats surged out of the woods, though. The Dover Lights were being overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
Jeremiah scrambled out into the street and yanked the red jackets off two dead grenadiers. Somehow he made it back alive and shoved the bloodied jackets into Picard and Sandy’s hands.
“Put these on,” he said. “The agreement is satisfied. Do what you must. Thank you for being honorable men.” He gripped Sandy’s arm. “Thank you most sincerely.”
And without waiting for a family farewell, Jeremiah plunged back out onto the street and into the fight. He disappeared in the pall of white smoke.
Sandy gazed after him sorrowfully.
“What’ll we do now, sir?” Bennett choked out.
Picard paused, then raked on the jacket. It was too big, but would serve to keep him from being shot by both sides. At least now only one side would shoot him.
“Defend the ship,” he said. “The colonists will burn it before allowing it to be repossessed and used against them.”
“How do you know?” Alexander asked.
“Because that’s what I would do. The shipyard! Follow me!”
Chapter Twenty
THEY MADE IT TO THE DOCK ALIVE.
Behind them, patriots plunged through the streets, along with panicked residents, mostly women. Some of the women weren’t panicking at all, but were busily reloading muskets and relaying them to nearby men.
Picard led his little band to the top of the wharf, leading out to where the Justina rested at the point of deepest water, for her draft was