Choking on the Red Pill

AI Generated Image

It's been a long time since I've shared one of my rants as the Chant's pithy political part-time poster. While it's not quite publish or perish here, I do feel the Catholic guilt weighing on me slightly since my name is on the header, and Juvat has been carrying all the water when Sarge needs a break. So I'll just get into it.  Fair warning: It's not going to be pretty and I'm going to reference some horrifying items (Epstein file info) that you won't find in the mainstream news, and that's part of the problem.

The past year of news has been eye-opening to say the least, with some of it being awe-inspiring, and another part of it being absolutely shocking, to the point that I don't really know what to think about it all.  I once thought that the media went after Trump because during his first term he called them fake news.  However, it's now been revealed through DOGE, USAid funding reports, Epstein file releases, the Russian collusion hoax and Hunter Biden's laptop, FBI director Kash Patel's briefings, vaccine injury reports, and more, that this benign insult was a massive oversimplification of the issue on my part.  

Source

Source

Considering all the revelations, mainly from FBI releases since Trump took office, we see that Trump was and remains, a threat to a bunch of folks that were getting rich from the fraud that was going on through USAID, Ukraine funding, insider trading, and support from rich billionaires.  It was enabled by the the media and attack-dog politicians who fight him at every turn.  Trump is threatening their power base that relies on that fraud, with NGOs siphoning off our tax dollars, election rigging, media manipulation, and lock-step democrats who not only criticize every Trump action, but can never admit to any of his successes, and will even block them to ensure Trump gets no credit.  The fact that they've tried to kill him multiple times is also some clear evidence of him being a threat.¹ 

Source

The Epstein files are another high level saga that is clearly being protected by some very powerful people.  The "files" was first just thought of as a list of "clients" visiting his island, but we know know the files consisted of millions of pages of investigative reports, emails, and media.  After Epstein's arrest and detention, the focus was on how he supposedly died.  Then the story shifted to whether or not Trump was in the files, resulting in a full scale endless demand from the left for their release.  Then once the files were released and Trump wasn't revealed as a participant in the terrible activities on the island, the Washington left and much of the right went silent.  There was no investigation into the horrors there, no demand for justice for the victims, little to no shaming of those revealed, and due to Iran and Venezuela, it has quietly fallen out of the news.  

I read many pages (and viewed a few vids) of the release and it disgusts me- so many crimes, so many victims.   It also revealed how Epstein was in contact with so many rich and powerful, acting as a "Hyper-Fixer," brokering deals at an elite level, and facilitating introductions between billionaires, politicians, and scientists.  He also provided consulting and strategic advice to major financial groups, such as the Edmond de Rothschild Group.  Then there's also the evidence of him acting as an agent for some unknown organization or flag, creating honey-trap situations for probable leverage operations², and having powerful friends who intervened for him.  The fact that his girlfriend Ghislaine Maxwell was arrested for sex trafficking, and he himself was a convicted pedophile, add weight to the disgusting revelations.  I won't go too much into some of the media that was released, but one included a young girl and an adult male, one as victim, one as perpetrator.  Enough said.

I feel bad for the victims, frustrated that justice isn't being served, but it shows that there are some very powerful people involved.

Source

I'm sure Trump made no friends with those elites, releasing the files exposing the names and activity, which threatens them.  Meanwhile Trump is making eye-watering changes on a global scale (for those paying attention), playing four dimensional chess.  He's weakening China and Russia by cutting off their cheap oil from both Venezuela and Iran, making the world safer, yet he seems to be under constant attack from the left and the media.  America is growing stronger, our enemies weaker, life becoming more affordable for the average American, and the border is secure, but you'd barely hear that from anyone that isn't a conservative podcaster, a few Fox reporters, the White House Press Secretary, or Newsmax.  Despite all the good that is happening to America, and Trump helping ensure peace and stability across the world, he receives little credit, gets constant criticism, and our American interests aren't fully allowed to prosper because of the left blocking him at every turn.   

While Trump and Patel are working hard to uncover all the corruption, they're fighting not only the Democratic tide but the Republican one as well.  

Source

While we're seeing an executive branch that is fearless, and honest towards its promises to us to put America first, Trump doesn't have full support from his own party.  We are watching the GOP, which has a majority in Congress, reveal themselves as part of the uniparty because they can't even pass the Save Act- something that 80% of the country wants.³  Election integrity is something completely non-partisan, and if 80% of Americans want it, the other 20% must be either too simple-minded to understand the issue, or are actually benefiting from the fraudulent votes and corruption.  That tells me us that they are all bought off and none of them are working for the American people.  They're probably working directly for the deep state or at least taking some some cash payments for turning a blind eye, keeping silent, and maintaining the status quo.

Source

I miss the way I viewed the world before I knew too much about it, but that's in the past and I can't go back.  Ignorance was bliss and not knowing was comforting. However, for the liars and cheats that kept us dumb and happy, their greed became too great, the lies got too blatant, the vaccine injuries too frequent and too extreme, and we started listening to the cacophony of angry (or grieving) parents, pissed off taxpayers, and aggrieved victims and innocents.  And the resulting or subsequent government ineffectiveness, dysfunction, and idiocy as the media turned a blind eye to it was laid bare for all to see.  So some red pills are being swallowed and we are slowly (very slowly) demanding better of our leadership.  Maybe we're not at the point of demanding and seeing arrests, or voting them out of office, at least not yet, but we are seeing a a changing tide.  There's a definite turn away from the Democratic Party, with new voter registrations being decidedly Republican.  Many more people are polling conservative, and gravitating towards a more faith-centered life.  There's more acceptance of non-traditional media (and conversely away from MSM) and away from the evil corruption and greed that characterizes a now obvious and large segment of society, business, and government that still maintains control, but it's losing its grip.  Trump is trying to drain (or torch) the swamp, but he's only one man with a very optimistic to-do list.

So if we can't rely on the media, the medical industry, ballot boxes, govt institutions, including almost the entire legislative branch, and other formerly trustworthy organizations, and justice won't be served, where do we turn?  

I'm trying to turn off social media for one.  Maybe get outside and enjoy the sun.  Go for a walk or a hike.  Enjoy the beauty of God's creation.  Eat better- less processed crap and more nutritional ingredients that you cook yourself.  Go to Church.  Pray more.  Worry less.  Trust in Him.  

Will that help?  It'll help me.  Maybe it'll do the same for you.

I didn't get into this, maybe some other time, but how this came down is unexplained and deserves scrutiny.

Source

¹ And I don't believe for a second that a loner kid in Pennsylvania got through all those checkpoints and onto a building without anyone enabling that. 

² Source

³Update- the Senate FINALLY voted yesterday to advance it to the filibuster, after which it SHOULD pass on by the same tally, but you never know.  We've already seen how GOP lawmakers will vote FOR something they KNOW will never pass, just so they can look good to their constituents.  But the vote following the filibuster will "out" the RINOs.  However, this bill has been battered around the halls of congress since Jan 2025 so the legislative branch clearly doesn't want it. 

The Bloody Business Comes to an End

Source

"I expect that Percy should be well on the way to relieving Smith's column." General Thomas Gage's remark was meant to be conversational. His orderly was a promising young man from a very good family in England.

"I just hope he won't need more ammunition for his guns." The orderly commented as he brushed Gage's jacket so that it looked spotless.

"What d'ya mean by that, Mr. Bates?"

"General Percy didn't wish to be slowed by wagons, he wanted to get his men out there as quickly as possible. The only ammunition he has for his guns are in the side boxes."

Gage leapt to his feet and slammed his fists down on the desk. "Side boxes! And the men themselves only carry 36 rounds upon their persons. Is the man mad?"

"Sir, I couldn't venture a guess as to ..."

Gage tore a sheet of paper from a desk drawer and scribbled upon it, "Here Bates, take this to the Quartermaster. We need to send wagons out to Percy this instant."

"SIR!"

The column was staggering, many of the men just marched down the road, some were even dragging their weapons. Men were falling with no return fire going out.

"I think it's the end of us, Tommy." Andrews pulled his trigger again firing at a small group of colonials lingering by a house not far from the road.

"Bastards are getting bold!" Holloway noted as he fired his own weapon.

The column had been hit hard just outside Lexington, probably by the same militia they had chased off that morning, which felt like a long, long time ago. Now word rippled down the column that more regulars could be seen not far from Lexington. Apparently another thousand men, with two cannon, had arrived on the scene. Men wearing the red coats of the King!

The lieutenant commanding the two wagons laughed when he saw the thin line of men standing in the road ahead. None of the men looked a day younger than sixty.

"What 'ave we 'ere lads, the colonials have sent their grandads out to stop us." The lieutenant gestured at the line, men too old to be a part of the regular militia. But these old veterans kept their names on the alarm list, ready to go into action when called.

And called they had been when word of the fighting out towards Concord reached them. One or two had watched the regulars march by that morning, had heard the firing at Lexington, had heard the rumors from Concord that the regulars were being hit all along the road.

They'd reached a consensus, take up position behind this new force of regulars to intercept any dispatches going to or coming from Boston. Now here were two of His Majesty's wagons escorted by no more that a dozen men. When the lieutenant had laughed at them, they had presented their firelocks and demanded the King's men throw down their arms.

"Drive on, Sergeant, I'll not be stopped by this elderly rabble."

The drivers got the horses moving, they'd roll over these old men and have done with it.

"FIRE!"

The lieutenant, no longer laughing, fell from his horse, grievously wounded. Two sergeants were killed instantly and some of the men fled, pitching their muskets into a nearby pond. The rest, six men, threw their weapons into the same pond then threw their hands in the air, begging for quarter.

Brigadier General Percy would be receiving no more ammunition.

Seamus ran forward with his companions, driving the remnants of Smith's column down the road. Firing another volley, they stopped to reload, one of the men cried out, "More redcoats lads, seems the King has sent us more targets!"

Seamus looked down the road, sure enough, lining a rise some four hundred yards away were fresh troops. As he watched, he saw two clouds of smoke issue from what must be cannon, followed a moment later by the screech of two iron balls overhead.

"Hold up, lads, hold up." The officers were restraining the men who were eager to rush forward, many of them ignorant of the danger the cannons posed. So the pursuit halted.

Smith's and Pitcairn's men raised a brief "Huzzah!" at the sight of the reinforcements. They were saved!

Andrews was getting the company sorted out, out of the 27 men who had left Boston that morning, only 12 remained. Some were dead, some had been left wounded on the road, and some had simply vanished.

Their column had pushed on through Percy's reinforcements, that worthy thinking it best to get those men back to safety while his own brigade covered the withdrawal. Percy's face burned with shame, here they were, the finest army on the planet, scurrying back to Boston, chased by an ill-armed rabble.

"D'ya hear that, Sarge?" Holloway paused and listened.

"Aye, I do lad. Sounds like Percy's boys are being introduced to our colonial friends. I'm glad we're leaving the dance at this point." Andrews shook his head, how had things come to such a pass?

As the sun got lower in the western sky, more militia had poured into the area and were now lining the route from Lexington to Boston. Around the village of Menotomy the militia pressed in on Percy's column.

His two cannon were fired continuously, trying to keep the road open to Boston. By the time Percy's guns had emptied their side boxes, the militiamen were more intent on ambushing the regulars from the houses along the route.

The fighting was bloody, many of the British light infantry, exhausted from chasing rebels all day lost control. Officers tried hard to restrain their men from killing everyone they found in a building from which they had been sniped at. It was some of the bloodiest fighting of the day.

The grenadiers had pushed through, driving the militia back from the road. Those militiamen gradually drifted away, the consensus being to let the redcoats return to Boston. The point of this day had been made.

The colonies would not submit without a fight.

Corporal Holloway lit his pipe and looked out over the Charles River to Boston. The lights in the town were already glittering as the sun set behind the western hills over which they had trekked that day.

Drawing in the tobacco smoke, holding it, then letting it out in one smooth stream, Holloway shook his head and leaned in close to his Sergeant.

"A bloody business, Allen. I don't think this will be the end of it."

Sergeant Andrews nodded, "I don't know what comes next, Boston is a tough nut to crack. The colonials don't have the means to move people over the water into a defended town, and Boston Neck is so narrow that ten men could hold off a mob. But no, I don't think it ends here."

"Think the King will send more men?"

"Ya, I think so. Once blood is spilled, things escalate. It's no longer a matter of cooler heads settling things by talking. The colonists spoke today with powder and shot, and embarrassed His Majesty's troops in the bargain. No lad, it will only worsen."

The company had stopped on the two hills next to Charlestown, Bunker's Hill and Breed's Hill. There were no boats to take them over the water back to their quarters, they'd be spending the night under the stars.

"Just hope it doesn't rain tonight." Holloway said, his gaze taking in the blood red sunset.

"Jaysus, even the sky is bleeding out that way." Andrews hoped that that was not a sign of things to come.

"Aye, Allen, the earth was bathed in English blood today. Theirs and ours."

Andrews sighed, he had a sudden thought of that girl back in Concord, cute lass she was. Wonder if I'll ever see her again.

Then he wondered, would he ever see England again?

The Remains of the Day

Parker's Revenge, April 19th, 1775
Don Troiani
Source

Jack Baker sat with his back to a barn, the pain in his midsection was getting worse, it was all he could do to keep from crying out. He figured that the colonials might still be about, the firing down by the road had lessened, it sounded like it was starting to fade as the fighting moved on.

He looked at his two mates sprawled nearby. It almost seemed as if his mate Johnnie was staring at him, accusing him of surviving while Johnnie himself lay dead. Will's back was to him, he had gone down hard in the volley from the farmers they'd run into. Probably had died instantly, Jack certainly hoped so. He wished he himself could be spared the agony of his wound.

They had followed their company into the wood, trying to drive the militiamen away from the road. They had succeeded, Johnnie had seen the small farmhouse and barn as the three of them had chased a small group of colonials away from the fight. Not all of them however.

When they had rounded the corner of the barn there they were, six men, muskets at the ready. Before any of the soldiers could react, the colonials had fired a volley. Seeing the three redcoats go down, the militiamen had continued their withdrawal to regain another position, closer to Boston.

Jack had managed to drag himself over to the barn, the pain was intense but he didn't want to stay lying down, the pain was worse in that position. He looked over at his firelock, he wished he'd thought to drag it over with him. The agony of being gut-shot might have been relieved if he'd thought to keep his weapon with him.

"Ma! There's a soldier up there, sittin' against the barn, I think he's alive."

Becca Farnsworth moved to the window, "Stay back from the windows child, the regulars might still be about."

She looked where her son had been pointing, surely enough she saw a redcoated man slumped against the side of the barn. She thought he might be dead, but then she saw his chin lift up as the man looked around.

Her husband, Moses Farnsworth, was out with his militia company and she was worried about him. When the light infantrymen, she knew what they were by the caps they wore, had come running up, chasing some of the militia past their small farm, she had dragged her son James and daughter Prudence to the back of the house. She had heard the volley, some shouting, then it grew quiet outside.

As she wondered what to do, deciding that it was perhaps best if she did her chores, no one was going to do those for her, and prepare a meal. She had to assume that Moses would be coming home and after today's activities he would no doubt be hungry. That's when James had called out about the man next to the barn. She sighed, then decided she had to do something about this soldier on their property.

She went back to the bedroom and opened her husband's trunk, rummaging through it until she found the pistol. Moses had taught her how to use it just after they had gotten married. The wars against the Indians and the French were over, but Moses had told her that living out here on a farm, away from the towns, knowing how to load and fire the pistol would be to her advantage.

She found the heavy weapon, along with a small bag of shot for it, drew it out of the trunk and looked it over. The flint looked fine, she knew the weapon would be unloaded, Moses was very strict about his firearms, especially with the children in the house.

She went to the kitchen, found the flask of powder, then proceeded to load the pistol. When done, she drew a deep breath then headed for the door, glancing at the children she admonished them to stay in the house. Her tone of voice brooked no disagreement.

Jack heard a noise from the direction of the small house, he looked in that direction. It was a woman, carrying something in her right hand. As she got closer, he saw the pistol. He was of two minds on that account, if she shot him, he would no longer have to deal with the pain in his belly. But then again, he really didn't want to die. Not now, not on such a beautiful spring day, and certainly not at the hands of a farmer's wife.

The woman stopped a few paces away and raised the pistol, pointing it straight at him, a resolved look upon her care worn face. Jack closed his eyes and waited to spin into eternity.

Becca pointed the pistol at the young man, she noticed that his waistcoat and his trousers were soaked in blood. The man, more of a boy really, closed his eyes and seemed resigned to his fate. She lowered the weapon.

"What's yer name, boy?"

"Name's Jack, ma'am, Jack Baker ..." he grimaced in pain as he said that.

The woman nodded and said, "How bad is yer wound?"

"Pretty bad, I'm hit low in the belly. I'm a goner, even if a surgeon were about, I won't last the day."

"Can I take a look?"

That startled Jack, was she going to tend to his wound?

"Yes, ma'am, if you would, I would truly appreciate that."

Becca examined the man, he had lost a lot of blood and as far as she could tell, the ball which had wounded him was still inside his body. She tried to decide what to do, the boy was going to die, of that there was no doubt, but she could at least make him comfortable.

"Are you thirsty, Jack?"

"Yes, ma'am, dreadfully so, but with a belly wound ..."

"I daresay having some water won't make the pain any worse, but it might help yer spirits a bit. Let me go fetch a cup."

Jack nodded, then had a thought, "Ma'am, do you have a Bible?"

Becca stopped and turned back to the boy, "Yes, why?"

"Could you perhaps read me a few passages while I wait, something from the Psalms maybe?"

"Wait for ..." then it struck her, the boy knew he was dying.

"You are religious then?"

"Not really, but me Mum and Da' took us all to church when I was a boy, my sisters and me. It would be a comfort to maybe remember those days."

"Certainly, Jack, I will return shortly."

Becca returned with a cup of water and the family Bible in hand. As she knelt down next to the soldier, she realized that he was gone. She sighed and looked towards the east, towards Boston, and beyond that to England.

"What a shame that this boy came all the way from England only to die in my barnyard."

Shaking her head, Becca walked slowly back to the house. She would wait for Moses to come home to move the bodies, but she could start digging a grave for them. It was the least she could do.

Sergeant Andrews was gasping with fatigue, they were slowly making their way back to Boston but it was a fight each step of the way. The company was down to less than twenty men. Ensign Mitchell was dead and Captain Williston had been wounded. He had insisted that they leave him behind.

"They might be damned rebels, Sergeant, but they're Christians, they'll come and see to me once the army has moved on. Besides which, you can't spare the men to carry me."

Reluctantly he had agreed, now he was in command of what was left of the company. 

One of the men called to him, "Sarge, looks like the colonials have moved off, probably waiting for us farther down the road. Do we move off?"

Andrews heard an officer bellowing near the head of the column, not all that far away. Seems they were on the move again.

"Alright lads, fall in! Loose order, make sure yer loaded, be ready for anything!"

Thomas Holloway fell in with him, he'd lost his bearskin¹ at some point and his hair was a mess. His face, probably like his own, was dirty and powder stained.

"How you holding up, Tommy?"

"Could use an ale right about now, but I don't see a tavern in sight."

"Well, there's one just down the road, just short of Lexington I think. But I doubt it's open for business."

"We could help ourselves, who gives a damn what these rebels want?"

"Ah, that would be looting now, wouldn't it?"

Holloway sighed, "I suppose so."

The column was bleeding, men were falling left and right, Andrews began to think he'd never see Boston again. At this point in time he was starting to wish that he'd never seen Boston, or heard of it, in the first place.

The remaining officers looked worried, the men looked exhausted and not a little terrified. There seemed to be thousands of militia in the hills and harassing their flanks. The light infantry were staying closer to the column now, those men were exhausted from chasing the militia.

Holloway stumbled and fell against him.

"Are you alright, Tommy?" Andrews was terrified that his best friend in the whole world might be wounded.

"Yeah, I'm fine, but I'm so damned tired it's hard to keep my feet moving without stumbling."

"Stay strong my old friend, well get through this, somehow."

"Or die trying."

"Yup, there's always that chance."

Seamus McTeague was gasping with exhaustion as his company took position behind yet another stone wall. He knew that they were close to Lexington now. Someone shouted out and Seamus looked up, coming down the road were five or six of the redcoats, no weapons, no headgear. They were running to what they thought was safety.

"FIRE!"

Four of the running men went down, the two survivors thrust their hands into the air and began screaming, "QUARTER!"

They had their first prisoners of the day.

Lieutenant Colonel Smith and Major Pitcairn were both wounded, both on foot. They were near the head of the column when some men threw down their firelocks and began running up the road.

"Damn your eyes! Back in line you bastards!" Smith shouted after them.

Pitcairn gathered the remaining officers, all were now carrying muskets, their swords either discarded or back in their scabbards. He had them form a ways in front of the column, for the moment there were no colonials in sight.

"Next man who breaks and runs, we'll cut them down right here. Stay with us, you might die, run and you will die. Now lads, let's be off to Boston."

Rejoining Smith, Pitcairn turned to him said, "Unless the reinforcements come out, we're all dead men."

Smith looked around at the ruin of his expedition, "I dare say you're right, Major."

And the column moved on ...

¹ Some British grenadier companies wore a miter-like cap covered in black bear fur. Some wore the older style helmet type miter caps.

Things and Stuff

 

Ok, Campers,  just an update I'm sure all of you are dying to receive.

 

First, there's this fluid coming down out of the sky, and having lived in Central and West Texas most of my life, I've never had a reason to  spend the effort to discern what it is and why it happens. 

 

 

But, having moved to College Station (Home of the Texas A&M Aggies.  Whoop! I never understood that, but learned that not doing that greeting correctly can get you a non-smiling reaction).

 

Sorry, I digressed.  Having moved to College Station, we have found that the fluid coming out of the sky could, IMHO, float Noah's Ark. I believe it’s called “Rain”!

 

Such is the case as I write this posting.  Mrs. J treated me to an "Out to breakfast" date at a restaurant we had only been to once before.  Most Excellent!  Just in case you're interested, it's name is "Another Broken Egg".  Highly recommended.

 

Back on the story, juvat!

 

On Story, Aye, Fearless Leader!

 

So we're headed out to perform our tasks that the Emperors (aka the Horses ) require daily. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear? 

 

No Beans, Not Santa and his Reindeer.  No, a Downpour that in the course of a few seconds brought the visibility down to a matter of double digit feet.  

 

Holy Moley.  Suffice it to say, Mrs J, being the driver*, slowed down significantly. Fortunately, so did the other drivers.  But, as we approached the decision point (head to the stables to muck in the muck or head to the hacienda and write this post).

 

Guess which option won out. 
 

So, I know that discussion of Rainfall in Texas will entertain all y'all to no end.  But, our lawn is green and ready for mowing and it's only the 11th of March.  Some of you, and you know who you are, are still shoveling that white stuff off your sidewalks.  

 

Enough about the weather, juvat!

 

No Weather discussion, Aye, Tuna,

 

As to progress on the current project we're facing.  The blueprints have been revised with several improvements that the various people, who know houses and the plans to build them, recommended.

 

No, Beans, I'm not in that group.  I just follow Mrs J around and say two things.  "Yes, Dear" and "Build it the way she said." 

 

That last one is not quite accurate.  Our builder knows what he's doing and what he says to Mrs J she usually OK's, sometimes there's compromise, but they get along.  So, I tend to keep my mouth closed. 

 

But, the video below is what the house will look like.  I thought this was a pretty cool method for the architect to show his plans with an understandable method.  Blue prints don't trigger my brain's interpretation of the outcome very well.

 

So, here it is.  Enjoy 

 

 

 

 

Akashi Designs

Peace out, y'all

*Still not allowed to drive.  However.....I have an appointment on Thursday with my Cardiologist.  If he says my Heart is beating properly, well, watch out. I haven't driven in 5 months but, that's not going to stop me.  Bwahh ha ha!

 

Drive Them!

Source

"Elizabeth Arnold! Come away from that window immediately!"

Lizzie turned and answered, in a sweet yet somehow disrespectful tone, "Yes, Missus, but the soldiers are preparing to leave. They look nervous."

Rebecca Hamilton scoffed, "As if I care a fig for the doings of the King's troops. We have laundry to do and ..."

The sound of musketry in the near distance silenced the woman, she froze as she listened. "Is that ...?"

"Yes, ma'am, it sounds as though the militia and the regulars are fighting."

While Mrs. Hamilton stood there, unsure of what to do, Lizzie darted outside, grabbing some more bread as she did so. She saw the sergeant she had spoken to moments ago, gathering his men.

"Is there fighting, Sergeant? Are we in danger?"

Andrews turned and again noticed just how pretty the girl was. "I don't think so, Miss. We've been ordered back to Boston. The militia are swarming in the hills, word is that there was fighting at the bridge to the north. You should go back inside until this all dies down."

She nodded and forced the bread into the sergeant's hands, "For you and your men, be careful out there. Please."

Andrews blushed and said, "Thankee Miss, I must go now but ..."

"My name is Elizabeth, my friends call me Lizzie."

"I am Andrews, Allen Andrews of His Majesty's grenadiers. I thank you for ..."

Captain Williston came up, looking for his company. He spotted his sergeant speaking to an attractive young lady.

"Is there a problem, Sergeant?"

Andrews turned, "No Sir, we are ready to march."

"Then let us be off. I fear the return trip will be hot, and not because of the weather."

"Sir!"

"I must be off, Elizabeth."

She touched his hand, "Call me Lizzie, do be careful Sergeant."

Andrews blushed again.

A rider came up, his horse lathered and nearly out of control and reined in next to Captain Jonathan Willson commanding the Bedford minute company.

"Colonel's greetings, Sir. Orders are to withdraw towards Boston. Keep to the ridges and the woods lining the Concord road. You are to harass the regulars at every opportunity."

Without further ado, the man galloped off.

Willson turned to the men gathered around him, "Alright lads, we're off. We'll take to the fields, over yon ridge, and head down the road towards Lexington. I know a few spots where we can hit the regulars."

Looking around he called out, "You Acton boys, where is your captain?"

A man near Seamus answered, "Dead, Sir. Shot through the heart in one of the first volleys!"

Seamus shuddered, he hadn't seen Captain Davis fall. He had been more concerned with his father, who had taken a wound in the arm.

"Dead is he? Very well, you Acton boys are with me now, unless you have a second?"

A man pushed his way forward, "That would be me, Sir, Ensign Heald, John Heald."

"Very well, Ensign Heald, have your men follow my company. Everyone else, follow on as well. Let's show these regulars that they can't come here, take our powder, burn our town, or collect their damned taxes. Who's with me?"

A cheer went up, some men looked around as if terrified of what they had done and witnessed here. This was war and they might have drawn blood here, but many assumed things were going to get far worse before the day was through!

"Keep a close eye on the lads, Tom. The countryside is up in arms and I don't like our odds."

Corporal Tom Holloway ran his hand through his thick hair, marveling at how much he was sweating. "Hot work, Sarge. Hot work indeed."

"Indeed, oh yes, have your lads eaten yet?"

"No, we were too busy starting fires then putting other fires out."

"Here," Andrews handed over a bundle, "a village lass gave me this. My lads have eaten, I didn't think yours had. Share that with the lads, would you?"

"Certainly Sarge, and thank you for thinking of us."

"Not at all, Tom, not at all."

The grenadiers were back with the main column, Andrews could see militia in the woods and up on the hillsides. From what he could see, the column was badly outnumbered. But he wasn't really worried, they were professional soldiers, he considered the colonial militia to be nothing more than rabble. After all, they had scattered them on Lexington Green hadn't they?

"Sure are a lot of the bastards." Corporal Holloway remarked.

"Not nervous are ye, Tommy?"

"I was talking with a lad from the 10th, light infantry lad, apparently the colonials gave as good as they got at a bridge to the north of Concord. Said they lost a number of lads, including officers and sergeants. One lad had been scalped from what Johnson was saying."

"Charlie Johnson?"

"The very same."

"I'd take that with a grain of salt, Charlie has never been that bright a lad."

"That may be, but a number of his company were blood-spattered and powder stained. You only get that in a fierce fight to my knowledge."

Andrews got thoughtful after that.

"We'll hit them here lads, when they come around that bend. You lads at the wall give a volley, then come back up the hill. Hit and run boys, hit and run. Don't let them get close enough to use the bayonet." Captain Willson's plan was simple. As long as no one panicked.

Seamus gripped his musket with sweaty hands. He looked to his father whose wound he had bound up. It wasn't as bad as it had looked at first sight.

"Ye alright, Da'?"

"I'm fine son, just remember to keep your head down. Fire once then we run like hell. We'll reload up on the high ground then slide on down the road further. I mean to make those bastards pay for what they done at Lexington."

"There they are!" A voice shouted from further down the road towards Concord.

Now the McTeagues could hear the thump of drums and the gleam of bayonets as the regulars rounded the bend in the road. They were marching at the quickstep, not in a hurry per se, but not tarrying as well. They knew the danger which lurked all around them.

Andrews sucked in a breath through his teeth as he saw the billowing smoke of a volley from a stonewall not far from the road. Then he heard the whiz of the militia's lead filling the air.

Andrews looked abruptly to the front when he heard the scream, Captain Williston's horse had screamed as it reared then toppled onto its back, throwing its rider to the hard packed surface of the road.

Williston hit the ground hard, his cap spinning off to the verge, his sword scabbard bending as he landed on it. Fortunately he had the sword in his hand when he fell, but he had been winded by the fall.

Lieutenant Mitchell rushed to his commander's side, dismounting when he got there.

"Sir! Are you alright?"

"Leftenant, see to the lads, I'll see to the captain!" Holloway had jumped in immediately, better for the men to see an officer to their front, even if it was just a lieutenant, and a damned green one at that.

Williston moaned as Holloway helped him sit up. "Damn it!"

"I don't see any blood, Sir, does anything feel broken, can ye move your limbs and such?" Holloway inquired.

"Only thing hurt is my pride, Corporal."

Looking around he saw that his horse was down and not moving.

"Damn it, I paid good money for that animal. He was a good horse!"

While Holloway helped the captain regain his wits, Mitchell and Andrews had the men firing at their assailants.

"Bastards are running! Huzzah!" Mitchell yelled out, waving his sword over his head, letting his horse prance in the road.

"Begging your pardon, Sir, but the rebels are just relocating. They know where we have to go and they know the country far better than us."

"Really, Sergeant? And what makes you so ..."

Andrews heard a sickening thud and watched in horror as Lieutenant Mitchell arched his back as his eyes rolled back in his head. He reached for the young officer and felt the man's blood on his face. He pulled the young man from the saddle, but it was too late.

Lieutenant George Mitchell of the 43rd Foot was quite dead.

"Damn it, those are light infantry!" Patrick McTeague cried out.

He had spotted the men when they were but a hundred paces away, they looked angry as hell and seemed to want to come to grips with the militia at bayonet point. They were coming on fast.

"Run lad, fast as you can!"

Seamus did as his father commanded and began to run back deeper into the wood, it was uphill and he realized his legs were tired. Turning he saw something which made his blood run cold.

His father and three other men stood their ground, hoping to delay the light infantrymen as long as possible, perhaps get them to pull off. To no avail.

There were ten of them, resplendent in their short red jackets and their jaunty light infantry caps. Though one of the militiamen did get off a shot, which killed one of the regulars, it only made the survivors even angrier. They swarmed over the militiamen and cut them down where they stood.

With tears streaming down his face, Seamus McTeague ran even faster up the hill. He was sure that his father was gone, dead at the age of 42.

"Drive them lads! Drive them, don't let them stand!"

Major Pitcairn rode among the men at the head of the column, a mix of Marines and grenadiers. They were pushing the colonials back and away from the road.

The road curved to the left here, through a small wooded area. As they approached, the column was squeezed in on itself, there wasn't much room to deploy or maneuver.

"Push through lads, push through!" Pitcairn was yelling.

Heavy firing broke out to either side of the column, men were falling fast, bodies littered the road. Some of the men thought to stop and help the wounded.

Andrews barked at two of his grenadiers, "Lamson, Jones, leave him, he's bloody dead! Or d'ye think the doctors can sew his throat back together!"

Private Greenwell had been hit in the throat and had died gagging on his own blood. It was fast but it certainly looked painful to Andrews.

"Company, move, move, move. Reload on the run, fire at will lads. We need to get through this choke point or we'll be spending eternity under the fields of the Bay Colony!"

Slowly the column pushed through, again the flanking parties supplied by the light companies helped clear the rebels from the stone walls flanking the road.

But thirty of the King's men would not make it to Boston that day, or ever.

Four militiamen also fell at what was later was called the "Bloody Angle." Captain Jonathan Willson, of the Bedford minute company lay among the dead. Ensign Heald had been lost earlier in the day, now the Acton company was led by its senior sergeant.

Seamus McTeague was still in shock at the death of his father.

"How d'ye know he's dead, lad?" Francis Barker, the company drummer asked.

"Saw him take a bayonet to the chest, Francis. Those bloody redcoats just kept stabbing at the men after they'd knocked them down. It was butchery, butchery."

"Well buck up, laddie. Let's move on down the road a piece and return the favor. Cast your eyes to the road down yonder, they're paying the price now."

From where they were on the hillside, Seamus could clearly see the road, numerous red coated bodies were sprawled there, some still moving, hands outstretched, beseeching their comrades not to leave them behind. But most lay still and unmoving, dead or unconscious and dying.

Seamus grimaced, then gripped his musket and followed his company towards Boston.

There were still a lot of regulars who needed killing.