[center][b]"When your past catches up to you"[/b][/center] William Kutcher sat up slowly, unsteadily. He was disoriented, his brain swimming, his body wracked by pain. He was indoors ... a dark space, maybe a cabin. A fire crackled in the hearth to one side, and beyond an open door yet another fire roared, though this was quickly engulfing a structure in the distance, maybe a barn. [i]What the hell's going on...?[/i] [i]Billy[/i] searched his brain for his last memories... The last he recalled, he'd been out in the middle of an open park field at the annual reenactment of the Siege of Boston, surrounded by tourists and history enthusiasts... He'd been explaining how Boston had been a much different place in 1775 than it was today in 2017, a [url=http://i.imgur.com/jqiqnH5.jpg]peninsular city with a narrow land access called the Boston Bottleneck[/url] which the [i]rebel[/i] militia -- the soon to be called Continental Army -- had blockaded, prevented the British from moving men and badly needed supplies in and out of Boston by land... After answering a dozen or so questions about the blockade or about 18th century Boston itself, Billy had moved onto what was his [i]true[/i] interest and the subject of his doctoral thesis: the involvement and effectiveness of the Hessian Troops the British had hired to assist them in their war against the criminal element known as the American rebels... Billy's head was clearing a bit, allowing him to remember the last moments before he'd passed out and ended up here ... where ever [i]here[/i] was... He'd been showing off the reenactment uniform he was wearing, explaining to the crowd that -- although being in the employ of the British Army -- the soldiers from Germany had worn their own uniforms, fought under their own flags, used their own weapons... "Just to be clear, the Hessians didn't participate at the Siege of Boston," he told the crowd, explaining that the Hessians had actually arrived in mid-1776 -- after the British departed Boston by sea -- and that they'd actually arrived at and initially been used in New York. When some snotty young teen asked why he was here then, Billy answered with a laugh, "Because I'll take any opportunity to show off [i]this![/i]" He'd unslung the heavy musket from his shoulder and held it out before him, explaining, that it was an [i]actual[/i] 18th century Hessian musket that had been carried during the Revolutionary war. Just as had happened a dozen times already, cell phones rose and visitors tapped away taking pictures that would never be as good as those offered at the vendors booths but which, of course, were free. Some of the guests even turned their backs to Billy and lifted their phones up before them, intended to snap selfies of themselves with the [i]Hessian[/i]. Billy [i]hated[/i] the selfie phenomenon, so he casually lowered the weapon before most of them could get their shot, containing his desire to smirk with pleasure at their disappointment. He thought to himself, [i]Go buy a fucking postcard![/i] He'd continued ... talking about this model of musket, about its differences with other weapons of the day, about the Hessian's techniques for more rapid loading and firing, and more. He'd demonstrated the features, showed off the powder and musket ball, and was about to show how to load it... Billy's heart leapt in his chest, and suddenly -- here in this strange place -- he was afraid again. He was suddenly remembering those last, dramatic moments... There had been gunfire, which you might expect at a war reenactment... But the guns firing hadn't been muskets in the hands of reenactors, loaded only with powder and no shot, for safety, of course... [i]These[/i] guns were automatic assault rifles, firing more rounds in a second then even the most professional 18th century Hessian could have fired in an [i]hour[/i]... By the time Billy had realized that some sort of terror attack was underway, the people around him had either scattered or hit the ground. Looking down, Billy could see some of them writhing, bleeding; others were bleeding but not moving at all... Billy himself ran, heading quickly for cover. He searched for the shooters, finding them: two men in regular street clothes, neither of them seeming [i]ethnic[/i] ... just regular ol' white guys ... shooting at anyone near them... Billy's fear had soon turned to anger... He'd looked to his weapon ... to his 18th century musket ... his [i]single[/i] shot weapon, with its smooth bore -- no rifling to spin the bullet for accuracy -- and its effective range of maybe 50 yards... Then he looked to the nearest of the terrorists and realized ... [i]He's closer than 50 yards.[/i] Billy didn't know what was going through his mind, but before he knew it he was finishing the loading procedure, standing up from behind his cover, leveling, aiming, and firing. A cloud of thick smoke filled the air before him as the weapon kicked, sending forth a .75 caliber ball, [i]huge[/i] by modern standards... As the smoke cleared and Billy searched, he found his target flat on his back, gun by his side ... blood pouring from his neck where the projectile had very nearly taken the man's head off... And that was the last thing Billy remembered... And now, it was all confusion ... and pain. Billy looked down to his uniform -- his [i]Hessian[/i] uniform -- and realized he was covered in blood ... [i]his[/i] blood. Someone had ripped it open and bandaged him up, but he was still a mess. Had he been shot? [i]Obviously![/i] But, by whom? He looked to the door again as movement caught his eye. Soldiers rushed by this way, then that. One stopped just a couple of dozen yards away, raised his weapon, and fired, just as Billy had ... only... This wasn't 21st century Boston... And the fighting taking place out side was no fucking reenactment!