From behind a downed tree, William and the Sergeant studied the Tyler Farm.  In the midst of about an acre of cleared land stood a log cabin flanked by a pair of barns.  Redcoat sentries patrolled the perimeter while a small group of their compatriots worked to assemble the Howitzers that history had correctly recorded would be here.

"What are you smiling about?" the Sergeant growled quietly.  When William looked to him, the squad leader asked, "If you are thinking about alerting the Redcoats in the hopes of--"

"No, Sergeant, I have no intention of alerting the British," William said, looking back to the farmstead.  "I'm just ... [i]excited[/i]."

"About...?"

"The Covington Letters," William answered.  When the confused looking Sergeant asked what that meant, William only told him, "Some doubted their authenticity ... said they were fraudulent ... an attempt by the Captain to excuse his failure.  But I never did."

William turned and slid down to sit on the soft ground.  Without saying anymore about the Letters and instead claiming that the knowledge came from his now ended employment with the British, William filled in the Sergeant on all he could remember from Covington's writings.  Scouts sent out to encircle and survey the farmstead returned to report that William's information was [i]spot on.[/i]

The Sergeant left sentries to watch the farmstead, then pulled the rest of the unit back down the road.  While they waited for the Lieutenant and the Assault Squad, William thought about the events of the previous evening, which had been one of the strangest in his life.  Keziah had told him she couldn't [i]be[/i] with him in the way that his body language had apparently been speaking loud and clear.  Then, she'd surprised him by saying that he could sleep next to her in the bed.  He'd initially said he didn't think that was a good idea, but after he'd caught one of the Guards outside with his face to the window glass checking on the [i]married couple[/i], William had relented and made his way to the bedroom.  

Only the foot of the bed was within view of the main room's windows, and the bedroom's windows were well draped; so William had only to shed his coat and boots before slipping under the top blanket.  There was still a blanket between he and Keziah, reminding him of that scene from Mel Gibson's movie [i]The Patriot[/i] in which his adult son was bound up in a cloth [i]cocoon[/i] before laying with his fiancée for a night of sexless bed time.  Still, William couldn't help but suffer some excitement down below the belt of his Patriot uniform.

He'd laid there just staring at the underside of the split log roof, contemplating the future ... but ... not for long.  William had been far more exhausted than he thought, and in no time at all he'd fallen asleep.  He awoke with a start at the increasing illumination of a nearby gas lamp, looking up to find the Sergeant smiling down at him.  The man's humor became obvious when William realized that an arm was draped over his chest.  

"It'll be dawn in two hours," the Militiaman whispered.  "Time to go."

William pulled his head back a bit to focus on Keziah's face.  She looked so peaceful, which was ironic because prior to rolling over and finding peace against him, she'd been having a fitful sleep.  William reached a hand up toward Keziah's face, intending to caress it lovingly.  But he stopped, fearing that he would wake and -- possibly -- embarrass her.  Instead, William slipped Keziah's arm from him and slid out to prepare for the day ahead.  

...........

It was close to sundown when the Lieutenant arrived with his squad, but instead of twenty Militiamen he'd brought thirty-eight men.  After conferring with the Sergeant and the Sentries -- recalled to make their report -- the attack was initiated.  It was a sneak attack, a guerilla action, unlike the battles of which most 21st century Americans knew, where the opposing forces faced one another across an field and fired as one before charging with bayonets fixed.  The Militiamen -- surrounding the farmstead in small squads -- fired from cover in the forest, dropped their discharged muskets, picked up and fired their second weapons, then charged with their third rifles, upon which bayonets were fixed.  For the most part, the fight was over in less than 90 seconds, and when the shooting, stabbing, and clubbing was over, the Massachusetts Second Regiment was in control of the Tyler Farm, 14 Redcoat prisoners, and the whole of the British Force's arms and armament.

William had watched the horrific battle from behind the tree, under guard per the still suspicious Sergeant's order.  He'd been shot, not that he remembered it; and he'd seen other men who'd been shot as well.  But this was the first time he'd actually watched an active battle and witnessed the damage that could be done by a musket, some of which fired the same .75 caliber ball of shot his ancestor's rifle had.  Once the fight was over, his guards escorted William up into the farmstead, and he found himself surrounded by dead and dying soldiers, mostly British but including some Patriots as well.  He was almost to the log cabin, where the Lieutenant was being reported to by his Squad Leaders, when the carnage finally got to William and he doubled over to puke.  

It was embarrassing -- he was, after all, supposed to be a veteran Hessian mercenary -- but then that wasn't William's main concern right now. Once he'd emptied his stomach and rinsed his mouth from a nearby trough, he made his way -- [i]still[/i] under guard -- past the now fully assembled Howitzers to the Lieutenant to ask, "Have you found the powder?"

"We did, sir," the officer said, returning to talking to his subordinates about his own immediate concerns.  When he realized William was seeking his attention, he said, "Thank you for your information ... and your service.  I will make a recommendation to the Colonel that you be considered a trustworthy asset to the Cause."

"How will you destroy the Howitzers, Lieutenant?" William asked.  When the assault's Commander asked why they should destroy the cannons, William said, "That's why we came here.  To destroy the gun powder and the cannons.  To prevent an attack on the Second."

"We've done that, sir ... we've prevented the British attack," the Lieutenant agreed, giving orders to a couple of men before turning back to William and informing him, "And now we have two eight inch Howitzers ... with which we will devastate the British defenses at the Boston Bottleneck ... enabling us to invade the City from the south ... and end this war."

"But..." William began, stopping when he realized he had no idea what to say to the Lieutenant's plan.  What [i]was[/i] he going to say: [i]But that's not how it happened.  You don't take Boston for another year.  You can't do this.[/i]  When the Lieutenant asked William [i]But what?[/i] all William could say was, "Nothing.  I ... I just thought we were going to destroy this stuff and get back to..."

He got about that far and began to realize that he sounded ridiculous.  Why would the Patriots intentionally destroy two cannons that were more powerful than anything they had back at the camp.  William had glanced around the Second Regiment while he was there, and he'd realized that they possessed [i]no[/i] heavy weapons at all.  Muskets and a few small cannons that fired grape shot ... essentially a shotgun on steroids.  They could defend themselves against an infantry attack with the weapons they had, but they couldn't get through fortified and heavily manned wall that guarded the Bottleneck without big guns.  And now, thanks to William, they had them.

..........

The Patriot victors had remained at the Tyler farm over night, so it was nearly noon before William had safely returned to the house in which he and his [i]wife[/i] were living.  He stripped off the Patriot uniform -- now bloodied from helping the Tyler Farm's wounded -- and was standing naked in a half-barrel filled of warm water from the fire place washing himself off with a soaked cloth when he realized he'd heard sound and turned to find Keziah standing in the doorway.