By Arthur Byron Cover
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He grins. The situation amuses him. “This ain’t war. This is just a little shootin’. I was gonna shoot anyway. ” Terrific! you think to yourself. You can’t help but notice that the redcoats are continuing to fire, while the rebels are retreating into the woods—probably heading toward Concord. “Let’s get out of here,” the kid says. “Before we’re the only ones left, uh, standing,” you observe—to yourself, as it turns out. The kid has already taken off; he’s a blur darting into the woods. In fact, he’s running like a greased rabbit.
You say to Benedict Arnold. You have just enough time to see Allen smile to himself before something hits you on the back of the head and you black out. You wake up in the guardhouse, which is a bare room with a dirt floor. A blanket is wadded up in the corner. One of the soldiers is standing guard over you. ” you ask the guard. “You did nothing we couldn’t have done for ourselves,” replies the guard. “As for Mr. Allen, he doesn’t have to like this Arnold to respect him as a fellow freedom fighter.
You move up the road, past dead and wounded of both sides. The trees gradually thicken into another heavily wooded area, providing even more cover for the rebels. The British redcoats will stick out in these woods like sparklers on a clear summer night. 39 Several rebels up ahead have become bold enough to step out from behind their cover. One of the rebels has a panache of feathers on his musket. The feathers are almost as bright as the redcoats’ uniforms. This must be your man! He spots something—or someone—off a distance in the woods.
American Revolutionary Time Machine #10 by Arthur Byron Cover