by Avi
The Hessians, now unshielded and completely exposed, stood frozen, then seemed to tumble forward. Jonathan spun about in the doorway just as the rope, still attached to the old Hessian’s ankle, whipped by. Impulsively, Jonathan reached out and tried to hold it. He held it for less than a second. The burn of its passing seared his hand.
The old Hessian tripped, and so close was he to the other two, so entangled, that they too fell.
There was a roar of shots.
And then—silence.
6:10
Jonathan stared out. The morning had turned milk white. The three Hessians were upon the ground, their bodies twisted, their torn uniforms filthy with earth and blood. The Corporal and the other men gathered around in a semicircle, gazing at the dead.
Jonathan watched the Americans turn and, guns in their hands or on their shoulders, start to walk slowly back across the field. As he watched, they grew faint, shrouded in the rising morning mist. No one looked back, or spoke, or paused. They just left.
6:13
Only the Corporal remained. He kept looking at the fallen men. Slowly, he bent down and gently closed their eyes. Then he gathered up their guns. When he stood, he became aware that Jonathan had come from the house and was close by. They looked at one another.
“You tried to save them, didn’t you?” said the Corporal.
“Yes.”
“They would have killed you.”
“They didn’t.”
The Corporal looked beyond Jonathan to the house, then to the line of retreating men, then to the rising sun. He seemed to speak to the air. “They killed one of ours yesterday. And you don’t know how many others before. At Long Island, they bayoneted the wounded. They were soldiers. So am I. So are you. You were lucky, that’s all. There’s nothing more to it.”
Jonathan stared at him. The Corporal attempted to return the look. Suddenly, he turned away and said: “Go get your gun. It doesn’t belong to you. It needs returning.”
Heavily, Jonathan turned and went back inside the house. It took time for him to find his gun, buried as it was beneath the rubble of the room.
Slowly, he pulled it clear and grasped it in his hands. He looked down at it. Then, lifting it, holding it by the barrel, he swung it over his head. With the surging strength of his exploding rage, he brought it down against the stone hearth. The shock shot through his bones. The gun almost fell from his grasp. But now his rage had seized him completely, pouring through him. Gripping the gun even tighter, he began pounding it against the stones, again and again and again.
The gun stock splintered. The metal bent and burst. Pieces flew in all directions. He fell to his knees sobbing.
Jonathan felt a hand tighten on his shoulder. “Come,” said the Corporal. “It’s time to go.”
6:40
They walked in silence. Even when they caught up with the other men, no one spoke.
Jonathan stayed in the rear. No one walked close to him or spoke to him. He wasn’t bothered. It was better that way. All he wanted to do was move.
When they reached the camp, a wounded man who had remained there asked what had happened.
“They tried to get away,” said one of the men. “Tried to fight when we offered surrender.”
“Fools!”
Jonathan looked about for the boy and the Frenchman, only to remember that they had long gone.
The men gathered up their things and headed north, leaving the camp behind.
As they walked, they moved in small groups of twos and threes. Jonathan went alone. At one point the Corporal came and attempted to march by his side.
Instantly, Jonathan stopped.
The Corporal stopped too.
“Leave me alone,” said Jonathan.
The Corporal, momentarily flustered, started to say something, stopped, and walked away. And it was only then that Jonathan wondered what had happened to his horse. But after that Jonathan was left to himself.
9:30
By the time Jonathan reached the tavern, only four of the men remained. The rest had slipped away. When Jonathan realized where they’d come to, he stopped. Automatically he looked for the Corporal. But the Corporal too had gone.
The tavern keeper, grinning broadly, ran out to meet them, shaking hands all around. “Beat them, did you!” he cried. “A famous victory, gentlemen. A drink to celebrate our victory.”
Only one of the men accepted.
After a few moments the tavern keeper realized that Jonathan was there. “Ah, you,” he said. “Your father came a-looking for you. Had permission, did you? You’re a sly boots, you are. He would have gone right after you if he wasn’t dragging that leg of his. And him sick with your going. You’ll be wanting to go home right quick, you will.”
Jonathan said nothing and started to move. Then the innkeeper remembered.
“Hey,” he called. “Where’s my gun?”
Jonathan stopped and turned. “It’s gone.”
“Gone? What happened to it? You gave me your word, boy.”
Jonathan, not wanting to explain, simply walked away.
“The honor of your word,” cried the tavern keeper after him. “I’ll be after your pa!”
10:30
Jonathan reached home.
When he stepped into the clearing before their house, no one was about. The only thing moving was smoke rising from the chimney. For a moment he studied the doorway, preparing himself to go in.
But as he stood there a vague, soft chopping sound came. He listened. It was the sound of a hoe striking against the earth. It was as if a clock had begun to tick again.
Turning, Jonathan walked to the field, moving amidst the trees, his steps keeping pace with the sound. It filled him, pushing away the pain.
Briefly he stopped, feeling as though he was seeing a mirage; it was himself he seemed to see, himself as he had been the day before, rushing headlong from the field.
He moved on, slower now, stepping from the woods to the edge of the field. There was his father, working the ground. Jonathan watched him silently, watching the slow, limping shuffle and stride of the weakened leg.
Something made his father stop and look around, until his eyes rested on Jonathan. For a moment the two merely looked at one another, as if each needed to be sure the other was truly there.
Then, like a flame rekindled, Jonathan saw the fear in his father’s eyes.
“Were you . . . hurt?” his father stammered.
Jonathan, unable to talk, shook his head. No.
His father let out a long breath. “Praise God,” he said. “I am glad, so glad, boy.” And he smiled.
And there, then, at last, Jonathan understood that his father’s fear had not been for himself. No, it was for Jonathan, that he might be spared.
And suddenly, Jonathan understood more. Understood the most important thing—that he had indeed been spared.
Oh, how glad he was to be there.
And alive.
Oh, alive.
THE GERMAN TRANSLATED
3:47
Siehst du was?
Do you see anything?
3:50
Er erschiesst uns, wenn wir nicht vorsichtig sind.
He’ll shoot us if we’re not careful.
Weg von hier. Es ist blöd und gefährlich. Wir finden ihn nie.
Let’s get out of here. It is stupid and dangerous. We’ll never find him.
Noch ein Paar Minuten.
A couple more minutes.
Ich hab’s satt.
I’m sick of it.
Mein Gott! Vor unseren Augen!
My God! Right before our eyes!
Es ist nur ein Junge.
It’s only a boy.
Komm hierher!
Come here.
Idiot! Die verstehen nie. Komm hierher, Junge!
Idiot! They never understand anything. Come here, boy.
Das ist besser.
That’s better.
Halt!
Stop!
We don’t speak any English. Why don’t you speak any German?
Dreh dich um!
Turn around.
Los, er macht vor Angst in die Hosen.
Come on, he’s so scared he’s making in his pants.
Steh auf! Es tut dir keiner was.
Get up. No one’s going to do anything to you.
4:01
Warte!
Wait.
Es ist ein schönes Land.
It’s a beautiful country.
Los, geh!
Go on, move.
5:00
Steh auf!
Get up.
5:15
Wir haben uns verirrt.
We’re lost.
Vielleicht sind wir geschlagen. Vielleicht sind wir die einzigen am Leben!
Maybe we were beaten. Maybe we’re the only ones left alive!
Gott helf uns!
God help us!
5:20
O Gott!
Oh God!
Es ist nichts.
There’s nothing.
Doch, da war was!
There was something!
5:40
Los! Mach die Tür auf!
Go on. Open the door.
Los!
Go on!
Noch einmal!
Again!
Was war das?
What was that?
Melken. Wir können dann die Milch trinken.
Milking. Then we can drink the milk.
5:50
Los, geh!
Go on, move!
Fertig?
Finished?
6:35
Mein Gott!
My God!
Woher kommt denn der?
Where did he come from?
Was sagt er?
What’s he saying?
6:45
Nun komm!
Come on!
Komm!
Come!
7:40
Das genügt.
That’ll have to do.
Halt ihn fest.
Hold him tight.
Los, beeil dich!
Come on, hurry up!
5:50
Was gibt’s?
What’s going on?
Auf! Auf! Angriff! Angriff!
Get up! Get up! Attack! Attack!
Die Amerikaner! Sie sind draussen!
The Americans! They’re outside!
Lass ihn los! Lass ihn los!
Let him go! Let him go!
Fertig?
Ready?
Los!
Move!
About the Author
AVI is the author of more than sixty books, including CRISPIN: The Cross of Lead, a Newbery Medal winner, and CRISPIN: At the Edge of the World. His other acclaimed titles include THE TRUE CONFESSIONS OF CHARLOTTE DOYLE and NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH, both Newbery Honor Books, and most recently THE SEER OF SHADOWS. He lives with his family in Colorado. Visit Avi at www.avi-writer.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Books by Avi
SOMETHING UPSTAIRS
THE MAN WHO WAS POE
THE TRUE CONFESSIONS OF CHARLOTTE DOYLE
NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH
WOLF RIDER
SMUGGLERS’ ISLAND
DEVIL’S RACE
SOMETIMES I THINK I HEAR MY NAME
BEYOND THE WESTERN SEA BOOK 1: THE ESCAPE FROM HOME
BEYOND THE WESTERN SEA BOOK 2: LORD KIRKLE’S MONEY
A PLACE CALLED UGLY
NIGHT JOURNEYS
ENCOUNTER AT EASTON
CAPTAIN GREY
CRISPIN: THE CROSS OF LEAD
For more information on Avi and his books, visit
www.avi-writer.com
Credits
Cover art © 2004 by Robert Papp
Cover design by Hilary Zarycky
Cover © 2004 by HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
Copyright
THE FIGHTING GROUND. Copyright © 1984 by Avi. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Avi, date.
The fighting ground / Avi.
p. cm.
Summary: Thirteen-year-old Jonathan goes off to fight in the Revolutionary War and discovers the real war is being fought within himself.
ISBN 0-397-32074-4 (lib. bdg.) — ISBN 0-06-440185-5 (pbk.)
EPub Edition © March 2016 ISBN 9780062453945
1. United States—History—Revolution, 1775-1783—Juvenile fiction. [I. United States—History—Revolution, 1775-1783—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.A953Fi 1984 84-47719
[Fic] CIP
AC
* * *
First Harper edition, 1987
Revised Harper edition, 2004
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