It wasn’t just their absence that concerned Fergus. He sensed that they weren’t together and they were struggling. What they were struggling with was unclear.
What was clear was the need to reorganize. Although Fergus was their commander and the militia followed his orders, the rebels looked to the familiar strength of Dr. Joseph Warren. He heralded the cause for which they fought, and he had not been shy in his exclamations.
That reverence and mystique caused Gordon Walker to seek Joseph out. He found Joseph standing in a smoke-hazed clump of trees near the edge of a field with a group of thirty other men. Some of the men were participating in a volley while others were reloading.
Gordon had to raise his voice to be heard. “Are you Dr. Warren?”
Joseph looked up from loading his musket. “Yes, I am.”
“You were with Colm Bohannon when he had his archangel fit on the road this morning.”
Joseph frowned. “I would not call it a fit.”
“What would you call it?”
Joseph skirted the question. “I recall that you spoke to Colm with familiarity, and challenged him to explain why he was here.”
Gordon laughed, but it wasn’t born of humor or cynicism. “Do you know that you’re regarded with reverence as if you were an angel yourself?”
“I know I have my admirers, but your comparison is—”
“—sacrilegious?”
Joseph set the sear on his musket and said, “I fail to see the point of this conversation. There is a battle to be fought. I suggest you fall into ranks as Major Driscoll has ordered.”
“I track demons from Hell and kill them,” Gordon said undeterred. “Those demons marching with the British column aren’t from Hell, but you already know that. I told Colm I’d figure a way to kill them aside from stabbing or shooting them in both of their filthy orange eyes, and I intend on doing that. But I need your help. I need your faith in those angels.”
“What are you asking of me?”
“I don’t know yet, but I saw the exchange between you and Colm on the road outside of Menotomy after he had his fit. You appeared as if you were brothers born from the same womb.”
The sound of gunfire quieted.
Fergus approached Joseph and Gordon. He ignored Gordon and said, “Joseph, the angels need help, and I can’t go back to look for them.”
“What has happened?”
“I can’t be sure because the only color I see is green. I know you promised Colm that you would stay with me, but if you move west to look for them, the threat from the British will be much diminished as they move in the opposite direction.”
“Are you asking me to backtrack and look for them? Are you feeling that alarmed?”
“Yes.”
Sergeant Gideon Eldon, the man whom Colm had terrified when he had his angelic fit, approached. “Major Driscoll. Dr. Warren. The militia regiments are mustered and ready to fall out. The other rebels have moved out of Lexington to keep up the assault on the column’s van.”
Fergus nodded. Then he addressed Joseph. “We are moving on toward Menotomy. I’m leaving you in charge of a company of fifty men from the Watertown militia. I’ve order two regiments to stay with you to assail the last of Lord Percy’s flankers as the rear guard moves out of Lexington.”
Fergus considered Gordon’s presence. “You must be the man who claims he can kill demons. Colm described you as black-skinned and honest.”
Gordon said nothing.
“Stay with Joseph. That’s an order from your commanding officer not from an angel. Do you understand me?”
Gordon acknowledged the order with a somber, “I understand—sir.”
“Stay safe,” Fergus said to Joseph. “Help the angels if you can.”
“I shall do my best.”
The Americans sounded off a volley from beyond the field. The British answered in kind.
The company and the two regiments left behind to attack the British column’s rear guard moved into the woods, skirting the Lexington town line. The pleas and moans of the injured and the dying contaminated the woods. Joseph was conflicted between his role as a doctor and his role as a commander engaged in warfare that resulted in the loss of human life.
Joseph was not accustomed to military leadership, but he was familiar with inciting passion in the hearts of men with the spoken word. The noise of battle made audible commands difficult. He dropped behind a low stone wall that marked the boundary of a farmer’s field and signaled the company of fifty men to do the same.
The British column’s rear guard was approaching. Lord Hugh Percy’s flankers beat the woods on the north side of the road where Joseph’s company was positioned.
“Corporal Trumble,” Joseph said to the twenty-six-year-old man beside him. “Take twenty-five men and do your best to eliminate the flankers.
Corporal Jeb Trumble acknowledged with a curt nod and carried out the order.
The remaining twenty-five men followed Joseph and took cover behind trees and boulders along the perimeter of the road. Gunfire was heard as the Americans shot dead three British flankers. In retaliation, two Americans were killed.
Joseph stepped from the shelter of a tree. A flanker aimed at his head and fired. The bullet struck a hairpin that held Joseph’s hair out of his eyes. The blow knocked him to the ground. For a moment, he lay there disoriented.
“Dr. Warren!”
Joseph blinked and looked up. He recognized Sergeant Abe Rowlinson from the Cambridge militia.
Abe held his hand out to Joseph.
Joseph grasped it, and Abe pulled him to his feet.
The British rear guard was passing the Americans. Joseph shouted the command to fire. He ran to the edge of the road and leveled his musket. He saw two British officers in his site. They both turned and looked at him.
He heard Gordon Walker shout, “Move away, Dr. Warren!”
The British captain’s eyes simmered with orange light. Joseph recognized Robert Percy. The general riding beside Robert smiled broadly at Joseph.
Joseph hesitated.
Henry urged his horse toward the edge of the road. He grinned and pointed at Joseph. “I will kill you, Warren, while the archangel is forced to watch.”
Gordon snatched Joseph’s wrist and dragged him away from the road to the shelter of the trees.
The Americans volleyed at the British. Screams and pleading announced the suffering of the injured and the dying on both sides.
“What were you thinking standing in view of those demons?” Gordon demanded. “The one with the yellow-green eyes is their leader!”
Joseph jerked his wrist from Gordon’s grasp. “I am aware of that! And do not presume to question me! I am not afraid!”
“You should be! That demon’s going to kill you just to prove that Colm can’t protect you!”
“War has begun! I will not let demons impede my way!”
Gordon saw movement in the woods behind Joseph.
Corporal Jeb Trumble cautiously picked his way through the underbrush, militiamen, and sporadic shower of musket balls. He was returning to report the death of two fellow company men. On his approach, he heard the words spoken between Gordon and Joseph. He thought, Did I hear Dr. Warren speak of demons?
It was the last thought Jeb Trumble, husband and father of four from Lincoln, Massachusetts, would think. An orange-eyed rebel wearing the bloody tatters of a homespun shirt slipped out from behind a tree. The demon-possessed rebel stabbed Jeb in the back and severed his spinal cord. Jeb dropped to the ground like a ragdoll.
The demon yanked the knife from Jeb’s back then lunged at Joseph. Gordon shoved Joseph out of the way.
Joseph stumbled sideways a few steps.
Gordon leveled his musket and shot the demon in one eye. It slowed the demon long enough for Gordon to reach down and pull a butcher knife from a deerskin sheath in his boot.
Joseph recovered and whirled around.
The demon kicked the knife out of Gordon’s
hand.
Joseph fired his musket. The ball obliterated the demon’s other eye. Orange flames flared and licked the skin off the demon’s vessel’s face. The dead body dropped silently to the ground. The acrid smell of burning hair and skin co-mingled with the smell of gunpowder. The flames caught the tattered sweat-soaked homespun shirt on fire.
Gordon extinguished the lazy flames with the sole of his boot.
Joseph stepped backward and nearly stepped on Jeb Trumble’s wide flung arm. Jeb lay on the ground face down.
Abe and two other militiamen approached. They halted beside the smoldering body.
“So, this is the reason the angels are here!” Abe shouted at Gordon with disgust. “You should have spoken of the demons when you challenged the archangel to speak of it. I hold you responsible for the death of that young father. I will see you punished, black man. Even if I have to do the deed myself!”
“This had nothing to do with black or white!” Gordon shouted. “This is evil produced by the God you worship! Did you expect me to make that exclamation in the presence of three hundred men who were already frightened by the appearance of an out-of-control archangel?”
“Desist speaking!” Joseph ordered. “Jeb has died! Which of you wishes to deliver his body to his family?”
Abe and Gordon said nothing.
“The rear guard has passed us,” Joseph said. “It is time for us to retreat to the west to find the angels. Sergeant Rowlinson, delegate responsibility to ensure that Jeb’s body is delivered to his family. Then, assemble the company to move out.”
As the two regiments Fergus left behind to assist with attacking the British rear guard moved east toward Menotomy, Joseph and his company withdrew westward. They covered less than a quarter-mile when Joseph ordered the company to stop. He felt the need to be forthright and allow these men the freedom to choose their actions.
Joseph’s eyes swept the gathered men. “We have been sent on a mission by an angel—the man you know as Major Fergus Driscoll. The archangel, Colm Bohannon, and his angels are in peril from demons God created.”
Quietude passed over the men and hung in the air. A musket fired in the distance.
“I release you from my command if the idea confuses or frightens you.” Joseph said.
Rufus Williams, a middle-aged redheaded man surprised Joseph. “How can we help the angels?” he asked.
The quietude moved away.
“I suppose by killing as many demons as we can,” Joseph guessed. He glanced at Gordon. “Perhaps, there are other ways that we do not yet understand.”
“It was a demon that killed Jeb,” Abe interjected.
“I saw its orange flaming eyes. I see no difference between the enemies who have killed Americans today, and the enemy with orange eyes,” Rufus said.
“Did you hear what I said?” Joseph demanded. “These demons were created by God! God wants these angels dead! The battle we are about to face is for the angels’ cause, and you must believe in that cause. If you have any doubt, then you cannot stay.”
The men murmured amongst themselves.
A man beside Abe stepped forward. “Dr. Warren, my name is Lemuel Grady. I am a lawyer from Acton. We know of your good reputation, but we are nevertheless doubtful that angels are among us let alone one who has bid us to help them.”
Sergeant Gideon Eldon said, “I can assure you that Dr. Warren’s claim that Major Driscoll is one of them is founded. I saw not only his angelic aura, but I also witnessed the archangel, Colm Bohannon’s, terrifying display of power.”
“I as well,” Abe affirmed.
Gordon said, “I’m acquainted with the archangel. Dr. Warren, however, has a very close relationship with him and the angels.”
Rufus Williams was afraid of God’s punishment, yet he said, “I will stay and fight if necessary.”
“I shall do the same,” Sergeant Eldon declared.
Lemuel Grady and ten others looked doubtful as each man in the company, in turn, pledged their loyalty to the angels’ cause. When it was the lawyer’s turn to say yea or nay, he paused to confer with the small group of doubters.
The company was alarmed by thrashing through the underbrush. The men presented their muskets before the order was given. The panting and sweating band of straggling rebels, who fled when Colm lost control of his aura, burst into view, and then came to a sudden halt. Some bent to place the palms of their hands on their knees to catch their breath. Others seemed confused.
“You ain’t goin’ in their direction,” a scruffy man warned. “What has happened back there ain’t for mortal man to see!”
Another asked, “Who is in charge here?”
Joseph stepped through his gathered company and asked, “What have you seen?”
“It was unbelievable! We saw men with wings surrounded by glimmering colors! One of them shot gold and green light outward from his body! It was as if God’s power was on Earth and among us! You shou’d all flee!”
The terrified rebels fell in together and hurtled eastward past the company. Without a word, Lemuel Graves and the doubters hastened to follow. While the men in the company were trying to make sense of the panicked words they heard, a lone man stumbled from the western woods.
Joseph recognized Jeremiah Killam. If Jeremiah fled what happened among the angels, the situation was dire. Joseph ran to him.
“Joseph?” Jeremiah panted. “What…?”
Joseph allowed Jeremiah a moment to catch his breath before he asked, “What has happened? A group of terrified men just passed us.”
Jeremiah looked at the company with uncertainty. “Joseph, cain we talk without ears overhearin’?”
“These men have pledged to help. Speak plainly.”
Jeremiah’s eyes roamed the faces of the men. Abe was the only man he recognized, although they were not formally acquainted. His green eyes shifted back to Joseph. “Colm tried ta re-light Liam’s aura...the power he let loose was…Seamus told me ta run! I’ve known them angels for twenty-five years, and I ain’t never seen such bedlam among ’em. This’s what Henry wants. He wants ’em ta lose control!”
“Are you willing to return to them with me?”
Jeremiah gave a deep sigh and nodded.
“Reload, and move quickly!” Joseph ordered his company.
Forty deeply religious, God-fearing men—some who had to shift their religious paradigm in a matter of seconds—loaded their muskets and followed Joseph Warren. Their dauntlessness was the image of the courage they nurtured in order to fight for their right to have influence on a British monarchy and parliament 3,000 miles away, which taxed American property at their whim.
Twenty-six
Fear fluttered in Michael’s spirit.
Some of the angels were experiencing uncontrolled memories that belonged to their palimpsests. Ian was impossible to sense, and although the angels could sense Brandon, they were uncertain of his whereabouts. Fergus was not with them. Colm was on his feet, but he seemed unsteady. Despite Liam’s rekindled aura, he was in obvious spiritual pain.
Henry’s minions were skulking through the woods in a stealthy attempt to surround the five angels.
“Ya got ya blade?” Colm asked Michael.
Michael knew if he didn’t control his emotions, Colm would force him to do so. He rustled his wings to calm himself and said, “Aye.”
“Give me ya musket and cartridge box.”
Michael did.
“Seamus, get Liam up and bring him to me,” Colm said.
Patrick moved in close to Michael.
Seamus helped Liam get to his feet.
Colm looped the strap of Michael’s cartridge box over Liam’s head and settled it across his chest. He took Liam’s shaking hands and placed the musket in them. “Ya can do this, Liam.”
Liam looked into his archangel’s soothing eyes. The usual silver light that flashed there was dim. He has injured his spirit to help me, Liam thought. I do not deserve it.
The smell of smok
e dissipated on the gentle breeze.
The summer afternoon was raped when dozens of demons swarmed from the northwest. Some wore brilliant redcoats. Others wore homespun. Unless their vessels were ruined, it was impossible to tell if the possessed were living or dead. The badly outnumbered angels recoiled. If they did not discard their heavenly duty to protect the children of man, they would perish.
Colm tried to soothe his angels by ingesting their panic into his already maimed spirit. He bore the burden of Ian’s and Brandon’s disappearance, Liam’s faltering aura, the uncertain nature of the game Henry was playing, and his own unfamiliar fear for the humans he loved—Joseph and Jeremiah.
Patrick was calm enough to realize that the demons were armed, but none had raised a weapon. The demons are only storming us. Something is wrong.
Colm noticed the same anomaly, but was distracted by the sound of men thrashing through the woods behind him. He turned and saw a smaller group of demons scurry like rats from the woods to the south. Michael was the only angel facing south. The other angels forced themselves not to turn and defend him until Colm gave the order.
But the order never came. Colm summoned his destructive power. The effort was more than he expected, but once it was amassed, it shot from his spirit like jagged gold lightning. The fleeing demons exploded in a blaze of orange and gold light. Skin, bones, hair, clothing, and muskets disintegrated in the inferno of the archangel’s gold radiance. Living or dead, the human vessels were pulverized.
Then, he turned his fury on the demons to the northeast. They stood silently in the woods. Lazy sparks popped in their simmering orange eyes. Patrick saw them drop their weapons. The demons were baiting Colm; feeding his fury until he could no longer control it.
Patrick’s attempt to communicate his suspicions to Colm was drowned out by a sound rumbling through the woods. Green light flashed. Static electricity charged the air. Golden radiance detonated the silent demon-possessed vessels and eradicated them.
Suddenly, men shouted in the woods east of the angels’ position. A horde of possessed British regulars weaved around trees and trampled the underbrush as they opened fire on the angels.
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