Angels & Patriots_Book One

by Salina B Baker

  Captain Murray was close to tears. “Why did God send an archangel to kill us?”

  The other four men stared at him in disbelief.

  Captain Andrew Hay, a tall, middle-aged man with a shock of red hair pulled into a ponytail beneath his tricorn hat said, “James, our friends and comrades were possessed by demons. How could you not see that?”

  “What?”

  “There is another war being fought here that we have no knowledge of,” Captain Hay said. His eyes shifted to the redoubt. “I think the patriots know exactly what that war is.”

  The Battle of Bunker Hill paused as Colm Bohannon lit up the already bright June afternoon with blinding golden light. The retreating possessed regulars and their subsequent shrieking as their bodies were disintegrated, shook the British and caused them to pause. Not only Pigot’s and Pitcairn’s troops marching from the west, but also Howe’s light infantry and fusiliers near the beach and the breastworks, and his ragged line of grenadiers, attempting a frontal attack on the redoubt stood still.

  The rebels in the redoubt were less overcome with Colm’s show of power than the British. Still, it caused them to reconsider their mortality and what they believed to be their own strengths. Colonel Prescott and his men contemplated the part of the rebels’ front line formed by the angels, William Dawes, Joseph, Abe, and Gordon, as Colm’s gold radiance faded from the western sky. Peter Brown, Degory Bennett, Peter Salem, Barnabus Miller, and Salem Poor stepped up to solidify that line and reinforce their alliance.

  The pause in the hostilities was short-lived.

  From behind their makeshift wall of stones and rail fence, Colonel John Stark and his men volleyed at the column of British Captain James Osborn’s light infantry. Captain Thomas Knowlton’s company had hastily constructed fleches between the redoubt breastworks and the rail fence. Now they, along with the provincials behind the breastworks, assaulted Osborn’s column of infantrymen with continuous musket fire. As the front men were shot down, the next line stepped forward, only to be shot to death. Captain Samuel Trevett’s cannons thundered.

  In the face of this concentrated fire, the British assaulting the redoubt’s flank near the beach were slaughtered. The regulars who had not fallen turned and fled back toward Morton’s Hill.

  The confrontation on the redoubt was going no better for Howe’s grenadiers.

  Captain John Chester and his company joined the rebels in the redoubt and fell into ranks with them. The men standing behind the fort’s earthen walls fired incessantly as the regulars advanced. The grenadiers dropped like tin soldiers as their lines stepped up to the redoubt walls only to be shot to death by the rebels. Those who were demon-possessed and had not been shot in the eyes attempted to overwhelm the redoubt.

  Abe raised his musket at a demon standing on the redoubt wall. Before he could pull the trigger, the demon leaped on him and knocked him down. The demon wrapped its hands around Abe’s throat. The moment its fingers brushed the Sigil of Lucifer tattooed on Abe’s neck, the demon’s human vessel burst into flames. The living possessed man screamed in agony.

  Abe shoved his boot heels into the dirt and pushed backward until he was able to get to his feet without catching on fire himself. The smell of burning flesh and the sight of a man’s body engulfed in flames mortified the rebels and the British alike.

  Joseph was horrified. He tried to rationalize the reason the poor man was dying in agony. Colm’s voice interfered. “There’s going to be human collateral damage if I’m to end this.”

  Gordon searched for and found William Dawes. “We need to draw the sigil on every man in this redoubt starting with you!”

  General Pigot’s and Major Pitcairn’s human army marched toward the rebel redoubt and left the demons and archangel behind them. It was easier to go forward in denial than look back into the face of reality.

  Henry, Robert, and Anthony had seen the archangel leave the redoubt in a flurry of wings, silver crystals, gold and green light, and rage. Colm’s angelic urge to touch the frightened human, John Pitcairn, was exactly what Henry had expected. It slowed the archangel down, if only for a few moments.

  Henry watched Colm disintegrate the 300 demon-possessed regulars and marines. As far as Henry was concerned, those demons were nothing more than rats scurrying about and waiting for his orders. As Colm approached, Henry wondered how much power the archangel possessed and, more importantly, how far reaching was it. It was difficult to protect your nest when vermin swarmed it.

  Anthony and Robert stood close to Henry. Both demons feared that Colm would aim his destructive power at them. When Anthony was suddenly disintegrated, Robert darted for the shelter of his leader.

  Henry threw his arms wide open as if he was waiting to embrace Colm.

  Colm’s eyes were wild. He fisted his hands and spread his arms out in front him. When he opened his hands, golden lightning bolts shot from them. The bolts sizzled with green light as they raced through the air toward Henry.

  Henry dodged the currents. A bolt grazed his left arm and disintegrated the fabric of his coat and shirt sleeves. The magnetic field created by the electrical currents threw Robert against Henry. Henry shoved Robert away.

  The demon leader gathered his wits immediately and took advantage of the pause in Colm’s offensive. He asked with venomous pleasure, “Shall we begin, archangel?”

  Henry’s yellow-green eyes sparkled. He reached into the air as if he was picking an apple from a tree—and then another and another.

  At first, Colm didn’t understand what Henry was doing. It had been so long since the angels were disembodied spirits that Colm forgot there were thousands of disembodied demons. Henry was plucking their flames from the ether.

  Henry held his fists up and smiled at Colm. Then, he threw his outstretched arms behind his head and opened his fists. Fireballs rocketed toward Charlestown where Colonel Prescott had sent 60 sharpshooters to snipe the British regulars as they landed nearby. The fireballs exploded and caught the wooden buildings on fire.

  Charlestown’s sudden ignition made the generals on Copp’s Hill smile with smug satisfaction. The people of Boston viewed it with uncertainty. They were uncertain of who was defending the Charlestown peninsula just yards from the wharfs of Boston. If they had known, perhaps they would not have watched with morbid curiosity as men they knew and loved were dying.

  Henry sneered, “You and I both know that this is the final chapter of God’s enactment. Angels versus demons. It is such an old tale to tell is it not?”

  Colm’s failures as an archangel, his inability to protect the humans he loved, and Liam’s loss seemed to come together to tell the horrible presaged tale. Is God capable of distracting me even after we have rejected Heaven? He shook the delusion off, furled his wings, and unconsciously brushed strands of loose hair away from his neck.

  “What is that filthy thing on your neck, archangel?” Henry asked and took a step toward Colm. “Have you and your angels rejected Heaven?”

  Colm saw orange flames of uncertainty flicker in Henry’s yellow-green eyes. The unanticipated sight of doubt should have provided a welcome weakness to Colm, but instead, it was disconcerting. Is he afraid of the sigil? Or do I see something I don’t understand?

  Colm whipped the blade from his coat pocket and threw the knife at Henry’s eyes. Henry caught the knife by its hilt before it could damage his eyes. He tossed it to the ground. It is time to redirect the archangel’s energy away from that sordid sigil.

  “Listen and feel, archangel,” Henry instructed.

  Heat from the crackling, exploding fires in Charlestown coupled with the late afternoon sun, baked the peninsula. As they waged war, the colonial rebels were also fighting intense thirst and fatigue. From the east, cannons thundered like Greek gods clashing on Mount Olympus. Incessant musket and cannon fire, and men shouting and screaming played a constant din.

  “Where do you suppose Robert has gotten off to, preceptor?” Henry asked. His eyes shined brightly.
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  At that moment, Colm made a horrible mistake. He turned and ran for the rebel redoubt.

  What a pleasure this will be! Henry thought.

  Forty-one

  The grenadiers’ futile attack on the redoubt fell apart at the sight of one of their own soldiers burning to death. Possessed or not, Colonel James Abercrombie’s line of grenadiers broke apart. Like Howe’s infantrymen on the beach, the men fled back toward Morton’s Hill. Their sudden retreat halted General Pigot’s and Major Pitcairn’s advance on the redoubt’s left flank.

  Joseph, Ian, and Abe extinguished the burning body of the demon-possessed man. Joseph stared down at the putrid body. He wondered if an angel came to guide this soul to its egress, although the man had been possessed by a demon when he died.

  Colonel Prescott approached Joseph. “This man needs to be buried. I cannot have this morbid sight among us.”

  Abe somberly volunteered. “I will do it.”

  “Thank you, Abe,” Joseph said, quietly.

  Peter Salem and Ian helped Abe remove the corpse from the redoubt to bury it.

  William Dawes handed his pistol and ammunition to Barnabus Miller. “How am I to draw the sigil on hundreds of men before the British regroup and attack us again?” William asked Gordon.

  The answer became more complicated as the sharpshooters Colonel Prescott had sent to Charlestown entered the redoubt. There were 60 of them when Henry caught Charlestown on fire. Ten had been trapped in buildings and burned to death. Many of the survivors were burned and wounded. Joseph went to care for them.

  Seamus sat with his back against the front redoubt wall. Michael and Patrick sat beside him. The boys were able to release their blue auras to comfort themselves. Seamus, on the other hand, couldn’t control his purple aura. He struggled with it for a while and then realized it was hopeless.

  I’m supposed to be in command of the brotherhood with Colm and Fergus gone, but everythin’s fallen apart and there ain’t nothin’ to be in charge of, Seamus thought.

  General William Howe stood alone on a rise near the rail fence. He felt the devastating brunt of what had just transpired in the hills overlooking the raging flames of Charlestown. Every member of his staff was either dead or wounded.

  Both the colonial rebels and Howe’s regulars looked on in astonishment as he stood there, oblivious, resplendent in his scarlet uniform; a sure target for the rebels.

  Surrounded by the dead and the dying, having learned that the light infantry, who were to have assured him of a victory, had been repulsed; Howe experienced a life-altering sensation. Staggered by grief, shock, anger, and embarrassment, he turned and started down the rise. He picked his way through the fallen bodies and considered what to do next. Do I withdraw my troops and avoid more bloodshed?

  Howe’s next act was preordained. With generals Clinton, Burgoyne, and Gage watching his every move from Copp’s Hill, he had no choice short of shame other than to regroup and try to thwart the rebels once again. I’ll direct my energies toward the redoubt and the breastworks. But he had to act quickly before the provincials had a chance to reinforce their numbers.

  He sent a request for reinforcements to General Gage.

  Remarkably, despite all they had been through, his surviving troops expressed enthusiasm when he ordered a fresh assault. Dispensed of packs and other unnecessary equipment, they cried, “Push on! Push on!” the British soldiers advanced toward the breastworks and the redoubt in a column of eight men across instead of exposed lines of hundreds of men across.

  The colonists in Prescott’s redoubt could not afford even the hint of a victory celebration. They had lost few men and had broken the British advance, but they had done so with repeated firings. Their gunpowder supply was nearly as exhausted as they were after a sleepless night of digging and a hot day under frequent bombardment with no food and little to drink but rum.

  Furthermore, Henry’s demons were infiltrating the British soldiers in large numbers, and Colm wasn’t there to soothe the angels and the rebels who depended on his protection. The provincial reinforcements, trickling in through the back of the redoubt, were little comfort to those who knew the battle was inhuman.

  Captain John Stark’s troops abandoned the stone wall and the breastworks and tried to flee to the redoubt, but the British began cannonading them. They were forced to prepare and defend the redoubt from outside its walls.

  Many of Colonel Prescott’s troops had withdrawn or deserted. Less than 150 men remained in the redoubt.

  Joseph finished caring for the injured sharpshooters and returned to the angels. He sat down beside Seamus. “Can you sense Colm?” he asked as he reloaded his musket with one of the last cartridges in his box.

  Seamus shook his head.

  Patrick fought the urge to crawl into his brother’s lap like a confused and terrified infant. Peter Salem, Ian, and Abe returned from burying the burned British soldier. Their return provided enough solace to stifle Patrick’s urge.

  Michael reloaded. With his musket in one hand and his curved surgical blade in the other, he scooted in closer to Joseph. William Dawes and Gordon Walker approached them. William kneeled and asked Joseph, “I have been carving the sigil into the skin of those who wish it. Do you want me to do the same for you?”

  “No, William. Prepare yourself for the coming assault.”

  “Joseph, I think you shou’d let me do this.”

  Colonel Prescott shouted, “FALL IN!”

  Joseph stood in response to Prescott’s order. “Come, William. We have orders to carry out.”

  “Joseph, I really think you—” William’s words were lost in the flurry of men falling in. An odd unwelcome feeling crept into the pit of his stomach.

  The sharpshooters formed the first line of rebel defense along the redoubt wall. Seamus, Patrick, Michael, and Joseph fell into ranks with Abe, Ian, Degory Bennet, Peter Salem, Peter Brown, Barnabus Miller, Gordon, William Dawes, Salem Poor, and the few men left under Colonel Prescott’s command. They formed a line behind the sharpshooters.

  The cannon fire from Captain Samuel Trevett’s artillery company near the beach ceased.

  The men in the little fort on the wrong hill listened to General Howe’s regulars chant “Conquer or die!” as they marched toward them from the south. General Pigot’s regulars and Major Pitcairn’s marines had also rallied; they approached the redoubt from the west.

  With the retreat of Captain John Stark’s company, and the silence of provincial cannons, some of Howe’s infantrymen were able to reach the beach and begin flanking the redoubt.

  Colonel Prescott and Captain Chester leaped on to the top of the redoubt wall and ran along its length, knocking up the muzzles of the men’s muskets to prevent them from firing too early. From his vantage point, William Prescott saw Colm and a teenage boy run through the back of the redoubt; they fell into lines with the waiting rebels.

  The angels overreacted to Colm’s arrival. Their wings unfurled and interfered with many of the men’s ability to see what was happening.

  Colonel Prescott pointed at the angels and shouted at Colm, “Get them under control!”

  Colm eased into the line between Michael and Patrick. The boys looked at Colm, relieved. He stroked their cheeks and said, “Furl ya wings if ya can. It’s going to be alright.” Then, he soothed Seamus and Ian in the same way.

  “Don’t leave us again,” Seamus said to Colm. “We ain’t doin’ so well.”

  “I can see that.”

  Joseph asked Colm, “Did you find Henry?”

  Colm couldn’t tell Joseph that he had lost track of Henry and Robert because he had panicked.

  Joseph looked at Colm carefully.

  Gold light flashed in Colm’s eyes.

  “Colm, where is Henry?” Joseph asked.

  Michael and Patrick released a cry of distress.

  A shiver ran up Ian’s spine. He and Seamus looked at one another. Seamus’ gray eyes, bearded face, and narrow-brimmed beaver felt hat were f
amiliar to Ian. Ian’s new vessel, with its dark blue eyes and graying brown hair that fell below his shoulders in a long queue, was finally beginning to seem unsurprising to Seamus. Their purple and red auras lit up bright and strong; it was who they truly were and how they truly saw one another.

  Colm met Joseph’s stare and said, “I want ya and Michael to stay beside me.”

  “You do not know where Henry is, do you?” Joseph demanded.

  Patrick could no longer contain his distress. He shouted, “Answer Joseph, Colm!”

  The current of the angels’ apprehension pulled Abe and Gordon in closer to them.

  Then, Colonel Prescott yelled, “AT THE READY FOR AN ASSAULT!”

  Captain John Chester ordered some of the men, including Patrick, Peter Salem, and Gordon to man the west wall against General Pigot’s regulars and Major Pitcairn’s marines.

  The fifteen-year-old boy who had entered the redoubt with Colm, wielded a bayonet with careless abandon. Patrick snatched it from the boy before he could hurt anyone in the redoubt, then followed Captain Chester.

  The boy fell in beside Patrick.

  “Who are you?” Patrick asked him.

  “John Greenwood. I’m a fifer with Captain Bliss’ company out of Massachusetts,” the boy explained proudly. He considered Patrick’s blue aura. “You must be one of them angels I heard about. Can I have my bayonet back?”

  When they were positioned at the west wall, Patrick gave John back his bayonet.

  Suddenly, British field pieces thundered and grapeshot showered the redoubt. The British were within three rods of the redoubt’s west and south walls.

  Colonel Prescott shouted, “FIRE!”

  The redoubt erupted with gunfire. They shot unmercifully at the bright scarlet coats of the British officers’ first, and then took aim at the regulars and a sea of orange eyes.