The Patriot : Tree of Liberty

    Wielding his sharp foil, Johnson cut down several of the Red Coats, Blood and screams alike filled the hallway. Ahead of him a second group of those burgandy basterds carried off his wife Alaina. Her screams filled Johnsons ears, searing his conciousness, jarring him to instant action. Bounding over an end table and several corpses, he landed on his feet, took aim with his wheel lock pistol, and fired. The single hot ball of lead flew through the humid air taking its mark with shocking alacrity. So energetic was the projectile that it vaulted through the innerds of one man and struck the next, slaying both. Never pausing in his pursuit, Johnson took up a charge, blade in hand. Closing the distance he defeated the penultimate Red Coat, and confronted the final man. Calmed visibly by the apperance of her husband, Alaina fought her captor, stamping and biting at the man. Despite her struggles the soldier kept his grip, putting the edge of a cold saber to her throat.

         "Enough man!" Bellowed Johnson. "let her go. let's you and me fight."
         
         "Sounds fair enough to me." whispered the lone redcoat.

    Dropping his saber just enough, Johnsons nemisis laxed his grip and pushed Alaina in one lightning quick movement. Falling on him in a crash, Johnson found himself looking straight into  a pair of frightened eyes. Kissing her on the lips, a gesture more for himself then her sake, he lifted her and picked them both up from the carpeted floor. The man who had held his wife to deaths door, was no longer in the hallway.



    Evening fell quickly over the Bandersfield estate. With its front lawn a temporary battlefield, its gardens torn asuander, and its kitchen a hospital, one would never guess at the days events.

    The marriage performed there early that day, was overrun by the british, right as vows were taken and brides kissed.

    Motars and cannon fire had ripped away sections of his house, revealing its insides to all sorts. Johnson patrolled the rear garden winery which was one of the only left near copicetic. As he rode down the garden lane thoughts scrawled across the surface of his mind.

    Why me? What would draw a battalion of those....those disasterous men upon us?

    His forehead wrinkled, and eyebrows scrunched our man Johnson failed to detect an encroaching threat.

To be continued