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A short prose of Washington and Lafayette at the Battle of Brandywine.Those of you who have watched Liberty's Kids will notice certain elements were thrown in. Enjoy


"Retreat calmly!" ordered the young General Lafayette.

Thee noxious smoke from the gunpowder and muskets made it hard to concentrate and even harder to see. Amid the screaming - both of panic and of agony - his strident voice went mostly unheard, so he quickly pulled his bay colt to a halt and dismounted.

The British were gaining now, were almost upon them. But if this retreat was not done right, many more soldiers would not make it out of this battle alive. They would be the several more dying men in the flattened grass, writhing before they expired in torment. They were the men he tried hard, so hard, not to look at.

The redcoats were even closer now. He could see the 'whites of their eyes' just as General Washington had once described the Battle of Bunker Hill.

They will shoot now, any time, he thought grimly. Right now, they are probably cocking their weapons, and aiming, aiming...probably at me, because right now, I am the only one that's left... A moment later, several musket balls whizzed by; he felt the puffs of air as they passed less than an inch from his body.
His horse reared up with a whinny of fear and bolted away, ripping the reins from his hands. Lafayette shouted, whipping around to see the colt galloping for the forest.

Some of the men he'd managed to catch, to grab them by their arms, make them look in his eyes, had in turn, stopped other blindly fleeing soldiers. As one, they were getting out, backing up rapidly into the cover of the trees. From here, their position improved considerably, and they were able to keep the king's men at bay.
And then suddenly, he knew he'd been hit, his lower leg held in a burning pain worse than the fires of all hell.
"Aaaaghh-mmph!" he started to scream, but abruptly clapped his gloved hand over his mouth. Several of the men hesitatated, stopping to shoot him a concerned look. Lafayette managed a pained smile, then grimaced.

His leg must hold. It had to.

They weren't safe yet; they needed deeper cover.

He turned and stepped out, to run with his men, but every step was agonizing.
Fool, he thought,today in this battle alone, hundreds of men are dead or dying from injuries much worse than this...

Nevertheless, the pain almost made him pass out several times; this was the first time he'd been really wounded in combat.

He stumbled into a clearing with several other tired men, and collapsed against a tree, proviking a groan past his clenched teeth.

I did it...I got them out...they're safe...we're safe...

He leaned his head back against the rough bark, the world starting to fade in and out.
Then the concerned voice of Washington, his general, his hero, his friend, brought him back from the empty, painless land he'd begun to stray into.

"Marquis...dear Lafayette...you're all right..."

"Yes, except for this musket ball in my leg," he quipped, the pain returning in torrents. He almost was able to stifle another groan, but didn't quite succeed.

And then he was aware of the great General kneeling in the trodden grass and dirt, not even caring that his spotless white breeches were now marked with grass stains and mud. Still kneeling, he reached over and took the Frenchman in his arms and cradled his head against his chest.

Though it hurt to move even that much, Lafayette leaned forward to hug Washington back, trying to still his trembling body, trying to hide from this great man how much pain he really was in.

He felt Washington stroking his hair, and he let his eyes close again.

He didn't think about the pain this time, or how devatating this loss in the battle had been to the Patriots.

He didn't let himself think about any of that.

Because here, he wa safe.

Here, he was home.