Lead by the Light infantry, the redcoats advanced towards the enemy camp. It was a dim half moon and there was just enough light to se the men standing to the left and right. George clenched the musket tight in his hands. The flintlock stone was removed, to avoid an accidental shot.
To say that George was scared would have been an understatement. His legs shivered like they were made of glass and he was sure he would piss himself any moment. Shooting someone was one thing but getting up close and personal and stabbing a human being with 15 inches of cold steel and looking that person in the eyes while doing it.
He was about to go into a panic attack when he felt the hand of the Sergeant on his shoulder. "Private, I know this is scary. But remember that me and the others are counting on you." Group pressure. Simple, but effective.
He thought about the strange forest woman and about seeing her again. This thought kept him going forward. The few posts were quickly dealt with and the redcoats began to surround the tents. "Let's wake them up, Sergeant." the Lieutenant orders.
The Sergeant rang one of the alarm bells and the american soldiers rushed out of their tents, only to be cut down by the redcoats. The slaughter only lasted for a few minutes but for George, it felt like time had stopped. When the first enemy soldier was in front of him, he couldn't think about the uniform and the gun in his hands. He just saw a boy, the same age as him. He couldn't bring himself to kill the poor lad, so he bayoneted him in the thigh instead. He fell to the ground, crying in pain, but still alive.
The garrison commander quickly surrendered, handing his sword over to the Lieutenant. The Union Jack was raised over the outpost and the prisoners brought back to the British camp.
"Lets just shoot them." said the Sergeant. He spat one of the soldiers in the face. "These rebels do not deserve to be treated fairly. Hang them all like the criminals they are."
"Enough Sergeant! We do NOT murder Prisoners of War." the Colonel shouted at him. "They will be brought to New York."
"So that they an rot away on the Jersey ? Shooting them would be more humane." the Sergeant muttered but followed the orders. The Prisoners were made to march towards New York, it would take them them several days to reach it.
Seeing these freezing young man made George realize that these were people just like him. They didn't want to freeze, to live out in the wood in a little tent. They wanted to be home with their families, work or go to school. Sure, they were misguided but they were still human beings. "What's up with the Sergeant?" he asked a comrade during a break.
"I heard his brother was killed by the rebels down in Georgia. Lynched by an angry mob because he openly supported the king. They let his body hanging at a tree as a warning."
"No wonder he hates these colonists so much." George whispered.
War is always the same. No matter if the cause is noble or unjustified or even done out of necessity. In war, people always die and suffer.
George wondered if the Grim Reaper loved war or if he fought of it as a waste of human lives, because young man are taken down during their prime. He probably would, war was not created by god after all. It was created by humans.
A few days after their return, George found himself on night patrol with two more soldiers. As they were resting on a tree stump, one of them asked what they planned to do once the war was over. "Huh... good question. To be honest, I don't know. Maybe return home but... I don't believe that will be possible. War changes people." George sighed. He hadn't even killed anyone yet and could already tell how much it would affect him. Perhaps it was better this way and he could prepare himself for when the time came. He also had to think about the Sergeant and his desire for revenge. "War makes men mad, even the good ones."
"Well I for one am going back to Glastonbury and marry my sweetheart. She..." the soldiers speech was interrupted when he was suddenly pulled backwards. George and his comrade turned around to see the Wendigo slashing their friends throat with his sharp and long fingers. The beast and sneaked up on them.
Both soldiers aimed their muskets at the creature and fired. Despite hitting it up close, the bullets just bounced off. As a response, the Wendigo jumped at Georges other comrade and bit into his neck.
Seeing that bullets didn't do any good, a bayonet probably wouldn't do the trick either. All that George could do right now was run. Run like hell.
He could hear the creature behind him, running and hissing, but he did not turn around. The torch in his hand offered only little light and while running, it was made even worse. So it was inevitable when that he fell down a ravine.
The raving wasn't too deep but he hit himself very hard on the rocks, including the head. The pain was extreme. He turned around and tried to stand up and continue to run. But he couldn't. His vision became blurry yet he could still see the head of the creature peaking over the cliff and looking down at him. He could feel the blood from around the creatures mouth dripping down on him. George couldn't move, was about to be eaten and his eyelids became heavy. The roar of the Wendigo was the last thing the remembered before falling unconscious. Maybe, he thought, it would be the last thing we would ever hear.
Before closing his eyes for the final time, he saw a bright light coming towards him. Maybe it was an angel, carrying him into heaven.
Warmth... a fire and... furs covering his body? George opened his eyes and saw that he was in a tepee, similar to the ones of the local natives? Did he got saved by another patrol?
"Oh thank the spirits, you are awake!" a voice called out next to him. He turned his head and saw the beautiful woman he met the other day. Somehow she look even more beautiful then the last time he met her. "When I dragged you out of that ravine I thought you were never gonna wake up." The native woman had taken care of the soldiers wounds and offered him a strange brew to drink. "Here, this will help with the pain."
"God, that smells and tastes horrible." he thought, but swallowed it anyway. "T-Thank you. You saved my life." He looked at her with admiration. But then his look turned into one of horror. "The Wendigo!"
She rested a hand on his shoulder. "I chased him away, you are safe."
"You?! But... how?" he asked in disbelief.
"Some fire will do wonders against this beast." she simply said as if it was not a big deal.
"Well it didn't help me and my friends. We had torches and that thing still attacked us."
The woman was shocked and worried upon hearing this. "So you were in a group AND you had fire with you? That means it gets bolder."
"This beast is consumed by hunger, right?"
"Yes but it usually does not attack groups and it is scared of fire. Which means it gets more cunning." she said with worry.
"It's just a stupid animal."
The woman looked at him in disapproval, it was almost like she was offended. "Don't talk like that. The Wendigo is NOT part of nature, it is a being created by human debauchery. Those who take and not give, who eat human flesh. Animals are part of nature and thus live in harmony with it, even dangerous ones like Bisons and mountain lions."
George felt a little ashamed. "Forgive me. I know you indians respect nature. Something we from the old world... forgot." he admitted.
The woman lost her anger when she saw how sincere he was. "I never thought about it that way... perhaps there is hope for you after all." she smiled. "But yes, I love all the animals in the forest, that is why I live out here alone. I prefer the animals over humans."
The tent was filled with trinkets and herbs, with a large fire in the middle. It was really warm in there, compared to the cold winds outside. Whatever this woman used to heal George, it worked wonders. He felt more alive then ever. "I cannot thank you enough for my rescue. How can I repay you, my fair lady."
"Oh!" the woman blushed. She did not know all the words of the english language but she knew that word was reserved for their most important woman or woman they liked. "Nothing, really. Everyone else would have done the same."
George sat upright. "May I at least ask for you name, my fair lady?"
"My name will be difficult to pronounce. But if you wish to address me in your language you can call me Mahwah."
He nodded. "As you wish, Mahwah." He looked around. "How long have you been out here?"
She offered him a mysterious smile in response. "Time loses all meaning out here. I am not bound by the rules of my people or have to wake up at every sunrise and work until sunset. Out here... I am truly free."
George looked at her for a moment and tilted his head to the side. "Did you... run away from something or someone?"
Mahwah was surprised by his response but she decided not to lie. "Among other things, yes. I do not want to talk about it... yet." she whispered.
"I'm sorry I did not mean to intrude. Again, thank you very much for the help. But I should get back to camp..."
"Not yet. It is still dark outside, you have to wait until the sun rises. The Wendigo only hunts at night."
"You... seem to know a lot about it."
She leaned in closer. "I do. So please listen to my warning: If you hear my voice, or that of your friends at night, coming from the forest... it may be the Wendigo."
"It can speak?!" It sounded unreal. George always saw himself as a man of science and did not believe in such things as demons and spirits. Apparently this 'New World' was more different then he could ever imagine.
"Yes so please... be careful." She applied more of her strange paste to his wounds to heal them. He did only wear his pants after all, leaving most of his body exposed. If the woman did feel any shame about touching a man like that, she masked it well. Perhaps she didn't care at all. "Now rest please. I will bring you back to your friends tomorrow."
George wanted to ask so much more, learn more about her. But he did indeed feel tired so he nodded and laid back again. Mahwah remained by his side the whole night, not taking her eyes of him unless she had to keep the fire up.
She wondered who this strange man from another land was and why she felt so... connected to him. "Who are you?" she whispered to the sleeping soldier.
Apparently George was not the only one with many questions.