Scar by J. Albert Mann Page B

keep silent. Still, Colonel Hathorn does not look up or respond.
    Maybe we won’t catch up to Brant. Maybe it will all end in this clearing. How would I feel if this were true, and if our little army were to turn for home right now? I look behind me at the way we came, through the trees, south, toward my mother and Mary … toward Eliza Little.
    Colonel Hathorn interrupts my thoughts.
    â€œWe have come for a fight and we shall show Joseph Brant and these Tories a fight,” he says quietly, still not meeting the company’s eyes.
    Major Meeker beams.
    â€œLet us stick to our original plan,” continues the colonel. He turns to Dr. Tusten. “Benjamin, you will attack from our right flank, Lieutenant Colonel Wisner will charge the left flank, and I shall strike from the middle. But first we shall proceed up the path, looping back to surprise them from the direction they least expect, the north.”
    If Dr. Tusten disagrees, I see nothing in him that says as much. He promptly hands me the rest of his extra medical sacks and begins to head north on our path. I gladly follow him.
    The doctor and I lead the line, behind Tyler and Cuddeback, who have gone ahead to scout out Brant’s exact position. I keep my eyes locked on the doctor’s back.
    We are moving fast. I follow too closely. When I fall, I don’t feel the pain of my knee against the rock, just the warm blood seeping through my trousers. When I stand, I step on one of the knapsacks and trip again, winding up back in the dirt. The doctor gives me his hand, but I refuse it, and I stumble up and after him.
    I see nothing but the fabric of the doctor’s jacket. My own breath fills my ears. The medical bags crowd around me. It’s just as yesterday, I tell myself, we are only marching …marching … marching. After a few paces I begin to relax.
    A shot cracks the silence.
    We freeze—as if that single musket ball has stopped every one of us dead in our tracks. The shot is followed by a volley of three or four more. These bring us instantly back to life and we scurry about like ants that have lost their trail.
    This is not in the plan.
    Dr. Tusten shouts to those of us assigned to him and then motions us downhill toward the river. Again, I follow him, forcing myself to keep back so as not to knock him down from behind. He turns to find me and I run into him, losing my balance. His hands grip my shoulders and he yanks me back to my feet.
    â€œNoah.” He shakes me, not hard, but so that he has my attention.
    I nod. I’m with him.
    He releases me and heads west again, but slower, his gaze scouring the trees. We’re no longer a large group, but more like thirty or forty. Josh and I acknowledge each other with a look.
    Silence.
    Slinking.
    Every step forward. Unbearable.
    Ahead … movement.
    Men.
    The enemy.
    I do as the others do, and drop to my belly behind a rock.The explosion of musket fire fills the forest.
    I pull my legs in under me and crouch behind the rock with my eyes pressed shut and my forehead against the cool stone. My nose fills with musket smoke. I open my eyes. The smoke burns and I can’t see a thing. A body bangs into mine, knocking me into the pine needles. A musket is thrust into my chest by a man I recognize, but don’t know by name.
    â€œLoad it,” he growls.
    I do as I’m told. He snatches the musket from me and shoves a second one at me. I reload it and hand it back to him, retrieving the first musket to load again. Sweat and smoke squeeze in around us and all I see is the man, the rock, and the musket I load.
    Fill the lock, drop in the cartridge … ramming, cocking, until my whole body knows the routine and performs it in swift, fluid motions. I crouch behind the rock and reload over and over and over.
    I start to feel almost comfortable. There’s nothing like having a task. It’s my mother coming out in me. I even let myself look around a little. Dr.