Our picket line was a mile and half from the main camp. It took me around forty five minutes to reach the line. I was surrounded by total darkness. It seemed not a soul was around for miles. It was just me and the stars that seemed to shimmer brightly in the night heavens. The moon, full and plum, reminded me of an old silver dollar. The wind seemed to be still now.

I wondered if the old saying was true that we are never alone. That wherever we go that God, The Son, and The Holy Spirit walk beside us. If that was so, that was a small comfort. I felt myself starting to quiver as I gripped my musket. Part of me wanted to break camp and run. To throw down my musket and to strip myself of the uniform I was wearing. But knowing my dad. He would form a search party and have them search for me, and given my weakened state no doubt they would find me.

And once I was found, I'm sure my dad would for the amusement of the school children, private school children, who always seemed to be spectors at these events. Yes, for their amusement he would have me brought up on the charge of desertion. And possible cowardice in front of the enemy. I would no doubt be found guilty of these charges.

I would then be blind folded and led into an open field, where an old, pine casket would be laid open. I would then be forced to stand behind the casket. My hands would be bound tightly with good hemp rope and a corporal with a six man execution squad would then march out.

They would then lower their muskets and at the drop of a sword blast me away, of course it would be a mock execution. A twisted, freakish sideshow for the school children, a living example to all the good private school school boys of what happens when one fails to show true grit and courage. Or when one abounds with their post.

“Fuck!” I shouted as I peered toward the heavens.

I knew what I had to do. I had to flee, escape, to run away. But where, mom I knew would be struggling to provide for herself. She'll be starting over from scratch. While I'm sure she'll quickly find a job, she did have a degree in nursing after all. She'll be in the process of rebuilding her life. Could she afford another mouth to feed? Could she afford school fees?

And then there were my cousins. Jasmine and Isabella, I knew them, I loved them, Jasmine was a big time CEO of a manga publishing company and Isabella worked with the same publishing company. I knew Isabella had recently bought a small creole cottage on the outskirts of town and that Jasmine was thinking of moving to Blue Bayou to be closer to her cousin. I guess they could take me in..

“Hey!” A voice called out.

Staying in character I lowered my musket and brought it to my shoulder. I cocked the hammer back and peered into the inky darkness.

“Cut the bullshit out Ash.” Another voice hissed.

“This is no time to play pretend soldier.” Another voice hissed.

“Listen, we've been following you, we know how he treats you. And we even eavesdropped on that little talk he gave you.” Another voice hissed.

I slowly lowered my rifle.

“Listen, Ash, if push comes to shove get the hell out there. The three of us have been watching you right now. And were concerned about you. I'm going to drop a piece of paper and I want you to come and get it. Once you get it you hide it okay? There's going to be a bundle of bills there too. Keep it safe, don't let anybody know you have it.”

I leered into the dark. I then heard something hit the ground.

“Okay, Ash, come get it.”

I slung my musket over my shoulder and walked toward the sound. I paused as I heard what sounded like feet running through the underbrush. I heard twigs snapping, branches breaking, and there upon the ground I found a small collection of bills, a few ones, a few fives, a ten, and two twenties. And a handwritten note.

'This is not much. But it's all we have on us at this time. Don't spend a dime of it, and don't tell your dad about it. Remember the following phone numbers. (501) 7756 – 4567 (Angel I) (501) 7111 – 4896 (Angel J) and if you can't reach anybody at the two numbers dial this number (405) 765 -8970. Remember these numbers and if you ever feel threatened. Remember, don't wait to run. We have connections, we know people in the community, we can help you. We will help you.'

The letter was simply signed 'Your guardianing angels.'

I blinked and blinked again. I wanted to ask who 'Angel I' and who 'Angel J' were. But I decided not too. Instead I folded the money up in the paper the three phone numbers were written on and stuck them into my tunic. It's going to sound strange, but holding that piece of paper made me feel like I was holding on to a little piece of hope.That if I'd lived through this whole thing, I'll come out the person I was meant to be. That their were people, good, kind hearted people out there in this big, old world and they were looking out for me.

A quarter of an hour later though. Just as I was thinking things were looking up. A large, tall man, with shoulders the size of smoked hams, and fingers the sizes of hotdogs walked up to me, his breath reeked of Jack Daniels and he had two golden, doward pointed chevrons sewn onto the sleeves of his tunic.

“Private..” He muttered as he poked my chest with those hotdog size fingers. “I just saw three shadows move across the field, I did not hear you call attention to them. Are you flirting with the yankee.” His eyes were red as coal and a stream of clear snot ran down into his open mouth.

“No sir..” I said bringing my musket to the position of attention.
“Sir.. I'm a non-commissioned officer private. Don't you dare call me 'Sir' I work for a living. Do you understand me? Do you fucking understand me private?” He was words were running together.
“Yes..' I still said lots of words.

“Corporal..” He swayed and looked down into my eyes. “I'm a corporal..” He said pointing toward the two downward pointed chevrons.

He swayed a little and then in a hollow tone of voice he said.

“Anyway resume your post private and don't let me see you slacking again. Or I'll strap you to the wagon wheel and flog you. I'll flog you like a negro.You understand me?. Do you understand me private?” His voice was hollow, and the fumes of the liquer seemed to swirl around him like the tiny little flies always seemed flew around the character from the peanut comic strip.

“Yes corporal!”

He then did something I did not expect. He smacked me upside the head with his open palm. The smack caused me to see stars and the force of the hit knocked me flat on the ground. I rolled a little. The man however just stood there, looking down at me with his arms folded across his chest. His eyes seemed to burn like the embers of hate. Slowly I collected myself and once I was standing upright I felt the musket being thrusted into my hands.

“That for being a smart ass. Next time you get smart with me boy, I'm going to knock some goddamn teeth out of your head. Now resume your post private, and I better not see your ass slacking again.” He muttered as he pushed past me.

The End of Chapter Three