The First Shot – Part 7

MAJ Ward exchanged fire with the two assassins, but it was a futile battle. He popped out of cover randomly low and high to get better shots, but they had the numbers. While one kept the MAJ pinned the other advanced and vice versa, and then there was the banging on the front door. The Redcoats were coming and it was only a matter of time before they broke through.

The MAJ cursed as he crouched low, left cover, and got a single shot off before rounds ripped into the ruined doorway. One ricocheted and smacked him in the gut where he’d taken the last blast less than twelve hours ago in another time.

“Damn!” He could see they were within twenty yards. “Come on Colour Sergeant.”

Unfortunately, the British beat the Easterners into the church. He heard the door coming loose on its hinges as the soldiers threw their weight into it and it crumbled. Four redcoats streamed into the room and spread out into a line. The MAJ was already on the move. He dove behind the pews to avoid the volley.

“Fire!” The soldier in charge bellowed and muskets went off with a roar.

Their heavy balls were slow moving, but they still did plenty of damage. Chunks of the pews were blown apart, and if the MAJ hadn’t low-crawled away he would have gotten some nasty splinters. He was a quarter of the way to the pulpet when the Easterners joined the party.

“You two, halt in the name of the . . .!” The soldier never finished as modern, silenced rounds tore into them. They collapsed in a spray of blood.

The MAJ had a fleeting thought that this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, but it was interrupted by a resounding BOOM. He was already rolling forward into one of the pews to get out of the assassins’ line of fire. He came up in a kneeling position with his pistol raised and ready, but the assassins were already in full retreat. He took a shot, but his bullet buried itself in the wall a few inches from his target’s shoulder before he disappeared through the wrecked door.

The MAJ didn’t take the time to relax. If anything, his situation was even worse than before. Something had exploded, four soldiers were dead, and he didn’t even know if the CSGT was still alive. He did know he needed to move, and he moved quickly to the wall and along it so he had a good line of sight on both doors. People outside were screaming now, undoubtedly because of the gunfire, but when he got to the foot of the stairs he could see something much worse was on their minds.

Not only was there a groaning twenty-second century royal marine struggling to get up, but the MAJ could see flames licking at the stairs.

“Sorry, Sir.” The CSGT winced as he struggled to his feet. “I got the lanterns up, but I doubt that’s what anyone is looking at.”

The screams outside solidified into a single word now that he was close enough to the door.

“FIRE!”

Towns of this time period were primarily made of wood. A fire was a danger to everyone, and every available man would be running to the nearest pumping station to fill their buckets and help. More than one great city had burned down throughout history because a fire got out of control. For the MAJ and CSGT, it offered an opportunity.

“Come on.” The MAJ easily hoisted up the CSGT and headed for the front door. He didn’t dare go out the back with the assassins still unaccounted for.

They emerged into a growing crowd of men. Dozens were throwing buckets of waters on the flames. A quick look at it and it was clear the church wasn’t going to make it, and the chances of saving the buildings on either side of it were slim. It didn’t look like the fire would spread much further if the men were able to get ahead of it, but nothing was certain.

The MAJ was in a minor state of shock as he half-carried the CSGT away from the blaze. Men called after them, many of them cursing, but the MAJ didn’t stop. It wasn’t the fight that had shocked him. They’d come as close to victory as they could with those odds, but he’d just changed history. Longfellow would no longer write about the midnight ride of Paul Revere. He’d write about the burning of the Old North Church and the mystery of the men who started it.

“I’m good, Sir.” The CSGT walked under his own power once they’d rounded the corner. “I just busted my gut. Probably broke a rib.” The marine seemed to grimace every time he took a breath.

“We’ll patch you up when we get back across the river.” The MAJ’s eyes scanned the area for any threats but didn’t find anything. “Let’s get the Lieutenant.”

The LT was skulking in the shadows of an alley two blocks from the church. You’d actually have to enter the alley’s darkness to see him at this time of night, and if you were an unwanted guest he would have finished you by then.

“What the hell happened?” were his first words when they arrived.

“Nothing we can change now.” The MAJ needed to focus on the present. “We need to get back to the others right away. We’ll discuss it in the AAR.”

The after action review was going to be a weird one. Item number one on list of improves would be to not burn down eighteenth century Boston on the eve of the American Revolution.

Getting back across the river was more difficult than expected. The ferry didn’t run at night and soldiers guarded the area. The fire helped them in that regard. Dozens of Redcoats were streaming toward the church to help fight the flames, which left only a few to guard the small boats.

“Excuse me, good Sir.” The CSGT limped up to a young man who couldn’t have been much older than twenty.

The young guard seemed torn between leveling his musket at the CSGT or appearing more helpful to a clearly injured man.

“You can’t be here.” The guard didn’t point the long musket at the CSGT, but he hefted it so he could quickly bring it on target.

“Apologies, governor. I just wanted to report a crime.”

That piqued the guard’s interest for a second until an arm wrapped around his throat.

“I’d like to report a robbery,” the CSGT continued. “We’re stealing your boat.”

“Get in the boat, Sergeant.” The LT hissed as he undid the lines tying it to the dock.

The MAJ waited until the guard’s body went limp before he let the man slump to the ground. Too many people had already died tonight that shouldn’t have. He and the LT took the two sets of oars and started paddling, while the CSGT provided rear security. Once they were two hundred yards out they all relaxed a little. There was little chance anyone could hit them from that range without using cannons.

They made it across the small strip of water in what would have been Olympic record time for that day and age. The MAJ had a lot to do with that. He was a big and strong guy, and he’d been that way since birth. Twenty-second century scientists had mapped the human genome by the time the MAJ was born, and they’d developed techniques to tweak the genome in embryos before birth. They couldn’t do anything crazy, but they could eliminate a lot of genetic diseases or weaknesses, so when the MAJ’s parents got pregnant they had the procedures done.

He came from a military family. His father was a full-bird colonel, and his family had someone serve in every war since the 2020 campaign in Afghanistan. One Ward had even made general. It was a forgone conclusion that Thomas Ward would serve his country just like the rest of his family had for one hundred and twenty years, so they gave him the tools to do it. His strength, dexterity, hand-eye coordination, speed, and intelligence were all built on a foundation of good genes. What had come after that was all because of his hard work and effort, but he had a good canvas to work with.

“What should we do with the boat?” The LT asked when they pulled it ashore just outside of Charlestown.

“Push it out and sink it. It’s better if they don’t know we’re here.” The MAJ’s eyes swept the commotion going on in Charlestown.

It seemed like the whole town was coming out to see the fire blazing across the river. The small team of soldiers waited for the boat to mostly submerge before heading in to where they’d left Chambers, Cuthbert, Dr. Shaw, and Captain Tanaka.

They’d rented a room at a small inn, but the MAJ had no intention of staying.

“Why, Major?” Cuthbert bucked at the orders to pack it up. “You completed your mission. The patriots know how the British are going to advance. There is no need for us to go traipsing off to Lexington in the middle of the night.”

The MAJ held his temper before responding to the spy. He was used to having his orders followed with no backtalk. “By my count there are at least two Easterners remaining. For all we know they told the Redcoats about Revere and Dawes. They could even be prisoners by now. We need to head out now so that we can get ahead of the British column and make sure the minutemen are mustering. If there is no one to meet them at the Lexington Green then this war never gets started.”

“I don’t see why this is our problem.” Cuthbert pushed back again.

“It’s our problem because we swore oaths to protect and defend the Commonwealth.” The MAJ turned on Cuthbert and stepped into his personal space. “We have an obligation to see that history is not altered and puts both or our nations at a disadvantage. Do you understand?” The question was a challenge.

“Yes,” the spy answered after a second despite his frown. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate.”

The MAJ doubted it, but he had bigger things to worry about. Saddling horses was not something he had a lot of skill at since riding one into battle was suicide from his perspective. He was able to manage it along with the LT and SEAL PO2. The CSGT and the rest piled into the wagon where the wounded marine and Cuthbert sat in the front while the women took the back. Dr. Shaw worked on wrapping a bandage around the CSGT even as they started off down the road.

The SEAL looked pissed he had missed all the action, but now that secrecy wasn’t as big an issue the MAJ doubted he’d be on the sidelines for long. They kicked their horses into motion and galloped away from the small city. Speed would be what allowed them to get around the column marching west toward Lexington and Concord. The MAJ knew from his history books that Dawes and Revere were supposed to reach Lexington before the British even stepped off from Lechmere Point, but with the fire and the gun battle at the church he just didn’t know anymore.

They almost snapped the axel on the wagon carrying half the team while they road hard for their goal, but it miraculously held together. The MAJ, LT, and PO2 felt like they were constantly getting punched in the nuts. None were comfortable on horseback.

They reached the first town on the road to Lexington and found it dark.

“Where the hell is Revere?” The MAJ was slightly ahead of the rest of the group and sitting in the open square surrounded by a handful of buildings. He was supposed to evade a patrol and head farther north, but he still hadn’t been here.

“This can’t be good.” The LT pulled up his horse beside the MAJ’s.

The MAJ dismounted and hurried to the closest door. He slammed his fist against it and yelled the thing that made the most sense.

“Get up! The British are coming. They’re marching on Lexington. Assemble at the Green! To arms!”

The LT and PO2 followed his example. They spent five minutes pounding on doors. Candles were lit and people came to see what all the ruckus was about, but they couldn’t stay.

“The British are coming! To arms!” He yelled one last time before kicking his horse and galloping out of town followed by his team.

“Sir,” the CSGT called from behind him with a tell-tale shit-eating grin on his face. “I thought you said that Revere fellow never said that.”

“Shut up, Willy.” The MAJ ordered, but he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face.

He wasn’t just reading history anymore. He was history, but more importantly, he was participating in the growing chain of events that founded the United States of America. It was mind-blowing.

They stopped at every town and hamlet between Charlestown and Lexington. Once there, he had a decision to make. In the history they’d come from, Prescott made it all the way to Concord to warn Sam Adams and John Hancock of the Redcoats looking to seize their guns and powder. As much as the MAJ wanted to meet those legendary men, he was needed here. He bellowed to a separate group of men on horseback to go to Concord. The MAJ didn’t know any of these men, and they didn’t know him, but a lifetime of command was recognizable in his actions. The other men obeyed his order without hesitation and galloped toward the town a few miles away.

Men were starting to arrive in numbers at the Green. By the time the sun broke the horizon, and the night’s crazy events came to an end, there were over fifty men standing in staggered ranks. The MAJ and his team weren’t among them. Many of the men had grumbled when he lied about having to ride onward to alert more of the surrounding area, but the glare he gave them silenced their complaints. The aura of command hadn’t changed much in three hundred and sixty-six years. That, or his sheer size scared them into it. He was probably one of the biggest men they’d ever seen.

The team took up position in the tree line with a semi-obstructed view of the Green. All the soldiers were in full armor now, and were using their technology to its fullest potential.

“I’ve got hostiles approaching.” Chambers was the first to locate the approaching British column.

They looked every bit the professional army. They marched in step, with flags fluttering in the morning breeze, and drums accompanied by fiddles gave the men motivation. They’d marched fifteen to twenty miles through the night. Through his scope the MAJ could see they looked tired, and he couldn’t blame them, but the coming action seemed to revitalize them.

“Give me a count.” The MAJ asked as he turned his attention to the militiamen.

They did not look like an army. They looked like a rag tag band of farmers with guns standing between their homes and the most professional fighting force in the world. They couldn’t win this fight. They wouldn’t win this fight, but they would stand up and die for their beliefs.

“I’ve got seventy-seven militiamen and three hundred and ninety-six Redcoats.” The SEAL reported.

“Three hundred and ninety-six?” The MAJ took his eyes off the militiamen and turned toward the PO2. “Count it again.”

“Is something wrong?” Dr. Shaw crawled up next to the MAJ.

The soldiers were in a firing line spaced a solid ten meters apart. The three spies were supposed to be watching their rear. They were armed with pistols, which was more than enough to overcome any force trying to sneak up on them with sheer rate of fire. What they weren’t supposed to be doing was crawling up to talk to the soldiers.

“Get back to your position, Doctor.” The MAJ reprimanded her. He could only see part of her face because of all the data on his HUD, but what he could see told him she wasn’t going to follow his orders like she was supposed to.

“The militiamen’s numbers are correct, but there should be roughly seven hundred Redcoats. There are only half that many here, which makes me wonder where the other half is. It also makes me want to have people watching my back, which is your job, Doctor, so get back in position now.” This time he got through to her. That, or the thought of another three hundred Redcoats sneaking up on them.

She returned to her position, and the SEAL confirmed the number again.

“Shit.” He kept that to himself as he surveyed the Green.

The Redcoats were forming up less than a hundred yards from the militiamen. The prevailing infantry tactics of the time were linear. A line of soldiers – a few ranks deep – stood close to one another and fired volleys back and forth. The style of fighting was brought into being by the proliferation of hand guns and the relatively short range of the smooth-bore muskets with their long reload times. Massed formation fire was necessary to shock the enemy by concentrating fire at the center of their line. The goal was to rout the enemy and have them retreat in disarray. Moving a line of troops was very slow, and they’d inevitably lose cohesion, but it was the foundation of armies at the time, and the British were the best in the world.

It was clearly evident on the Green as the Redcoats formed up. The MAJ saw the SEAL’s targeting laser drift over and lock onto the center of the British officer’s chest.

“Hold fire.” The MAJ’s order was met with grumbling. “We can’t interfere. We need to let this play out.”

The Battle of Lexington played out right in front of their eyes.

“Thrown down your weapons. Ye villains, ye rebels!” The British officer yelled across the battlefield at the militiamen.

There was clear confusion and fear on the faces of the militiamen. It wasn’t the seven hundred Redcoats history said it was, but it was nearly half that many, and they were still outnumbered the militia more than four to one.

“Any second now.” The MAJ had the whole battlefield in view and was recording. He’d be able to catch who fired first and finally figure out who fired the shot heard around the world.”

The militia commander was seeing the futility of the defense and was ordering his men to disperse when . . .

A shot, clear and loud rang out through the morning sky . . . and a round punched into the middle of the MAJ’s back.

“SNIPER!” The LT rolled over and sent a stream of fire off into the distance while the rest of the soldiers rolled out of their positions and towards cover.

The sound of the Redcoats opening fire on the disorganized militiamen was lost in the heat of the battle in the trees.

“Motherfucker!” The MAJ yelled as he rolled away just before a second round struck the ground and sent a fountain of dirt into the air.

The MAJ didn’t feel his life leaking onto the ground around him, so his armor had stopped the shot, but it hurt like he’d just been kicked by a pissed off horse and his legs were sluggish at best.

“I’ve got him! Six hundred meters at one hundred and ninety-three degrees,” the CSGT zeroed in on the assassin.

A stream of bullets cut through the New England forest toward the assassin’s known location. The MAJ added his own rate of fire to the onslaught. He’d didn’t know if they got the guy or not, but the sniper fire stopped.

The musket fire did not. The screams of dead and dying militiamen cut through the air when the M18s and L96A1s were silenced. The MAJ crawled back to his vantage point and got a look at the chaos. The British officer was trying to regain control of his formation, but a thick cloud of smoke – indicating several volleys – was already floating away on the morning breeze. There was a lot less smoke coming from the militiamen and a lot more screams.

History said that only one Redcoat was injured compared to eight militiamen dead and nine more injured. That looked close to correct. No Redcoats were on the ground, but about twenty percent of the militiamen were down and half weren’t moving. The rest had scattered in retreat.

The Battle of Lexington was over, but the shot heard around the world hadn’t come from either side. It had been fired by a Chinese sniper at an American major from the future who’d been looking in the wrong direction. That was a hell of an omission from the history books.

The American Revolution had begun, but the MAJ and his team had a feeling in their guts that things were going to be different this time around.

That might not be a good thing.

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