[Fic] Summer Camp: Siege of Yorktown
I'm sure it's still the 4th somewhere...
Title: The Siege of Yorktown
Characters: America, England, France, Washington, Lafayette, Cornwallis.
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13ish. Some angst, some copying directly from the source material.
Summary: September 28, 1781-October 19: Combined American and French forces siege British forces at Yorktown in the last major battle of the American Revolution. During that time, the relationship of two nations crumbles to and end.
September 28, 1781
Lafayette was pacing around the room, had been doing so for the past few hours, and it was starting to make America nervous.
“I don’t know why you’re so nervous,” he tried to act nonchalant as he drummed his fingers on the chair, “The British have locked themselves in the town. They’re not going to attack us.”
“You do not know that,” the pacing increased, “We have got a handful of Continentals and a handful of Militia going up against Cornwallis’s best men. If they do decide to attack-”
“Then we’ve also got the handful of French soldiers and the French navy right off the coast. Not to mention we’ve been chasing them across Virginia all summer. I don’t think they’re in much of a fighting condition.”
“We have them cornered. There is nothing more dangerous than a cornered British soldier. Perfect fighting condition or not, if they decide to attack us out of desperation, I am fearful of what would happen.”
“You don’t,” America bit his lip and stared at the ground, “You don’t think we can win?”
Lafayette stopped his pacing and looked at him. After a few moments of awkward silence he stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder, “I did not say that. Of course we can win. We are just in a very dangerous position right now.”
America looked up at him and managed a smile, “I hate to break it to you Mr. Lafayette, but we’ve been in a dangerous position all war.”
Lafayette smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze before he pulled away and continued his pacing, “I am sorry if I am worrying you my dear America. I am just, troubled, I suppose.”
“He’ll be here,” America said with conviction, making Lafayette stop his pacing, “He’s on his way and he’ll be here.”
“What if,” he bit his thumbnail, “What if, he doesn’t make it in time? What if Cornwallis decides to attack before he gets here?”
“He’ll be here before then,” America responded, no doubt in his voice, “And if he isn’t, that’s why you’re here isn’t it? He trusts you enough to lead those men, and uh,” he blushed and stared at the wall, “I, I know you can do it too.”
“Thank you, America,” America nodded, still looking at the wall.
“General Lafayette!” an aide burst through the door and shouted, “General Washington has just arrived!”
America and Lafayette shared a look before scrambling out the door as quickly as they could, running outside into the night air to see General Washington getting off his horse.
“General!” they both shouted as America launched himself forward and wrapped his commander in chief in a hug.
“A-Alfred,” Washington took a step back to regain his balance and awkwardly returned the hug, “Mr. Lafayette,” he nodded his General, who nodded and saluted, “I trust everything is going well?”
“Cornwallis’s forces have set up defenses around the city,” Lafayette explained, “de Grasse is just off the coast with his war ships and has already landed the French regulars to add to our regulars and militia. With the addition of the regulars you brought from New Jersey, sir, we should more than outnumber the British troops in the town.”
“Excellent,” he patted America on the back, a signal that he should probably let go now, and America did with reluctance.
“Um, sir,” Washington looked at America, who was fiddling with his uniform, “I think England’s there too. In the town, I mean.”
Washington stopped and looked at him, really looked at him, and America fidgeted under his gaze, “Did you see him? Are you sure?”
“N-no, I didn’t actually see him, but,” he met his commander’s steely gaze with his own, “yes, I’m sure.”
Washington nodded, trusting in his nation’s gut instinct, and led the way into the headquarters, “That means Clinton probably isn’t planning anything major up in New York. I can’t see him making a move without England there, which is good for the militia I left in New Jersey…”
“But it might be bad for us,” Lafayette finished, “He would be more inclined to send naval back up if he knows England is in legitimate danger.”
“We’ll have to make a move before the British Navy can get here. With the help of our allies, isn’t shouldn’t be a problem.”
“France is here,” America noted, “He’s probably sleeping right now, or else he’d be here to greet you too.”
“I’m sure he’ll find me in the morning.”
Lafayette led them all to his office and opened the door. Just before they went in, America stopped and said, “Uh, sir?” Washington turned to face him, “I’m, really glad you’re here right now.”
“I’m glad I’m here too,” Washington smiled and stepped aside, “Come on in Alfred, we have plans to discuss.”
America beamed and followed his Generals inside.
September 29
“Is that just what he says, or is that actually what he means?” England asked as he crossed his legs and glared at the letter in Cornwallis’s hand.
“That’s what he’s saying,” Cornwallis sighed and placed the paper back on the desk, sliding it across to England, “Clinton says he’s sending warships down to support us.”
“Do we know when he’s sending it? If it’s coming down right away or if it’s going to make a few pit stops before it reaches Virginia? Is he sending the whole fleet or just a few warships? Because with 29 French warships out there,” he gestured towards the window, where they could clearly see the ships sporting the French flag, “I doubt one or two vessels are going to do us much good.”
“I honestly don’t know England,” Cornwallis leaned forward and rubbed his temple, “Not like I ever know what he’s thinking. I was hoping you could tell me.”
England scoffed and crossed his arms as well, “Bollocks, as if even I would know what goes through his head most of the time.”
“Then I am only left to assume,” he stood and walked over to the window, leaning on the windowsill, “I assume by know even he realizes the bulk of Washington’s army isn’t in New Jersey, and that he would assume it went south to meet up with Lafayette’s force. I also assume he’s heard that the French Navy is no longer in the West Indies, and hopefully he’s assumed it’s now sitting of the coast of Yorktown.”
“He knows we’re here,” England concluded, “So logically, he’d send the backup here with all the haste he can muster. This is of course, assuming General Clinton thinks logically.”
“We’re running out of ammunition,” Cornwallis rested his head against the window, “Supplies as well, and this town doesn’t have much to offer, even if we were to just take it. We have no choice but to hang tight and wait for Clinton. What do you think?” he asked, turning to face his nation.
“America is here,” he answered, curling a fist over his heart, “He has to be.”
“Considering most of his army is here and there is no longer a need for him to be in France, yes, he probably is here.”
“I haven’t seen him in a few years,” England’s eyes drifted around the room, not focusing on anything in particular, “I wonder… how much he’s changed…”
“I’ve never met him, even when he was a colony, so I wouldn’t know,” England didn’t seem to hear him and kept staring into space. Cornwallis let him for a few moments before clearing his throat and saying, “We can’t fight there army face to face right now. I’ll have the troops evacuate the outer defenses and just wait for Clinton to show up.”
“Ah,” England snapped out of his thoughts, “Yes, I agree. We don’t have many options at this point.”
Cornwallis nodded, concern on his face as England drifted into thought again.
September 30
“England has pulled back to the town. He has some men and some canons guarding the river here,” France pointed where on the map, “But they should be nothing my warships can’t handle.”
“How long will it take for Clinton to send help?” Washington asked.
“A few days, if he hurries,” he explains.
Washington thinks for a moment before asking, “What do you think, Alfred?”
“Me?” America looks over the map before answering, “Well, we could either try a head on attack. Push our combined forces at a weak spot in their defenses,” he pointed at a spot near the town, “Probably here.”
“Or?” France prompted.
“Or, we could set up a siege and starve them out. We already have a naval blockade, and it shouldn’t be too hard to cut off their land supplies.”
“Good job, that’s what I was thinking,” Washington nodded.
“Ah, Prussia’s lessons are starting to stick,” France reached over and rubbed America’s hair, “Our little Amerique is growing up!”
Washington smiled at him before turning his attention back to the map, “I think a siege would be our best option. Any backup from New York would take a while to get here, and it would be best for us not to bring the fight to them.”
“I agree,” France nodded, “Angleterre is most vicious when he is cornered.” He looked up to see the General looking away, a hint of blush on his face, and America nervously glancing between the two of them, “Is there a problem?”
“Uh, France,” America started after an awkward pause, “How do you set up a siege?”
October 10
England was not having a good week.
A few days ago, he woke up to discover that his little America had set up siege lines, siege lines of all things, against him. He certainly never taught him how to do that, and the whole thing smelled strongly of frog. Yesterday they had starting firing off canons at the town, forcing them to have to find safe ground for the civilians who were still there as well as relocate headquarters to place that wasn’t in danger of being blasted away. On top of that, France had sunken one of the few ships that were actually in the Yorktown harbor, his beloved Charon, now burning at the bottom of the sea.
Today, he had received word from General Clinton. Instead of the reinforcements being days away, as he first assumed, they were weeks away. He wasn’t sure if his sanity could hold out that long, let alone his men.
England stood on top of the defense wall, staring out at the blue line firing canons at him. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost see a blonde head with a flyaway piece popping up every now and then.
“Sir England!” one of his men shouted over to him, “General Cornwallis requests that you move yourself somewhere where you won’t be hit.”
“I’ll be fine,” he ignored him and kept scanning the rebel lines, “Even if I am hit, I’ll live.”
“Sir, the General insists that you get somewhere safe, please.”
England looked over at the young man, eyes determined to carry out his orders of getting England off the wall, even if it meant he got hit in the process.
“Alright, tell him I’ll be down to see him in a bit,” he nodded and rushed off to relay the message.
England gave once last glance to the canon fire, saw what he assumed to be the blonde head stop for a moment as well, before following the young man into Cornwallis’s tent.
October 14
America positioned himself in redoubt #10, glancing occasionally towards redoubt #9, where Lafayette and France was still fighting. If he failed to take it, or if he decided it was too hard and gave up on their alliance-
But no. France wouldn’t give up. France believed in him and wanted to take England down as much as he did. That’s what an alliance was about, trusting the other one to get the job down.
England had never trusted him, not really. Not during the French and Indian War, when he swore he had absolutely no idea his merchants were selling to France, certainly no time before that war, when he’d just send settlers over who couldn’t even stand the winter without help.
England had always seen him as inferior, as someone to be stepped on. He never loved him; never saw him as the little brother he proclaimed him to be.
But there were memories, of England holding his hand, of England hugging him, holding him when he was scared, comforting him when he tripped and fell, cooking for him, smiling and praising him when he did something good, that spoke contrary. When cities and towns burned and civilians died due to British canon and gunfire, however, it was easier to convince himself all of these things were just England trying to deceive him his whole life.
Suddenly the fighting over by the other redoubt stopped. America peaked out just as the cheers began. France had taken the other redoubt. England had no more defenses outside the city.
October 16
It was raining. Usually England would find comfort in the rain, but today he cursed it. Cursed it with every breath, tried every spell he knew to make it go away, but was too tired and too hungry to actually make any of them work.
Cornwallis had realized they couldn’t possibly hold out and wait for whenever Clinton decided to show himself. He had sent out a sortie to attempt to spike their guns to buy them time, which had been ineffective at best, and had ordered Tarleton to send the boats across so the British army could make their escape quietly in the night, live on to fight another day, a strategy he’d seen America use more than once in this war.
However, the storm had ruined that plan as well, making it impossible to send boats across the river. Currently they were waiting for the storm to pass, but England knew, and he could see it in Cornwallis’s eyes as well, there was little chance the storm would let up with enough night to finish their plan.
The aide came and confirmed this a few minutes later.
Cornwallis nodded, ignoring or not caring about England’s fuming, “Have Tarleton send back the men who are already there. If the Americans make an assault, I want as many troops on this side of the river as possible.”
The aide nodded and ran off to do as instructed.
England, still fuming, grabbed the nearest musket and followed him out of the tent.
“England, where are you going?” Cornwallis asked in a tired voice.
He stopped in the doorway and responded, “To correct an error. You see, there is a very simply way to end this war and subjugate all of the colonies in one blow, has been the whole time: kill America.”
“England,” he turned and saw the worry in his General’s eyes, “don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
“Is that a command, General?”
“Simply a request.”
England nodded, “I’ll see you in a few hours, General,” and left the tent.
It was still raining outside when he left the last of his defenses and entered the enemy line to find America.
“Hey England, I will choose liberty after all. I’m no longer your child or your little brother. From now on, I’m independent! Acknowledge it!”
BAM!
“You were always naïve, you fool…”
“G-get ready, aim!”
And there was his America, his little America, somewhere in this stony faced adult glaring defiantly back at him, daring him to shoot.
Sometime during this war, America had grown up splendidly.
“Th-there’s no point in firing… is there?
“Damn it, why… damn…”
“England…you used to be… so big.”
By the time England got back, covered in mud, it was already the next day.
Cornwallis was still up, looked like hell, although still much better than he did, covered in mud and rain and tears as he was, and simply stared at him when he entered the tent. He didn’t say anything, waited for England to speak.
“I’m tired,” he said as he leaned the musket against the side of the tent, “I’m tired, and I think it’s time I went home.”
Cornwallis nodded in understanding, face grim as he left the tent, shouting for an aide. England collapsed on his cot, could feel the disappointment flooding through the camp as he heard his General shout for a piece of paper and a drummer to beat out the parley.
October 19
England wasn’t there, was the first thing he noticed when the British approached them. He hadn’t been at the negotiations the day before either. America didn’t even notice that Cornwallis wasn’t even there, sick, according to the people who were there, until Washington pointed it out to him.
That was the dominant thought in his mind as the officer (he forgot his name already, because he simply wasn’t England) surrendered one third of all British forces in North America to him.
He should be happy, he knows he should be happy, sees Washington, Lafayette, France, all of the men who aren’t wearing red, happy and cheering. But for some reason, all he can think about is England.
And, for the first time in a while, but certainly not the last time, the thought that would bother him for the next century entered America’s mind:
England, I want to see you.
Title: The Siege of Yorktown
Characters: America, England, France, Washington, Lafayette, Cornwallis.
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13ish. Some angst, some copying directly from the source material.
Summary: September 28, 1781-October 19: Combined American and French forces siege British forces at Yorktown in the last major battle of the American Revolution. During that time, the relationship of two nations crumbles to and end.
September 28, 1781
Lafayette was pacing around the room, had been doing so for the past few hours, and it was starting to make America nervous.
“I don’t know why you’re so nervous,” he tried to act nonchalant as he drummed his fingers on the chair, “The British have locked themselves in the town. They’re not going to attack us.”
“You do not know that,” the pacing increased, “We have got a handful of Continentals and a handful of Militia going up against Cornwallis’s best men. If they do decide to attack-”
“Then we’ve also got the handful of French soldiers and the French navy right off the coast. Not to mention we’ve been chasing them across Virginia all summer. I don’t think they’re in much of a fighting condition.”
“We have them cornered. There is nothing more dangerous than a cornered British soldier. Perfect fighting condition or not, if they decide to attack us out of desperation, I am fearful of what would happen.”
“You don’t,” America bit his lip and stared at the ground, “You don’t think we can win?”
Lafayette stopped his pacing and looked at him. After a few moments of awkward silence he stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder, “I did not say that. Of course we can win. We are just in a very dangerous position right now.”
America looked up at him and managed a smile, “I hate to break it to you Mr. Lafayette, but we’ve been in a dangerous position all war.”
Lafayette smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze before he pulled away and continued his pacing, “I am sorry if I am worrying you my dear America. I am just, troubled, I suppose.”
“He’ll be here,” America said with conviction, making Lafayette stop his pacing, “He’s on his way and he’ll be here.”
“What if,” he bit his thumbnail, “What if, he doesn’t make it in time? What if Cornwallis decides to attack before he gets here?”
“He’ll be here before then,” America responded, no doubt in his voice, “And if he isn’t, that’s why you’re here isn’t it? He trusts you enough to lead those men, and uh,” he blushed and stared at the wall, “I, I know you can do it too.”
“Thank you, America,” America nodded, still looking at the wall.
“General Lafayette!” an aide burst through the door and shouted, “General Washington has just arrived!”
America and Lafayette shared a look before scrambling out the door as quickly as they could, running outside into the night air to see General Washington getting off his horse.
“General!” they both shouted as America launched himself forward and wrapped his commander in chief in a hug.
“A-Alfred,” Washington took a step back to regain his balance and awkwardly returned the hug, “Mr. Lafayette,” he nodded his General, who nodded and saluted, “I trust everything is going well?”
“Cornwallis’s forces have set up defenses around the city,” Lafayette explained, “de Grasse is just off the coast with his war ships and has already landed the French regulars to add to our regulars and militia. With the addition of the regulars you brought from New Jersey, sir, we should more than outnumber the British troops in the town.”
“Excellent,” he patted America on the back, a signal that he should probably let go now, and America did with reluctance.
“Um, sir,” Washington looked at America, who was fiddling with his uniform, “I think England’s there too. In the town, I mean.”
Washington stopped and looked at him, really looked at him, and America fidgeted under his gaze, “Did you see him? Are you sure?”
“N-no, I didn’t actually see him, but,” he met his commander’s steely gaze with his own, “yes, I’m sure.”
Washington nodded, trusting in his nation’s gut instinct, and led the way into the headquarters, “That means Clinton probably isn’t planning anything major up in New York. I can’t see him making a move without England there, which is good for the militia I left in New Jersey…”
“But it might be bad for us,” Lafayette finished, “He would be more inclined to send naval back up if he knows England is in legitimate danger.”
“We’ll have to make a move before the British Navy can get here. With the help of our allies, isn’t shouldn’t be a problem.”
“France is here,” America noted, “He’s probably sleeping right now, or else he’d be here to greet you too.”
“I’m sure he’ll find me in the morning.”
Lafayette led them all to his office and opened the door. Just before they went in, America stopped and said, “Uh, sir?” Washington turned to face him, “I’m, really glad you’re here right now.”
“I’m glad I’m here too,” Washington smiled and stepped aside, “Come on in Alfred, we have plans to discuss.”
America beamed and followed his Generals inside.
September 29
“Is that just what he says, or is that actually what he means?” England asked as he crossed his legs and glared at the letter in Cornwallis’s hand.
“That’s what he’s saying,” Cornwallis sighed and placed the paper back on the desk, sliding it across to England, “Clinton says he’s sending warships down to support us.”
“Do we know when he’s sending it? If it’s coming down right away or if it’s going to make a few pit stops before it reaches Virginia? Is he sending the whole fleet or just a few warships? Because with 29 French warships out there,” he gestured towards the window, where they could clearly see the ships sporting the French flag, “I doubt one or two vessels are going to do us much good.”
“I honestly don’t know England,” Cornwallis leaned forward and rubbed his temple, “Not like I ever know what he’s thinking. I was hoping you could tell me.”
England scoffed and crossed his arms as well, “Bollocks, as if even I would know what goes through his head most of the time.”
“Then I am only left to assume,” he stood and walked over to the window, leaning on the windowsill, “I assume by know even he realizes the bulk of Washington’s army isn’t in New Jersey, and that he would assume it went south to meet up with Lafayette’s force. I also assume he’s heard that the French Navy is no longer in the West Indies, and hopefully he’s assumed it’s now sitting of the coast of Yorktown.”
“He knows we’re here,” England concluded, “So logically, he’d send the backup here with all the haste he can muster. This is of course, assuming General Clinton thinks logically.”
“We’re running out of ammunition,” Cornwallis rested his head against the window, “Supplies as well, and this town doesn’t have much to offer, even if we were to just take it. We have no choice but to hang tight and wait for Clinton. What do you think?” he asked, turning to face his nation.
“America is here,” he answered, curling a fist over his heart, “He has to be.”
“Considering most of his army is here and there is no longer a need for him to be in France, yes, he probably is here.”
“I haven’t seen him in a few years,” England’s eyes drifted around the room, not focusing on anything in particular, “I wonder… how much he’s changed…”
“I’ve never met him, even when he was a colony, so I wouldn’t know,” England didn’t seem to hear him and kept staring into space. Cornwallis let him for a few moments before clearing his throat and saying, “We can’t fight there army face to face right now. I’ll have the troops evacuate the outer defenses and just wait for Clinton to show up.”
“Ah,” England snapped out of his thoughts, “Yes, I agree. We don’t have many options at this point.”
Cornwallis nodded, concern on his face as England drifted into thought again.
September 30
“England has pulled back to the town. He has some men and some canons guarding the river here,” France pointed where on the map, “But they should be nothing my warships can’t handle.”
“How long will it take for Clinton to send help?” Washington asked.
“A few days, if he hurries,” he explains.
Washington thinks for a moment before asking, “What do you think, Alfred?”
“Me?” America looks over the map before answering, “Well, we could either try a head on attack. Push our combined forces at a weak spot in their defenses,” he pointed at a spot near the town, “Probably here.”
“Or?” France prompted.
“Or, we could set up a siege and starve them out. We already have a naval blockade, and it shouldn’t be too hard to cut off their land supplies.”
“Good job, that’s what I was thinking,” Washington nodded.
“Ah, Prussia’s lessons are starting to stick,” France reached over and rubbed America’s hair, “Our little Amerique is growing up!”
Washington smiled at him before turning his attention back to the map, “I think a siege would be our best option. Any backup from New York would take a while to get here, and it would be best for us not to bring the fight to them.”
“I agree,” France nodded, “Angleterre is most vicious when he is cornered.” He looked up to see the General looking away, a hint of blush on his face, and America nervously glancing between the two of them, “Is there a problem?”
“Uh, France,” America started after an awkward pause, “How do you set up a siege?”
October 10
England was not having a good week.
A few days ago, he woke up to discover that his little America had set up siege lines, siege lines of all things, against him. He certainly never taught him how to do that, and the whole thing smelled strongly of frog. Yesterday they had starting firing off canons at the town, forcing them to have to find safe ground for the civilians who were still there as well as relocate headquarters to place that wasn’t in danger of being blasted away. On top of that, France had sunken one of the few ships that were actually in the Yorktown harbor, his beloved Charon, now burning at the bottom of the sea.
Today, he had received word from General Clinton. Instead of the reinforcements being days away, as he first assumed, they were weeks away. He wasn’t sure if his sanity could hold out that long, let alone his men.
England stood on top of the defense wall, staring out at the blue line firing canons at him. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost see a blonde head with a flyaway piece popping up every now and then.
“Sir England!” one of his men shouted over to him, “General Cornwallis requests that you move yourself somewhere where you won’t be hit.”
“I’ll be fine,” he ignored him and kept scanning the rebel lines, “Even if I am hit, I’ll live.”
“Sir, the General insists that you get somewhere safe, please.”
England looked over at the young man, eyes determined to carry out his orders of getting England off the wall, even if it meant he got hit in the process.
“Alright, tell him I’ll be down to see him in a bit,” he nodded and rushed off to relay the message.
England gave once last glance to the canon fire, saw what he assumed to be the blonde head stop for a moment as well, before following the young man into Cornwallis’s tent.
October 14
America positioned himself in redoubt #10, glancing occasionally towards redoubt #9, where Lafayette and France was still fighting. If he failed to take it, or if he decided it was too hard and gave up on their alliance-
But no. France wouldn’t give up. France believed in him and wanted to take England down as much as he did. That’s what an alliance was about, trusting the other one to get the job down.
England had never trusted him, not really. Not during the French and Indian War, when he swore he had absolutely no idea his merchants were selling to France, certainly no time before that war, when he’d just send settlers over who couldn’t even stand the winter without help.
England had always seen him as inferior, as someone to be stepped on. He never loved him; never saw him as the little brother he proclaimed him to be.
But there were memories, of England holding his hand, of England hugging him, holding him when he was scared, comforting him when he tripped and fell, cooking for him, smiling and praising him when he did something good, that spoke contrary. When cities and towns burned and civilians died due to British canon and gunfire, however, it was easier to convince himself all of these things were just England trying to deceive him his whole life.
Suddenly the fighting over by the other redoubt stopped. America peaked out just as the cheers began. France had taken the other redoubt. England had no more defenses outside the city.
October 16
It was raining. Usually England would find comfort in the rain, but today he cursed it. Cursed it with every breath, tried every spell he knew to make it go away, but was too tired and too hungry to actually make any of them work.
Cornwallis had realized they couldn’t possibly hold out and wait for whenever Clinton decided to show himself. He had sent out a sortie to attempt to spike their guns to buy them time, which had been ineffective at best, and had ordered Tarleton to send the boats across so the British army could make their escape quietly in the night, live on to fight another day, a strategy he’d seen America use more than once in this war.
However, the storm had ruined that plan as well, making it impossible to send boats across the river. Currently they were waiting for the storm to pass, but England knew, and he could see it in Cornwallis’s eyes as well, there was little chance the storm would let up with enough night to finish their plan.
The aide came and confirmed this a few minutes later.
Cornwallis nodded, ignoring or not caring about England’s fuming, “Have Tarleton send back the men who are already there. If the Americans make an assault, I want as many troops on this side of the river as possible.”
The aide nodded and ran off to do as instructed.
England, still fuming, grabbed the nearest musket and followed him out of the tent.
“England, where are you going?” Cornwallis asked in a tired voice.
He stopped in the doorway and responded, “To correct an error. You see, there is a very simply way to end this war and subjugate all of the colonies in one blow, has been the whole time: kill America.”
“England,” he turned and saw the worry in his General’s eyes, “don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
“Is that a command, General?”
“Simply a request.”
England nodded, “I’ll see you in a few hours, General,” and left the tent.
It was still raining outside when he left the last of his defenses and entered the enemy line to find America.
“Hey England, I will choose liberty after all. I’m no longer your child or your little brother. From now on, I’m independent! Acknowledge it!”
BAM!
“You were always naïve, you fool…”
“G-get ready, aim!”
And there was his America, his little America, somewhere in this stony faced adult glaring defiantly back at him, daring him to shoot.
Sometime during this war, America had grown up splendidly.
“Th-there’s no point in firing… is there?
“Damn it, why… damn…”
“England…you used to be… so big.”
By the time England got back, covered in mud, it was already the next day.
Cornwallis was still up, looked like hell, although still much better than he did, covered in mud and rain and tears as he was, and simply stared at him when he entered the tent. He didn’t say anything, waited for England to speak.
“I’m tired,” he said as he leaned the musket against the side of the tent, “I’m tired, and I think it’s time I went home.”
Cornwallis nodded in understanding, face grim as he left the tent, shouting for an aide. England collapsed on his cot, could feel the disappointment flooding through the camp as he heard his General shout for a piece of paper and a drummer to beat out the parley.
October 19
England wasn’t there, was the first thing he noticed when the British approached them. He hadn’t been at the negotiations the day before either. America didn’t even notice that Cornwallis wasn’t even there, sick, according to the people who were there, until Washington pointed it out to him.
That was the dominant thought in his mind as the officer (he forgot his name already, because he simply wasn’t England) surrendered one third of all British forces in North America to him.
He should be happy, he knows he should be happy, sees Washington, Lafayette, France, all of the men who aren’t wearing red, happy and cheering. But for some reason, all he can think about is England.
And, for the first time in a while, but certainly not the last time, the thought that would bother him for the next century entered America’s mind:
England, I want to see you.