"How long does it take to get to Concord from Boston again?" asked twenty-year-old Frederick as he adjusted the collar on his red, velvety coat.
"Twenty miles," answered twenty-two-year-old William solemnly, as he continued to march along with 900 other British Redcoats.
"I can't wait!" chimed sixteen-year-old Charles, jumping jauntily up and down, nearly hitting Frederick in the head with his gun.
"Hey!" yelled Frederick. "You almost hit me in the head with your gun! You could have messed up my new wig, Charles!"
"Sorry," apologized his zealous friend, "but you would do the same thing if you were me; I'm just so excited!"
"Well," began Frederick as he smoothed out his white powdered wig, "I am not enjoying it at all."
"What?!" cried Charles. "Why?"
"Marching twenty miles out in the middle of the wilderness in the middle of the night will surely wear a hole in my new boots!" replied Frederick.
"It isn't that bad out here," declared Charles. "When we get there, we're going to have a blast!"
"We are not going to have a 'blast,' Charles," scolded William. "We are just going to Concord to retrieve some obstinate rebel leaders and their hidden ammunition and come back."
"William," whined Charles, "We don't get to shoot anyone?"
"Only the rebel leaders, if they cause us any trouble," answered William.
"Only the leaders," complained Charles. "Why can't we shoot--hey! Who's that guy riding on that horse?"
"I don't know," said William suspiciously, "but he's going very fast..."
"I do wish we could ride on a horse," moaned Frederick. "My legs are getting awfully sore! Where are we, anyway?"
"I think we are almost at Lexington," answered Charles, who was feeling very tired himself after marching all night.
"Seven more miles!" exclaimed Frederick. "I do wish we could all sit down for a rest!"
Suddenly, all 900 redcoats, including Frederick, William, and Charles, stopped. In front of them were 60 patriots, each one with a rifle.
Frederick burst out laughing. "They actually think they can make us leave!" giggled Frederick. "We have fought on five continents and humiliated each one with our cunning tactics!"
"Be quiet!" whispered William.
Frederick obeyed and stopped laughing. The rebels still stood there, determined yet terrified. Without warning, a gun exploded.
"Who did that?" yelled Frederick, looking around. At his side he discovered smoke coming from Charles' gun!
"Charles!" shouted Frederick, as hundreds of guns boomed around him. "Don't tell me you were the one who fired that gunshot!"
"Sorry, but I have to tell you...I did," said Charles, reveling with a little grin as he reloaded his rifle.
"We weren't supposed to fire!" yelled Frederick.
"I know," said Charles, trying to sound guilty, " but I was getting bored, and wanted to liven things up a bit."
"Look!" shouted an older boy, who was standing beside them. "Those rebels are retreating!"
Charles and Frederick quickly glanced, and sure enough, the Minutemen were running away. The hostile encounter was over.
The Redcoats continued to march toward Concord, leaving eight dead Minutemen behind them. The British officers had received a tip from a loyal colonist that disclosed where the hidden ammunition was. Triumphantly, they marched to confiscate it. When they arrived, they violently kicked in the door and charged in.
"Nothing!" yelled Frederick in shock. There's nothing in here!"
"They took all of it!" shouted William indignantly. Charles couldn't even say anything. He was too appalled at this sight. The rebels had taken the ammunition.
Since there was nothing to be done, they all marched back toward Boston.
Animosity flowed though William; he did not like to leave a mission undone. "I wish I could decimate those conniving colonists!" he fumed in his thoughts.
A gun exploded.
"Charles!" accused Frederick.
"It wasn't me! Really!" cried Charles.
"Then who--" Another gun fired; this time one of the Redcoats fell down. Dead.
"Those rebels!" yelled an older soldier. "They're attacking us!"
1,000 Minutemen ran out of the trees and charged toward them, rapidly firing their rifles. The Redcoats started firing back. Frederick, William and Charles all fought bravely side by side, with William in the middle, and Charles and Frederick flanked on either side of him.
"How did they get so many?" shouted Frederick as he reloaded his gun.
"They probably gathered more men while we were looking for the ammunition!" answered William as he vehemently shot one of the charging Minutemen.
Charles was reloading his gun as fast as he could. He now regretted firing that first audacious shot back at Lexington that provoked all this. He just wanted to go back home.
Suddenly, a boy named George, who was standing beside Charles, fell to the ground dead. Charles stared at him with his face frozen in fear. George had fought with the Redcoats for four years, and had never been wounded. Charles couldn't believe that he was dead.
William noticed that Charles was staring at George's body and demanded, "Charles, why aren't you fighting?"
Charles turned to face him, "George is dead, and it's all my fault," he whimpered.
"I didn't think anyone, except the rebels, would die if I shot that gun at Lexington!"
"Retreat!" yelled a British officer.
"Come on!" shouted Frederick.
Frederick, Charles, and William compliantly dashed away with the other Redcoats, but the colonists were running after them, shooting their guns. The three friends sprinted as fast as they could, until Frederick and William heard Charles cry out and fall to the ground.
"Charles!" they shouted, running to where he lay.
"Charles!" cried Frederick, "Are you okay?"
"No!" weakly gasped Charles, who was hardly breathing. "I...am...not...okay."
Without hesitation, Frederick ripped the sleeve from his immaculate red coat and wrapped it around Charles' wound. William gawked at Frederick in surprise.
Charles opened his eyes in amazement. "Thank...you," he managed to say, then he closed his eyes, never to open them again.
Frederick and William sat there, numb with sadness, gazing at Charles' body. William thought back to their march to Concord, when Charles was so excited that he nearly hit Frederick in the head. Charles thought that he would have a 'blast'...
William and Frederick heard a gun fire. They sprang up, stole one last glance at their friend, and ran off, with thousands of questions running through their minds:
"Is this the start of war?"
"Will our lives ever be the same again?"
"How can we go on without Charles?"
"How did that one shot start all of this?"
