*Eric* 

"Fix bayonets!"

The order rips through the chaos, louder than the screaming and sharper than the crack of musket fire. Men around me scramble to obey. I drop to one knee, shaking fingers sliding my own bayonet onto the end of the musket. The steel clicks into place. My last round is gone.

All around us, the line is falling quiet with focus and anticipation. We're out of ammunition, and now we must look our enemies in the eye.

The British still have ...