*Eric*

Friday night is hot and still. We wait in the churchyard for word from the top, orders for when and where to move.

Just a couple of hours before midnight, a rider comes galloping up the hill, his horse kicking up dust that glows pale under the moonlight. The news he brings spreads like lightning through the crowd.

"Fortify the high ground." Orders from Colonel William Prescott.

"Men, we are to dig on the hills near the harbor. A wagon load of tools and ...