It's morning. Time seems inconsistent.
"Father?"
"Father?"
No reply.
We left for war three maybe four days ago. I was given a rusty gun, no armour, no training. They said the war would be long and hard but if we pull through, America would never be the same. My father was a sergeant for the local troop. He never sleeps and is always alert.
My brother didn't agree when my father came home and told us that we had to fight in the war. He argued that the British government were doing their job quite well, and we had no reason to intervene. He ran away that same night. My father was furious; yelling and screaming. He called my brother a traitor. I guess that is what he is.
I believe we are close to New York now, but there is no way to tell. Most of the troop is tired, weary, injured. Some have diseases. The rest have been left onto the cold soil. We have been advised to hide behind trees where we can, lay down where it's possible, and fire, fire at anything or anyone who is not supposed to be there.
The war for independence has a long way to go.
