Verwandte Artikel zu The Demon Redcoat (Traitor to the Crown)

The Demon Redcoat (Traitor to the Crown) - Softcover

Finlay, C. C.

 
9780345503923: The Demon Redcoat (Traitor to the Crown)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0345503929 ISBN 13: 9780345503923
Verlag: Random House LCC US, 2009

Inhaltsangabe

When a powerful demon, summoned by the secret society of European witches known as the Covenant, tries to possess their newborn infant, Proctor and Deborah, embarking on a desperate journey to Europe to destroy the Covenant, uncover a dark, necromantic design of epic proportions. Original.

Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

C. C. Finlay was born in 1964 in New York City but soon thereafter was banished to rural Ohio. His childhood was divided equally between playing in the woods and reading his way through the fiction shelves of his small town s Carnegie library. Like Jay Gatsby, he studied abroad briefly at the University of Oxford, and it was there, at New College, founded in 1379 around a remnant of the old city wall built by William the Conqueror, that he fell in love with history. He studied literature at Capital University and did graduate work in history at the Ohio State University, where he was a research assistant on two award-winning books about the U.S. Constitution. He started writing fiction after the birth of his first son because he wanted to set an example about chasing one s dreams. He lives in Columbus with his wife, Rae, and two sons, all smart readers, who keep him honest.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One
 
 
 New York State, near the Connecticut border 
1779

 Fourteen hundred hooves pounded the dark, muddy road, mingling with the noise of the raindrops that slapped the sodden trees and the ordinary jangle of soldiers’ gear. The dark green coats of the British Legion riders blended into the backdrop of the night and pouring rain. The cavalry raid was Banastre Tarleton’s first in de pen dent command, and he led from the front. Not, as he heard some whisper, because it kept the mud from being kicked up in his face, but because this was where the action was likely to be. 

“They’ll learn,” Tarleton murmured to himself. “War requires men to act like beasts. The sooner we unsheathe our claws, the quicker this rebellion will end.” 

He had his own questions about the soldiers he led. The three hundred and fifty men with Tarleton were Loyalists, believers in king and Crown, but they were still Americans. Tarleton would see what they were made of when they fought their own neighbors and countrymen. 

He glanced over his shoulder to take his mea sure of them and one caught his eye, a mere boy without even a cap to cover his draggled blond hair. He rode near enough to Tarleton to be his shadow. His anomalous red coat, like the one worn by British regulars, stood out among the green jackets. His mount was anxious, frequently tossing its head and nipping at invisible antagonists. The other horses jostled to keep their distance. 

Tarleton opened his mouth to ask the boy who he was— A chill shot through him. He spun around and peered into the dark, looking for his advance scout. It must be near dawn, and they must be close to the rebels’ camp at Pound Ridge. He estimated that they’d ridden almost seventy miles from Long Island since yesterday morning. 

They’d come thirty miles in less than ten hours overnight, all of it through the constant downpour. Even without mud splattered on him, Tarleton was soaked through to the bone, just like his men, but he had chosen the weather to cover their attack and he was glad it held. 

A dark shape filled the road in front of them, and Tarleton reared his horse back, shifting to keep his balance as it slipped in the mud. The rest of the legion thundered to a stop behind him. 

His scout. 

“It’s no good, sir,” the scout said, mopping water from his scruffy, unshaven face. “One of them must’ve seen me. I practically stumbled into their camp before I saw it. They’ve formed up a line on the road ahead, maybe a hundred men.” 

Damn the luck. They would be facing the Second Continental Light Dragoons, Sheldon’s horse— as if rebels deserved either flag or name. A smaller force than his, but big enough to cause him trouble. 

“What of their weapons?” Tarleton demanded. 

“Muskets,” said the scout. 

“No, I mean do they have bayonets?” 

“Not as I saw. You know the rebels’ guns aren’t fit for ’em, most cases.” 

Tarleton laughed aloud. “It’s too wet to fire,” he said. 

The other advantage of an attack in the rain, if the commander was bold enough. He drew his saber and waved it over his head. “Let’s show them what cavalry does.” Steel whispered from three hundred and fifty sheaths. Cold metal flashed like the first hints of sunrise. 

Tarleton whirled his horse and put spurs to it. The beast jumped foward, kicking up clods of mud. The rest of the legion galloped to catch up. 

They hammered down the country road, trees whipping past, sloping downward until a clearing opened ahead. A mass of men blockaded their way. Tarleton raised his saber and leaned forward in his saddle to strike. The rest of the legion surged around him, like breakers in a wave. 

The men blocking the road shouted threats and raised their useless weapons. 

The legion responded, their voices roaring violence. Just before the horses smashed into them, the rebels broke, throwing down their guns as they ran. 

Tarleton galloped through the empty spot where they had been and reined in his horse. He called to his men, “See, that’s how it’s done! Always go straight at them and you’ll never lose.” 

The men laughed. Victory without battle was even sweeter when you could find it. 

The rebel camp was little more than a motley collection of sagging tents erected at the edge of a small town. Tarleton sent a detachment off to pursue the rebels and prevent them from regrouping. He sent another group to find the rebel Major Ebenezer Lockwood’s house and detain him. Meanwhile, he took possession of the camp. Some of the men were already searching the abandoned tents. 

Shots sounded as the pursuit entered the town. Tarleton peered through the rain at the small cluster of houses. “Shall we form an offensive?” asked one of his captains, a man considerably older than Tarleton. But he was only twenty- four, and many of the men were older. He had to prove himself in battle to them, and show them that he knew how to lead. 

“Pursue where they show themselves, but not too far,” Tarleton said. “Don’t lose sight of what we came for.” 

“Here’s Tallmadge’s tent,” one of the men called out. Major Benjamin Tallmadge. George Washington’s spymaster. The man whose spies had been causing all sorts of trouble for the British in occupied New York. 

Tarleton dismounted and handed the reins to the first person to hold out his hand. He flung open the flap and entered the tent. The rain beat like a drum corps on the taut canvas. A lantern stood on a small table beside the small writing desk. The light twitched as the flap opened again behind Tarleton. He looked up and saw a strange boy in a red coat enter and stare at him. 

He opened his mouth to demand the boy’s expulsion— “Give me that bag,” Tarleton snapped as he turned to the soldier. 

The soldier tossed a saddlebag to him. Tarleton flipped it open and began looking through the letters inside. Many were in code, but some weren’t. There was Washington’s own handwriting in notes to Tallmadge. Here was a mention of a Highday— he must be one of the Americans’ new spies, should be easy to find. He saw a reference to C— r, the spy in Seatucket, on Long Island, who was making secret movement by the British army in New York so difficult. He flipped through the sheets and saw one more. 

Persuade Brown to return. 
Need his special talents. 
GWashington 

Brown was a common enough name, Tarleton thought. It would be hard to find him. But more importantly, what were his special talents? He tucked the letters back into the bag and closed it before his wet hands smeared the ink. These would be valuable to his commanders. “Bring this,” he said, tossing the bag to one of his aides. 

The first soldier was still tearing...

„Über diesen Titel“ kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Verlag
Random House LCC US
Erscheinungsdatum
2009
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0345503929
ISBN 13 
9780345503923
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
391
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Nicht verfügbar