James Reilly lay in the undergrowth, musket in hand. His men were on either side of the valley, the valley which he had chosen to station his men at for an ambush, an ambush that could change the face of America. 2000 British redcoats were marching on Boston, heart of the revolution, and Reilly had 1000 loyal American patriots and the element of surprise to stop them in their tracks.
Boulders were prepared to roll down the hills when the signal was given. They would crash through tree and undergrowth until they reached men, hopefully inflicting grievous casualties on the pompous British. Red came into view, as Reilly hid, waiting for the exact moment when the British wouldn’t be able to escape.
The sound of boulders crashed through the forest. A roar was heard over the thundering rubble, as Reilly and his men charged towards their hated foe