There had been five of them, but now there were only four and I had two muskets and a loader as well, a lovely and randy loader. They had surprised me in the midst of my eager seduction of the young wife of the local Tory leader and driven us from his home to a deep streambed. One had decided to get behind us and almost succeeded, but I heard him coming and greeted him with 18 inches of British steel. You should have heard him scream. I had to poke him to couple of more times, including one in the neck, to silence the beggar.
She already knew the rudiments of loading, and I showed her how to smack the butt plate on the ground instead of using multiple rams as we lay beside each other in the weeds, and I patted her firm rump to encourage her. I enjoyed watching her in action, her lovely breasts bouncing in and out of her shift, the little pink nipples so inviting. I had stayed hard, but tried to ignore it.
She was a luscious young woman, and I had been eager to bed her and plunder her ripe body before her stupid brother and his crew of redcoated jackals appeared. I shot the boy officer off his horse and then we ran, she in her frilly shift and half-loosened corset and me still booted thank you very much with my shirttail flapping and flies ahoo.
Now we lay together in a ditch while I showed her how to prime properly and snap the frizzen closed. We kissed now and then, just little friendly pecks while I slipped a big paw inside her fluttering neckline to cup her lovely mounds, and she nuzzled my neck and stroked my back, eager I assumed to get back to her bed and spread her long legs. She was a prime piece of American girlhood, and I hated to see her being shared by our foul enemy, even if it was her family's politics.
I had left her fat husband tied and gagged on the bedroom floor, having decided it would be a pleasant game to horse his darling wife while he watched. Now we waited quietly, my lust set aside but my cock still surging. A redcoat appeared, stood beside a large tree and looked about. I rested the musket on a rock, aimed high and put a ball in his gut at about thirty paces, hell of a shot for a smoothbore. He fell on his face clawing at the ground.
A shot whirred by and hit in the rocky stream behind us. I looked for the smoke and finally spotted it high in the tree limbs. I squinted and waited and then saw his white shirt. He had been smart enough to ditch the red coat. I guess I winged him with my shot, and we heard his weapon clatter down and then, screaming, the man himself, breaking limbs on the way. I'm not sure whether he broke his neck on the way down or when he landed, but he lay very still, grotesquely bent.
.... There is more of this story ...