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."Horsemencoming!"A man behind suddenly groaned and pitchedsideways, overcome by the heat.Royal jumpedto grab him and support him as Philip caught aPage 285 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlclatter of hoofs in the shimmering air down the roadto the west.At the head of their company, Captain Webbcalledfor a left-face to the roadside.With fairprecision the men executed the movement as vonSteuben had taught them, holding their lines in thedamp weeds at the shoulder.Royal lowered thefainted man to the ground and fanned him with both hands."Bet we got to fight here," someone said."Bet thefucking Britishswung aroundthe flank and cut off the road-wasFor a moment there was more cursing, and consternation untilCaptain Webb cried:"Shut up and listen! Hear that cheering? That's not for theenemy-wasMen craned insect-bitten necks, jostling to see.And suddenly, out of the west, Philip heard it: amassed roar of voices.The outcry grew louder and louder under the swelteringsky.A wave of sound, it rolled toward them alongwith a cloud of boiling dust in the center of the road.A rider emerged from the leading edge of the cloud.Hatless, wearing blue and buff, he galloped hishuge white horse in the direction opposite thatof the retreat.TowardMonmouth Court House-Behind Washington an entourage of officers rodefull speed.The cheering was unbelievably loud.The commander-in-chief glanced neither right nor leftto acknowledge the bellow that rolled across thecountryside as he passed.He paid no attentionto the muskets thrust up in the air in rhythm with thehuzzahs.Philip had only a momentaryglimpse of the tall general's face before hedisappeared beyond the dust streaming out behind the horses.Butthat glimpse was enough to give Philip pause.Washington's profile had looked savagelyscarlet.If not with sunburn, then with anger.Almost stupefied, Royal and Philip gaped atone another.They heard yet another new sound, thistime from the east.A different pattern of flams andruffs-Tootling fifes joined the drums.And from manto bedraggled man, cries ran along the roadside:"Counter-march!""They say he caught Charlie Lee and blisteredhim with curses!""Called him a damned poltroon-a coward-was"Lee's relieved.Washington's inpersonal command -""No more retreat!""All right, form up!" Captain Webb shouted,vainly trying to shove his men back onto the road asthe uproar all but drowned him out:"We're going back!""We're going back!""WE'RE GOING BACK!"Page 286 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlMid-afternoon.They were in an orchard, behind a hedge that rimmed itseastern perimeter.As far as Philip could tell,they were holding the orchard somewhere near the center of theAmerican lines.They were south of the Englishtownroad, still west of Monmouth Court House-and firingthrough the shrubbery as the British grenadiers advancedin those splendid, never-wavering formations.Philip's hands were beginning to blister from the combinedheat of the weather and the musket-metal.Royal was stillalongside.Wayne was in over-all command of theorchard position; Philip could see him peering throughthe barely breathable powder-smoke that drifted frommuskets and the cannon booming on their flanks.Theentire afternoon had been mind-numbing.Endless shiftsof position; charge and countercharge.Philip wearily pointed the musket throughthe hedge and picked off a fur-capped, perspiringgrenadier coming toward him in rote step.Thegrenadier toppledforward, his bayonet stabbing into the ground.The soldierknew he was dying, but he clung to the butt of theBrown Bess to keep himself from falling, as if that initself could undo the effect of Philip's shot.Slowly, the grenadier's slippery hands gave out.He slumped to his knees, fingers slidinginexorably down the muzzle.Philip blinkedtwice.When his vision cleared, the grenadier hadlet go of his musket and lay on his back,unmoving.The upside-down weapon stood beside him inthe earth like some obscene parody of a churchyard marker.Other grenadiers with bayonets at the ready marchedpast the corpse, never glancing down.Philip wondered how much longer he could survivewithout water.Just to his rear, an older manflopped in the grass, felled not by a wound butby prostration that purpled his cheeks.The man'stongue protruded like a frog's as he compressed hishands against his belly and made retching sounds-Philip had no energy for thinking of the danger of theirsituation.No energy to speculate aboutstrategies, or the over-all success orfailure of the engagement of the entire Americanarmy.Clinton had struck swiftly, throwing unitafter unit against them across a broad front.But forPhilip, the world had again constricted to a smallpatch of ground where he crouched behind the hedge,concentrating on the steps of von Steuben's ten-countdrill.Philip's flayed hands almost worked independently ofhis exhausted mind.He loaded, fired, dodgedinstinctively whenever he heard a ball hiss through theleaves-The American fire broke the grenadier chargethirty yards from the hedge.In the smoke, Philipsaw redcoat after redcoat falling.Suddenly someonestumbled against his legs.Philip wrenched his head up.Saw Webb, asootyghoul who grinned and pointed a bleeding hand through aPage 287 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlbreak in the foliage:"We've hit Colonel Monckton, theircommander."Up and down the line, men picked it up:"Monckton's killed-someone shot Monckton!"As the grenadiers began to pull back, re-form foranother charge, Webb's hand closed hardon Philip's shoulder."He's one of their kingbirds.Can you two bring himback to our colors?"Gulping for air, Philip said, "Can try.Comeon, Royal.Leave the musket
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