DISASTER
Enola fell to the floor, unable to process what had just happened. She had been thrown against Holde and then she had been thrown backwards, her skull smashing against the hard wood of the backstage area.
Her hazy mind could vaguely make sense of the fact that others were thrown to the floor around her as well. There was blood, there was moaning, and there were bodies not moving.
A cannonball laid smoking in the hole it had made. The sets were in danger of toppling over, and the smell of gunpowder was everywhere.
“They are on to us!” Harold cried. “That's our cannons. Attack, now!”
“Enola!”
She thought it was Patrick grabbing her under the arms and pulling her backwards, toward the wings. However, it was Jacob, his breath ragged as he dragged her.
“Jacob,” she sputtered. “Where the hell have you been?”
She spun around, only to see him not in uniform. Worse, she could see an American band on his arm. This didn't make any sense.
“Jacob?” she asked, again, wavering. Her head throbbed and her heart was pounding. She couldn't see Patrick anywhere, but she supposed that was a good thing. If he wasn't lying on the ground, unmoving, then he was alive. “What's happening?”
“I had to tell them,” he said and his voice was broken. “I had to tell them, Enola.”
“You had to tell them what?” They were shouting over the chaos. She realized she could only hear out of one ear, which wasn't helpful when trying to focus on Jacob's soft words.
“This. The plan,” he said. “I had to tell them.”
“Why?” she roared at him in shock. “Is that where you've been? You've betrayed us? Why, Jacob?”
“Because they have Mary,” he said. “And they would have killed her if I didn't tell them.”
“Oh Creator,” Enola said, grabbing his hands. “We could have found a way around it, Jacob. You didn't have to tell them.”
“There was no other way,” he said. “They took me; there were too many of them. They were suspicious from the start, but they held a knife to Mary's throat and ...I had to.”
“Alright,” she said, after a moment. “Alright. We're going to fix this.”
“Enola!” Patrick was suddenly behind her. “Are you alright? Oh, Thank God---Jacob,” he explained in surprise “What are you doing? That's an American---”
“Patrick,” Enola said. “Jacob's sweetheart is being held hostage. He had no choice.”
Holde realized what had happened, and looked between the two of them in shock, saying nothing.
“Would you not do the same if it was Theresa?” Enola asked, trying to soften him. She loved him and she knew him, but she didn't know him well enough to know how he would react to this. “Please. They have Mary captive.”
“Where is she?” Holde asked at last, and Jacob breathed out a sigh of relief.
“In the town hall,” he said. “Not three buildings from here. But Patrick...I told them everything.”
“You didn't tell them everything,” Patrick assured him. “We haven't seen you all night, so there are a few...upgrades we made during set up. I assume they setup backstage with gunpowder?”
“Yes, along the wings,” Jacob said. “It wasn't a very good charge, though, I made sure of it.”
“Can you lead them to the upper level?” Patrick asked. “I'll rally the officers up there as bait. There's a passageway to the catwalk that should make us safe if we can get out in time. There's gunpowder laid along the balcony.”
“Balcony seats five hundred,” Jacob said. “You won't get all of them.”
“No,” Patrick said, his eyes gleaming. “But it will collapse.”
Jacob nodded, understanding at once. “Yes,” he said. “I can do that. Send up Commander Harper and send up Wesley. They know who Earl Rippon is, they will go for him. His mind is famed; they want him dead for planning such a thing. Enola, the Native warriors will have to chase them up though.”
“We can do that. Wesley laid the charge, so he'd have to be up there anyways, he's the only one who practiced it,” Enola's breath was coming raggedly. “What about Mary?”
“Once we defeat them, we can rescue her,” Jacob said. “They left only two guards with her, insurance in case I didn't tell them the truth.”
“Two?” Enola smiled. “I can take two by myself.”
“Let's crush them first,” Patrick said. “Ready?”
“Ready?” Enola's eyes were dark as she turned. For one moment, she had forgotten about the mass of bodies that were lying around. She assumed that the officers had lived.
However, Wesley lay on the ground, Lola at his side. The actress was in sobs, and he was motionless.
“No,” Enola rushed forward. “Lola!”
Lola turned to her, tear stricken.
Wesley was bleeding and motionless, but his chest still rose and fell. His eyes, however, were staring open.
“He won't...he can't...”
“Wesley,” his captain was at his side in an instant. Aaron was bleeding from the head, but it didn't seem to be bothering him as he skidded to his knees. “Wesley, come on, man.”
Enola slid around back. His head was wounded, seriously, she thought, which meant there was a good chance he was beyond her help. Outside the curtain, she could hear the clink of swords, the firing of guns, and screaming. They needed to move and fast.
“We need him on the balcony,” she said swiftly, even as she tried to cradle his skull and assess the damage. “The Americans know who he is; they want him dead. They will charge him.”
“How do you figure?” Aaron asked, confused.
“Jacob told me,” Enola looked up. “Don't ask questions, we don't have time, please.”
“Obviously, you have to change your plan,” Lola said, her voice still broken. “He can't.”
“I know,” Enola replied. “I know, it's just...”
Lola choked out another sob, caressing her husband's pale face. Without looking up, she spoke. “Aaron, change clothes with him,” she said. “Take his jacket, take his hat. It might be enough.”
“Aye,” Aaron was already pulling off his coat.
“No,” Enola said, quickly. “You're light haired, they will know.”
“I will do it,” Jacob appeared beside them, crouching down. The American band on his arm was prominent and their jaws dropped. “I got us into this mess, I can do my part. Help me get my coat off.”
“You betrayed us?” Lola asked, stunned. Enola put her hands over the other woman's.
“His sweetheart is in American hands,” she said. “Jacob is trying to make it better. Let him.”
“Man,” Aaron said as Jacob struggled into Wesley's coat. “There's a good chance they will shoot you down.”
“I know,” Jacob stood, Wesley's hat fitting perfectly on his head. If Enola squinted, she could see their similarities. From up high at the back of the balcony, the Americans could make the mistake of thinking it was Wesley.
He placed a hand on Enola's shoulder, squeezing. “Take care of Mary, do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said, unable to look at him. If this was the last time they saw each other, she didn't want it to be in tears. If Jacob's spirit was due to vanish into Nature today, she had to accept it. “I will.”
“And Patrick,” Jacob looked up at her husband, standing across from then. He extended his hand. “Take care of Enola.”
“I will, mate,” Patrick said. They shook hands, and then Jacob departed.
Enola closed her eyes, letting out a silent prayer. Wesley was still breathing, but every moment that he didn't come back to consciousness was damaging.
“Aaron, I'm going to lead them to the balcony,” Harold's voice suddenly came from behind them. Aaron managed a smirk, despite the situation.
“That's strange, we were just thinking that,” he said and rose shakily as Harold approached. Harold saw Wesley and paled.
“Is he?”
“You'll find Jacob on the balcony with you,” Aaron said, ignoring the question. “In Wesley's rank and attire. We will bring them to you.”
“Use the passage to the catwalk,” Holde said. “Exit as soon as it's safe and the balcony is crowded.”
“I will lead the battle until the balcony,” Enola said. “The warriors will circle them in. Hopefully, the balcony falls straight down.”
“I should be up there with you,” Aaron said to Harold, who was quick to disagree.
“You have saved my life, Aaron,” he said. “Let me return to the favor. Just lead them. I will take care of the rest. When you give me the signal, I will lay the charges.”
“Godspeed.” The two men shook his hands and parted.
Enola leaned in for a quick kiss from Patrick. “Until we meet again,” she said, wanting to linger forever. “And I know we will.”
“We will,” he assured her, although he didn't specify whether it would be in this life or paradise.
“Annabelle, can you help me?” Lola called across the theatre. Annabelle had not been injured in the explosion, and she was moving like lightning, helping those too injured to fight to the safety of the theatre bowels.
Everything began to happen at once. Enola found her father, speaking rapidly. He understood battle tactics and only needed half her sentence to understand and lead the group into a circle formation, boxing in the American forces below. There were fallen Natives on the stage, and on the seats. Enola tried not to process it as she picked up a tomahawk.
This was her land as much as theirs…and she was going to fight.
Aaron was fighting while walking backwards, his sword clinking as Patrick made headway in moving up the stairs to the balcony. Their steps backwards with their men meant they approached the balcony with every sword swish.
A whistle blasted through the theatre. It was Matheson, on the balcony with Corrigan, surrounded by Jacob and Harold. His boson’s whistle, left over from his navy days, had apparently come in handy at last.
“It's him!” came a cry. “On the balcony! Onwards, boys! That's the commander! That's Earl Rippon! Go!”
“Where do you think you're going?” Enola shoved her body weight against a smaller American soldier, who fell backwards into the crowd. Clumsily, he knocked over a few of his colleagues, which made her smirk.
The noise above her was getting louder. The balcony creaked with the added weight. She could hear the orders, the footsteps, and knew they were almost out of time.
“Father!” she cried, who gave the order in Michif for his men to expand their circle. The Americans were brilliantly trapped in the seats, while the Natives circled in the aisles, not letting them escape. Native warriors were light on their feet, able to leap over the seats to the safety of the aisles faster than Americans. The Native warriors also had less gear weighing them down, while the Americans got caught on the seat backs and arm rests.
“Fire!” she heard an American accent call out, and knew the charge had been lit.
She heard her father order them to back up again. The Native warriors could use the doors behind them, escaping to the lobby so quickly that the Americans wondered if they had seen it at all. Enola had just finished leaning on the door when the blast went off.
She tumbled backwards, into the safety of the lobby aisles, the red carpet of the stairway cushioning her blow.
The balcony came down with a giant crash and a flash of light. Wood broke, there were screams, and there was the crunch of thousands of bones.
Then all fell silent in the theatre, the dust settling.