CHAPTER 23

WEST OF BLACK MESA, IDAHO EARLY MORNING, NOVEMBER 11
SOUTH OF HAMMETT, IDAHO 0305, NOVEMBER 11
SOMEWHERE ON DEADMAN FLATS, IDAHO • 0318, NOVEMBER 11
BENNETT AIRFIELD, DIXIE, IDAHO 0330, NOVEMBER 11
SOUTH OF HAMMETT, IDAHO 0345, NOVEMBER 11

CHAPTER 24

GOWEN FIELD, IDAHO MID-MORNING, NOVEMBER 11
HAMMETT, IDAHO NOON, NOVEMBER 11
ALONG MORES CREEK, IDAHO EARLY EVENING, NOVEMBER 11

CHAPTER 25

BOISE, IDAHO MORNING, NOVEMBER 12
BOISE, IDAHO • 0440, NOVEMBER 12
THE CAPITOL BUILDING, BOISE, IDAHO • 0455, NOVEMBER 12
MOUNTAIN HOME AIR BASE, IDAHO 0500, NOVEMBER 12
WASHINGTON, DC 0705 (EASTERN), NOVEMBER 12
ACROSS FROM THE CAPITOL BUILDING, BOISE, IDAHO • 0510, NOVEMBER 12
GOWEN FIELD, BOISE, IDAHO 0515, NOVEMBER 12
THE CAPITOL BUILDING, BOISE, IDAHO • 0530, NOVEMBER 12

EPILOGUE
Also by
Praise for Harold Coyle
AUTHOR’S NOTE
MORE THAN COURAGE
Copyright Page

PROLOGUE

LEXINGTON, MASSACHUSETTS • APRIL 19, 1775

The sight of file after file of redcoated soldiers marching boldly onto the green was unnerving. Nestled between his fellow militiamen, a young New England farmer who went by the name of Ned Smith nervously shuffled about as he watched. Every so often he would cast an anxious glance to his left and right in an effort to gauge the response of his companions. Rather than offering some measure of reassurance, however, the sight of their grim faces and his company’s pathetically thin ranks only served to heighten his apprehensions.

Never having been in combat, Ned had no clear idea what awaited them once the British had completed their deployment from a line of march into one of battle. What little his captain had been able to teach them during their musters on this very green did little to prepare him for the sights he now beheld and the sensations they were evoking within him. Never one to be shy about voicing his opinion, Ned wondered if it would make him look cowardly if he called out to his captain and asked if he thought it wasn’t a good idea to stand down and disperse. In Ned’s mind they had pushed their defiance as far as they dare. To linger here in the face of such overwhelming odds would be foolish.

Yet stand their ground they did. Silently the band of militiamen waited. Across from them the rhythmic tromping of marching feet mixed with the rattle of muskets and gear, stirring the chilly morning air and blood of all present. Every so often this muted cacophony of noise was punctured by crisp commands barked by stern-faced English officers. With machinelike precision the solid phalanxes of the King’s troops responded by wheeling about this way and then that in preparation for the pending contest. While few of the rank and file expected they would need to do more than present their muskets and make ready to fire in order to chase away the rabble across from them, none doubted that they would prevail.

This confidence came not from arrogance, but from a simple appreciation of the facts, the same facts that Ned Smith was so keenly aware of. This was not the streets of Boston, where roving mobs felt free to hurl taunts and insults at a handful of British soldiers standing their posts. If it came to it, this would be their sort of scrap, a stand-up fight, the sort they had been trained for. Given a chance to play this little drama out to its conclusion, there was not a soldier present who doubted that they would prevail. The only regret that some entertained as they waited was that they would not be given a chance to do so. They would be held back, as they always were, from meting out the just punishment the wretched colonial rabble deserved. After having endured the outrageous treatment that they had been exposed to for so long, all felt the urge to set the record straight and put the colonials back in their place.