Nate moved slowly through the forest, his eyes scanning, his ears open for pounding footsteps and evil cannonball sizzles and musket ball hisses. Explosions and musket cracks filled the air. But the sky over the forts was still clear of smoke. Nate hoped that meant that the British had not made it that far.

Nate passed two soldiers, both dead from musket shots. One was an American, about Papa’s age. The other was a young Redcoat. Nate whispered prayers as he went by each one.

He kept moving. He saw no more soldiers — alive or dead.

But a few minutes later he heard voices.

There, not far ahead, up in the hills. Four Redcoats.

Every one of Nate’s muscles twitched.

Run!

But Nate thought of Slash, tipping his hat at the policemen as he strolled by.

Nate reminded himself: He was not a terrified young boy. He was a brave Hessian! Hopefully the soldiers were far enough away so they wouldn’t notice the coat’s torn bottom and how it sagged off Nate’s shoulders.

Nate gritted his teeth. He walked along, waving stiffly like a Hessian might.

To Nate’s shock, the Redcoats waved back.

Soon they were out of sight. And Nate made it to the road. It would lead him out of the woods and right back to the fort.

Nate quickened his steps.

Explosions pounded his ears. Smoke burned his eyes and nose. The booms and crackles were getting louder.

Just get to the fort, Nate told himself. Just get to the fort.

He came to the edge of the woods. Now just about half a mile of open fields stood between him and his fort on Brooklyn Heights. The Americans had a wide-open view of anyone approaching the forts. They’d see Nate and think he was a Hessian. They might shoot him by mistake. Nate quickly ripped off the coat and silver hat and tossed them into a bush, along with the musket and bayonet.

He had taken just a few steps when he heard that nightmarish sound.

RAT, tat, tat, tat, tat.

RAT, tat, tat, tat, tat.

Nate looked slowly to his right. And what he saw in the distance turned his blood to ice.

There were thousands of men, a sea of bright red spreading as far back as Nate could see.

RAT, tat, tat, tat, tat.

RAT, tat, tat, tat, tat.

Before Nate could figure out what to do, he heard pounding footsteps and panicked voices coming from the woods behind him.

“They’re coming!”

“They’re right behind us!”

“Get to the fort!”

Men burst out of the woods — dozens and dozens of American soldiers running for their lives. Some were bloodied. All wore wild looks of fear. Before Nate knew it, he was running, too.

He glanced behind him, and saw some Redcoats and Hessians trying to catch up.

And to the right, that huge Redcoat army was on the march.

Their drums beat louder.

RAT, tat, tat, tat, tat.

Shots rang out. Cannons boomed. Balls whizzed by.

Nate tried not to imagine the blinding pain of his guts being torn open, his bones splintering, his clothes soaked with blood. Any minute he expected a cannonball to plow through the crowd, for an explosion to blow them all into the smoky sky.

Kaboom!

Kaboom!

KI-crack! KI-crack!

Sizzle.

Hiss.

The sounds all melded together — the explosions, the shouts, the footsteps, the pounding of Nate’s heart. It was like the night of the storm that had taken Papa, a wild swirl of terror.

But Nate was not hit.

And there was the fort, with hundreds of American soldiers waiting for them. Nate ran with the crowd to the back of the fort, where there was a small break in the wall.

He collapsed onto the ground. But he sat there just long enough to catch his breath. And then he walked all around the fort, searching the crowd of dazed and terrified men for Paul, Martin, Captain Marsh, and the rest of the Connecticut 5th.

They were nowhere to be found.

Reports trickled in from the hideous battle raging outside.

Hundreds of Americans had been killed and captured already. British and Hessian soldiers were getting closer to the fort.

The attack would be brutal.

The Americans were doomed.

Hours crawled by. More and more American soldiers staggered in. Many were covered with mud from escapes through swamps. Others were soaking wet and half-drowned from swimming across ponds and creeks. Some clutched arms that had been shattered by British or Hessian musket balls. Others were bleeding from the bayonet gashes.

Dawn came, and still the British didn’t attack. Some said they were waiting until they could sail their warships into the East River. This would let them attack from two sides, and stop the Americans from trying to escape back to New York City.

American soldiers stood at attention in their trenches. The cannons were loaded and ready to blast. It seemed like everyone in the fort was holding his breath, waiting.

Meanwhile, all Nate could think about was the men of the Connecticut 5th.

Just before dawn, the skies opened. It rained all day, soaking the men and turning the fort into a sea of mud. But Nate barely noticed the cold rain and wind. He stood outside all day, shivering and waiting.

It wasn’t until the late afternoon that a last group of American soldiers made it to Fort Greene.

Their clothes were tattered. Their faces were caked with dirt. But there was no mistaking the man in the hideous green hat.

Nate’s heart leaped.

Paul and the men of the Connecticut 5th had made it back.