The Battle of Germantown, 1777: Aspen

I storm into the medical tent angrily. The battle of German town resulted in yet another British victory and my idot older brother taking a musket ball to the shoulder. I look around at the injured troops. Many of the men who died still lay massacred on the battle field. We lost 152 soldiers and 521 were injured. The injured includes John. 

I finally spot the blond male, sitting up on a cot, his right shoulder wrapped in blood stained bandages. I storm up to him and smack him in the arm. 

"You through yourself into a musket ball!?" I yell at him.

"Calm down. It barely grazed me." He says, swatting me away.

I rest my hand on my hip and look at him, unimpressed. I pinch him on the shoulder, lightly and he yelps in pain.

"Barely grazed you, huh?" I say.

"Don't be to hard on him, Aspen." a voice suddenly says from behind me. "He save quite a few of our men out there."

I turn and see General Washington's youngest aide de camp, Colonel Alexander Hamilton. 

"You're no better then he is." I say, crossing my arms. "Neither of you have any sense of self preservation. One of these days you'll get yourselves kills."

"There's glory in dying on the battle field, at least." John says softly.

"You shush." I say, rubbing my temples. 

I check John's wound and try to clean it a bit. I sigh softly and wrap the bandages again. I grab his shirt and start to help him put it on.

"Aspen, I'm not a child and you're not my mother." John says stubbornly. "I can dress myself."

"With one hand?" I ask. "You're favoring that shoulder quite a bit."

He looks down and huffs.

"That's what I thought." I say, buttoning the shirt and sighing softly. "Lets head back to camp. I'm sure General Washington and the rest of his aides are already their."

Alexander helps John to his feet and supports John was we walk to the wagon that's waiting outside to take soldiers back to camp. This war has already left many families fatherless and many women widows. It's the saddest consequence. So many women and children left to fend for themselves.

It doesn't help that the British are ruthless, sometimes even murdering soldiers' families in order to discourage the men that are fighting for freedom. To make matters worse, from what I've heard, the British prison ships are so poorly kept that so many of our men have already died of illness and starvation aboard them. 

Many of the injured me are lucky. They get to return home. Others aren't so lucky. 

We slowly pull up to the house the General, his wife, his aides, and myself have been quartered into. The Moland house at Valley Forge. The rooms are small and many of the aides sleep two to a bed. I sleep in a servant's quarters just off the kitchen.

I sigh as we get John settled into bed. I then slowly retire to my room.

It's been a long day.

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