Makeshift (Slow Updates)

History Has It's Eyes

Fast forward about a month, after the LGBTQ+ Haven Dream-mare (I've just been calling it that for ages, any better names for it?).

I started having more dreams. More than I could count.

But there was one dream that was so vivid, I thought I was living that dream.

However, it was no dream.

Every time I had that dream, every time I woke up...

I remember fire and smoke, guns and ships. The screams, the shouts. Sea salt, freezing winds, icy earth. I remembered every detail, every nook and cranny that I could probably write about it all, right here, right now. How even the skies reminded me of a darkened memory; one cluttered with ruin and destruction to the winds and thunder.

But that would be getting off topic.
Anyway...
Moving on. Let's just jump into the dream...

---------------------------------

I remember waking up to cannon fire. How the people in blue and those in red blurred togther to a seamless purple. Of those motionless on the ground, covered with mud, and those marching and charging.
I don't remember much of it.
But I do how the army around me were weakened and wounded, several causalities before those moments.
Then, a memory of writing a letter using a quill into a yellowed parchment, in... I think French? And one in common English? I think the last one was... to a place called Carolina?

I can't clearly remember.

Our location was 37°14'21"N 76°30'38"W.
That I remember perfectly.
For some, obscure reason I did not know at the time.

And then, the building. The tents, the camps, the barricades.
The building of a parallel of some kind. One made of maps, of outlines and operations. A distinct plan that everyone else understood, even myself, though I personally remained profoundly confused.

One thing was clear.
We were preparing for something.

Ships had gathered within the nearer waters, and in the distance, more creating a form of a barrier, waves crashing before us. A white and red flag, that sent shivered through my muscles, donned a vast majority of the boats aimed at our army. But the ships forming that distant barrier, I noticed through a spyglass, had a mixture of red, white and blue flags, and red and orange-yellow flags.

Our enemy was ready.
Red and white.
We were ready as well.
Blue and true.

Our army had the combined forces of maybe 19,000? I remember something like that number, but not very specifically. So I'd just rounded it... er... I don't remember if I had rounded it up or down, which is another problem. Yet, that number I just mentioned sounds just right.

I knew that this was the beginning of the final stage of the battle.
Right before my vision blacked out.

Only to re-awaken to a tall, commanding man taking me into his tent, and handing me his sword, his deep-blue-near-black coat (if I remember right, it was actually called at revolutionary coat in the dream????) turning with him as he spun slowly to look/glare at me.

He began to speak.

His voice was deep, gruff, but also had a hint of fondness and stern reinforced emotion I couldn't read properly. No matter how blurred the words and sentences were, I still somehow managed to understand.
You are to take Rebound #. Ensure you have no loose or prepared bullets within any of your weapons, even before you begin this final devastation we are about to unleash.
I had a route number. If I recall correctly, it was the number... ten? Maybe? Or was it nine? No, it wasn't! 'Rebound' Nine was the man that kept looking at me.