Free Book

Merry Christmas and a very happy new year to you all.

To celebrate the Festive Season I have two gifts for you. The first is my novel WEOLEY is free on kindle until December 30th. you can get it here:

https://www.amazon.com/Weoley-Derek-Coleman-ebook/dp/B00HJIICFQ/ref=sr_1_15?ie=UTF8&qid=1514292052&sr=8-15&keywords=derek+coleman

I hope you enjoy it. Please leave a review.

The second gift is a festive historical short story. It's called Christmas in the colonies, enjoy:

Martin Baum was hungry, lost and far from home, very far from home. When he first took up a musket to serve his Prince he had little thought within weeks he would be transported half a world away. Now he was in a country whose language he did not speak, fighting a war he did not understand against a rag-tag army who didn’t seem to know when they were beaten.

Martin had been hungry more or less permanently since deciding the army was preferable to the never-ending labor of the farm but these last few days were particularly bad. The British sent them from the great port of New York into the New Jersey countryside to wait out the winter but supplies were intermittent and those that were sent to them were subject to attack by the American rebels.

That was why Martin was lost. He’d wandered away from the camp at Trenton because these American woods reminded him of those he’d grown up in back in Hesse. He’d always been able to find something to eat when he was there and hoped he could do the same here. He was usually pretty sure where he was in the forest but here he had managed to get turned around whilst following the tracks of a deer and now it was getting dark and he was lost. He was sure the deer he’d been tracking was ahead of him but he was by no means as certain where Trenton and his comrades were.

He had little fear of the enemy finding him. The last time he’d seen them they were a sick, beaten rabble who they’d chased across the Delaware River to die in the deep snows of Pennsylvania. The idea they might come back into New Jersey was ludicrous. He was afraid of the weather though; the north wind was blowing strongly and was bringing further flurries of snow to add to the accumulation already underfoot. He had his greatcoat but Martin knew he could not spend the night out here in the forest without freezing to death.

He stopped and slowly turned in a circle. He was sure the heavy grey sky was lighter towards his right, which meant he was probably facing south. If that was so then Trenton was somewhere behind his left shoulder and the Delaware should be close in front of him. What should he do? He was sure the deer was near by and the boys in his company had been living on hard tack and rancid salt beef for a week now. Could he risk going on a little further?

The decision was taken from him. Just ahead the trees opened out into a little clearing and out of the corner of his eye he saw a heavily laden bush suddenly shed a blizzard of snow as the deer brushed past it and stepped daintily out into the open. The animal was nervous. Head up, nostrils flared and ears alert, its muscles were bunched ready to flee at the least sound. That sound was the clicking of the flintlock on Martin’s musket. The deer leapt but Martin was brought up to hunt and the animal was dead before its feet hit the ground again.

Martin ran forward as fast as the calf deep snow would let him. He was grinning with excitement and anticipation. Venison stew was just the thing to warm a lonely sentry on a cold Christmas Eve. He propped his musket against a tree and then dropped to his knees beside the steaming carcass as he took out his bayonet ready to clean the kill.

It was a messy job but he’d done it hundreds of times before and made short work of it now. He was on one knee rubbing the bayonet clean with handfuls of snow when the twig cracked behind him. His reaction was instinctive. He made a diving roll over the butchered deer, grabbed his musket and finished on one knee in the snow facing the direction from which the sound had come.

Luckily the twig had snapped before the enemy was able to see the clearing. Now he stood at it’s opposite edge, a tall, gaunt young man, his lank hair whipping in the wind, his clothes worn and ragged, his boots cracked and tied round with cloth and the Pennsylvania rifle at his shoulder gleaming, well cared for and pointed straight at Martin’s head.

For nearly half a minute neither of them moved. The Hessian knelt in the snow, the dead deer in front of him and his musket pointed at the tall, ragged American. Martin knew how lethal these rebels could be with their long rifles and he also knew how defenseless he was because he’d stupidly not reloaded his musket after killing the deer. Fear made his stomach churn and his throat feel dry.

For his part the rebel held his rifle pointed unerringly at the German’s head. This one looked young, little more than a boy, he thought. He was too young to die but he wasn’t the first of these blue clad invaders the American had seen over the sights of his rifle and the others were all dead. Somehow though this one seemed different though. He was obviously a good hunter who appeared to know how to live in the woods and what was more he was pointing a musket unflinchingly back at him. The deer distracted the American too. It lay in front of the Hessian and the gnawing pangs of hunger kept reminding the rebel of his own need, making his eyes flick from the enemy to the meat and back again.

It was Martin who broke the impasse. He knew he could not hurt the American so he would have to use his wits to save himself. He’d seen the enemy soldier’s eyes flicking to the deer and noticed the way the tip of his tongue came out to moisten his lips as if he could already taste the meat. He guessed the rebel was starving and that gave Martin an idea.

Swallowing his fear, he forced himself to smile and slowly raised the muzzle of his musket until it pointed at the sky. Turning it sideways he showed the rebel he was lowering the lock to make it safe, then, keeping his hands in sight, he stood up and propped the weapon against the tree again.

The American tensed when Martin began to move but he didn’t fire. Instead he watched in wary puzzlement as the Hessian put his weapon aside and stood smiling at him. Martin was grinning but inside he quaked with fear. Now he was helpless. The rebel could shoot him, take the deer and be off but he had no other choice except to hope the man would go along with this idea. Silently he pointed at the carcass then in turn he pointed at the American, at himself and finally he made a chopping gesture over the deer.

What was the German doing? The American was puzzled. The enemy had deliberately disarmed himself and was now making signs, what for? What did he want? He was offering to share the deer. The rebel grinned, the thought that he could squeeze the trigger and take the whole animal had already occurred to him but he admired the enemy’s courage. He grinned, raised the muzzle of his own weapon and nodded.

The sweat was icy on Martin’s brow but he felt a surge of relief at the American’s nod. He nodded back and reached for the bayonet still lying half buried in the snow where he’d dropped it.

‘Wait!’

Martin didn’t understand the word but he froze and raised his eyes to the rebel. The tall American reached for his belt and pulled a long-handled tomahawk from it. Carefully he tossed the weapon so it landed flat in the snow beside the deer.

‘Use that,’ he said, ‘It’s better for getting through the bones.’ Again Martin didn’t understand the words but he recognized the tomahawk and, after testing the edge with his thumb, he nodded. Raising it high he brought it down onto the carcass.

In a few minutes it was done. The sweat was running from Martin’s brow and he felt warm now as he looked up to see the American leaning on his rifle watching him. Slowly he stood up, gripped the leg of one half of the deer and hefted it onto his shoulder. Retrieving his musket with his other hand he looked into the rebel’s eyes. Neither of them spoke for a moment then Martin glanced down at the other half of the deer in the snow before raising his eyes again and saying,

‘Ist das alles in ordnung mit dir?’ The American shrugged, he’d got a notion it was a question but he didn’t understand it.

‘That’s fine,’ he replied. ‘You get the hell out of here now.’

Martin glanced round at the deepening shadows. Darkness was coming fast, he’d got turned around and now he had no idea where his camp was.

‘Trenton?’ he said hopefully. The accent was harsh but the American recognized the word. He pointed to a barely discernible game trail that disappeared behind his left shoulder.

‘Trenton’ he repeated. Martin nodded and, hefting his half of the deer, trudged off without a backward glance. As soon as he was out of sight a second rebel stepped from the bushes to one side of the clearing.

‘Why’d you let him go?’ he asked. ‘That musket wasn’t loaded.’

‘I know but it was his deer,’ the first American shrugged. ‘Besides, it’s Christmas.’

The German’s ate well that night. During Martin’s absence, a supply train came in. There was fresh beef, fresh bread, cake, beer and wine to go with the venison stew. They went to bed replete and happy.

The American’s weren’t so lucky. They stayed out in the snow on the north side of the river. The night was freezing and it snowed again but the day dawned cold and clear. With the coming of the light the rag-tag army George Washington had smuggled across the Delaware in the darkness erupted from the trees, their bayonets gleaming red with the rising sun as they charged into Trenton to wish Martin Baum and his sleeping comrades a Merry Christmas.