Border between Florida and Georgia
November 13th, 1833 (8 days after D-Day)

"Are you seeing this Leo?" Claude Mois asked his fellow partisan, "It looks like the sky is falling!"

The two males were with a group of over two dozen Americans that were defending their homeland. Despite the lack of an American military presence in the area, the civilians resisted as hard as they could, especially once the stories of the Alliance atrocities started piling up. The fact that most of these atrocities were directed towards African Americans and Caribbean Americans did not escape them either, and many were risking their lives to slow down the British advance until the Army arrived to relieve them. The group was hiding in the jungles that formed a border between the state of Florida and Georgia. And now, they were silently waiting for a British unit to make their way up north in the darkness of the night and the jungle.

Leonard Vital, a Caribbean American who was born and raised in a farm near Tallahassee, snorted softly, "If the sky is falling, then it better fall on the damn Spanish."

"Your dad is with the Spanish though."

"Conquered by the Spanish, Claude. Big difference. You make it sound like my dad joined up with the Spanish or something."

Tallahassee had been conquered just days ago and unfortunately, Leonard's father was in the town when it was captured by the Spanish. Leonard managed to get his mother and two younger sisters into Georgia safely but chose to remain behind and fight the occupiers. And hopefully, rescue his father while fighting and stalling the invaders. Unfortunately, the front was constantly pushing inward into American lands and it was almost impossible to sneak into the occupied territories to look for his father.

Seeing that Leonard was clinching his Lee rifle a bit tighter, Claude comfortably patted the sixteen-year-old's shoulders, "He'll be fine. Your dad is a tough man."

"That doesn't matter," Leonard hissed as he brushed away his friend, "My old man is hot-headed and he's bound to pick up a gun and start shooting, especially once the newly arrived Frenchies start enslaving black folks like ourselves. He's a patriot too, loves America. There's no way he stays out of trouble."

"He'll survive. Until we roll them back to the sea, we'll need to pray for him to survive under their rule."

"Sure, I'm supposed to entrust my father to God and the bastards that invaded my home."

"Lighten up and just enjoy the show," Claude replied. The moon shone on his face and he revealed an uneasy smile as he laid down onto the ground, "Just wait a few hours. You'll have something to take your anger out on soon enough."

"I'll shoot the Chegs the moment I see them," Leonard mumbled under his breath as he attempted to clear his mind by watching the falling lights in the sky. He shook his head as he rested his rifle close to his twitching hands. No matter what he did, his thoughts drifted back to the memories of the invaders ruthlessly destroying settlements and stealing any form of valuables and food from the locals. He considered himself a Floridian first, and an American second. And the sight of seeing the people of his home state suffering had stoked his anger. Maybe if the Army came down to save them, then he would consider joining the military. Until then, he was going to roam with the local band of resistance fighters and hit the invaders as much as possible. If he wanted to run, he could have ran to Georgia days ago, but he remained behind because the invaders decided to invade Florida. This was his home, and he was going to defend it.

"The Kochings are coming!" Someone whispered.

The nickname the local fighters gave the invaders ("pigs") had a bittersweet origin. After seeing the European soldiers ransack every food store and warehouses they could find, they received the nickname "pigs" for their seemingly endless appetite for food. Yet, it was a reminder that the locals were now beginning to starve under the conditions brought to them by the foreigners.

Leonard laid on his stomach and hid under carefully under a large bush as a French troop column entered his field of vision in the distance. The other freedom fighters took positions in hiding holes and various plant life as hundreds of French troops marched towards Georgia, their next destination after their conquest of western Florida. The French troops looked well-fed and victorious and moved with extreme confidence. However, what really boiled Leonard's blood was the fact that some of the men in the French ranks were blacks. If he hadn't seen the senseless murders and atrocities committed by the French black troops, he would've never believed any of them to be true. But he had, and they were just as worse as their white counterparts. It seemed as though they believed that they ("noble" blacks of the French Empire) were "superior" to the "peasant blacks" of the American republic.

"Don't fire yet," A person gently whispered as he slowly lowered Leonard's rifle. The teen looked to see the older Claude laying down next to him, "Remember: until you see the whites of their eyes."

"Even with the moonlight and the falling lights, it's hard to see their eyes."

"Just trying to calm your nerves. Your hands were shaking."

The Caribbean American looked down to see that his hands were, indeed, shaking. However, they were slowly calming down. This was Leonard's third raid, but he still felt jittery at times. Realizing what the older man had done for him, Leonard bowed his head slightly, "Mesu."

Finally, the French troops came closer and he could see the gleaming buttons on the bright blue French uniforms. It was almost mystifying why the French soldiers wore such bright uniforms. They were much easier targets to aim at, even during the night. He and his fellow partisans wore dark-colored clothing or almost no clothing at all (to utilize their surroundings to their advantage). Even the American soldiers wore dark olive or navy blue uniforms.

Well, it was good for him as he steadied the firearm in his hand and cocked the hammer. He aimed at the nearest enemy he could see and prepared to fire.

The rules of the raids were simple. Each person was to shoot three times, then immediately move into the deeper parts of the jungle. If the enemy pursued them, they would run into various traps laid out near the area (traps that Leonard remembered by heart as he was forced to study where they were during the day). If they still continued their pursuit, the partisans would use the jungle to their advantage by blending in with the shadows and attacking at any unsuspecting soldiers with their rifles or knives (which every partisan carried, whether the knives were hunting knives or bakery knives).

Whoever shot first was the "signal" for the others to begin firing.

Right as the first shot rang out, Leonard fired and saw a black French soldier go down with blood spurting out of his throat. The Floridian wasted no time to open up the chamber and shove another shot into his rifle. He took eight seconds to reload (several seconds slower than the faster reloaders in the team), but he managed to down another French soldier right after he completed reloading and aiming.

By then, the French soldiers were in disarray and they moved around to spot where the shots were coming from. The second volley by the American group gave their location away and the French column managed to fire off a volley. However, they were immediately met by another volley from the hidden partisans. This time, Leonard missed but immediately after firing his third shot, he fled along with the others into the jungle. Before he was out of the sight of the road, he saw a figure limping towards the rendezvous point.

"Good to see you, Leo."

"Claude, grab my shoulder, and let's make a run for it."

The man wheezed, "I can't, they shot my leg up real good."

"I'm not letting you die under the boots of the Kochings," Leonard answered as he slung the man over his back and held his unloaded rifle in his armpit, "We have to fight another day."

Claude laughed despite his injuries, "Oh zanmien. You will get us both killed one day."

"Saving your sorry ass, yes."

The two managed to scamper away just as the first French soldiers were caught in a pit trap. Leonard didn't know how many French soldiers were killed, but he knew that every dead French soldier was one less to terrorize his homeland.

And to him, that's all that mattered.

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AN: Chegs is the English Creole word for "dogs." Kochings is the English Creole word for "pigs." Mesu means "thanks." Zanmien means "friend."