Revenge of the Wrought-Iron Flamingos

megaphone. 'And get those animals off the battlefield!'

I turned, curious, and saw that Horace, deprived of his uniform, had donned his beloved gorilla suit and was loping across the battlefield in my wake, shaking his fist. At me, probably. He still held one end of Spike's leash, though, and Spike was having a fine time, barking his head off and trying to bite passing soldiers.

I could hear tittering from the bleachers.

'Get my dog off the field of battle, you moron,' Mrs. Waterston screeched, so loud that she set off a small shriek of feedback from the bullhorn. She then treated us to a pungent summary of Horace's intellectual status and ancestry – well worded and effective, no doubt, but not something I'd have shouted in public through a bullhorn.

Some of the soldiers were smothering laughter as well.

I decided it would be the better part of valor to lose myself in a crowd, so I took off running for the nearest mass of men, only to realize, when I had nearly reached them and they all began shooting over my head, that I was approaching a group of redcoats. Tony Grimes might have trouble spotting me, but I wasn't going to fool Mrs. Waterston.

'Meg! I didn't know you'd joined a unit.'

I turned to find Dad standing behind me, holding on his shoulder what looked like a small barrel. I wondered, briefly, why anyone would run around in the middle of a battle carrying a powder keg, then I saw the flash of the videocamera lens through a hole in the front of the barrel.

'Your unit's over there,' he said, pointing. 'You should – '

'Never mind that now,' I said. 'Where's Michael? I've got to find Michael! Where's Redoubt Nine?'

'Relax, you're in Redoubt Nine,' Dad said. 'Michael's unit is going to be storming us in a few minutes, so just stay here with me and – '

I took off running again, and began scanning the faces of the redcoats for Wesley. Some were lying down, pointing their guns through the gaps in the redoubt, where they could shoot, while others, from the direction they were looking, seemed to be waiting for something to come over the top of the redoubt.

'Meg, what's –'

'Find Wesley, Dad,' I called over my shoulder. 'Quick!'

I started as a volley of musket fire rang out, and I heard shouts from outside the redoubt. I continued to search for Wesley, earning more than a few curses when I grabbed soldiers and turned them around to see their faces.

The first white-clad French soldiers began appearing over the tops of the redoubt. The British shot at them, though I could see that they were actually careful to aim over their heads.

'Allow, mes amis!'

I looked up to see Michael standing on top of the redoubt, looking impossibly tall, waving his sword, urging on his men.

I looked down at the redcoats below him. I could see several aiming over his head. And one aiming much too low….

'No!' I shrieked and launched myself at the redcoat in a flying tackle.

The gun went off about the time I hit him, and I could tell that he was driven not only sideways from the impact of my tackle but also back from the recoil of the gun. Which shouldn't have happened, of course, since you don't get recoil when you fire a blank, so he'd definitely been firing live ammo.

As I hit the ground, I looked up to see Michael, clutching his chest. The growing red stain looked incredibly vivid against the white of his uniform. Then he fell to the ground coughing.

'Killer!' I snarled at Wesley. I kicked him in the face, quite deliberately, while scrambling up, and shoved my way through the mass of white- and red-clad soldiers to throw myself down at Michael's side.

'Michael!' I cried. 'Can you hear me?'

'Ma'am, we're trying to have a battle here – '

'Call an ambulance!' I shouted. 'Dad, put that thing down and get over here. Dammit, Michael, hang on!' I cried, as I tried to figure out whether I should cradle his head or whether moving him was a bad idea. 'I'm sorry; I've been awful to you. Just hang on, please. I promise if you just hang on – '

He opened his eyes. This was a good sign, right?

'Meg, will you do something for me?' he gasped.

'Anything, Michael, but don't try to talk now,' I said. 'Dad, where the hell are you?'

'Meg, you're spoiling the filming,' Dad said, looming over me with his camera-filled powder keg.

'You're filming this!' I said, looking up at him. His video-camera was whirring away. He didn't seem upset. I noticed that a couple of the soldiers around us were smothering giggles. I looked down at Michael. The red stain didn't seem to be spreading. And it looked very red. Almost unnaturally red.

'Michael?'

He opened one eye and winked at me.

'You're all right?'

He opened his hand to reveal a plastic bag that still contained a few drops of stage blood.

'Do you want me to keep filming this?' Dad asked.

'Shh,' Michael said, closing his eyes again. 'I think she's about to say something I want to hear.'

'Michael, you jerk!' I shouted.

'No, that's not it,' he said, shaking his head.

'I thought you were dead!' I shrieked, snatching off my cocked hat and hitting him with it. 'I thought the little weasel had killed you!'

'And you came running to save me,' Michael said, pulling me down on top of him. 'I'm overwhelmed.'

'You're overwhelmed!' I said. 'I'm furious. Do you realize – '

'Hey, you're in my light,' I heard Dad say to someone. 'I'm trying to film.'

I looked up to see Dad's powder keg pointed at Michael and me.

'We can discuss how grateful you are later,' I said, pulling myself up again. 'Right now – '

'Meg Langslow!' came Mrs. Waterston's voice through the bullhorn. 'Why are you ruining my battle? Get out of there immediately!'

'Ma'am,' a nearby soldier said, obviously fighting laughter. 'If you're finished having hysterics now – '

'Laugh all you want,' I said, standing up and dusting off my uniform. 'But one of your soldiers – make that someone pretending to be one of your soldiers – is using live ammo here. He tried to kill Michael.'

'Meg Langslow! Get off my battlefield this minute!'

'Her battlefield,' someone muttered.

'She's not kidding,' another soldier said. 'I've been hit! Someone put a round right through my canteen!'

'There he is,' I said, pointing to the other end of the redoubt, where Wesley was trying to slink away. 'He killed Benson and now he's trying to kill the only witness! Catch him!'

Fortunately, Wesley did his best to convince them I was telling the truth by bolting out of the redoubt the second he heard me. And I gather even the suspicion of live ammo on the field really ticked people off. The soldiers gave chase – a few at first, and then both units of French and British, when the word of what Wesley had done had made the rounds.

In fact, within a few minutes, half the soldiers on the field were merrily running up and down the battlefield, chasing Wesley – several hundred soldiers, not to mention assorted camp followers and stragglers, Dad with his camera, Horace in his gorilla suit, and Spike, barking happily.

I heard the sound of cannonfire and whirled around to see if anything had happened to Duck and Mrs. Fenniman, but they were both still calmly perched on their proper ends of the cannon. Jess and his man had hauled out the speakers and punctuated the chase with an almost nonstop series of cannon blasts.

'He's pretty fast,' Michael said, as we watched Wesley temporarily outpacing his pursuers – although from