The game started, and it rapidly proved itself to be entirely consistent with the strategic consensus we'd expressed during the bus trip up: "Whoop, w...oop, we're going to whip their asses." It was a repeat of our previous two games. If I got the ball, there was something like an 80 to 90% chance I'd get a goal. Salem saved a few, but nowhere near enough. My little group of a dozen supporters, counting the four parents, had a lot of fun yelling their huge approval at me whenever I was anywhere. "No, sorry, it was only a shadow moving across the door." I said as they swung back to face me, with anger and fury showing on the faces of Huntley and Palmer respectively. Palmer went as far as to level his pistol at me, and blasphemed mightily, which I think upset Huntley more than my false warning. He glared at me furiously. "Get a hold of yourself man, you're as nervous as a kitten. No wonder your regiment ran at Waterloo."He then gave the order 'load'. Samuel placed the sopping wet. More

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