Student+4+8th

I am a virginian farmer in the colonial army deployed in New York. It's hard to sleep in the rain and no cover. I'm cold, wet and am wondering if I'll ever see another summer again. The only thing I have to eat is a few crusts of hardtack, half a can of beans and some wild tubers and plants I found. Most people don't have anything. I wear a regular frock coat and some brogans. Only a few have real uniforms. Almost all of us blend in to our environment. The redcoat's uniform gives them away, so I guess I should be glad with what I have. I have my old musket and some sort of flintlock musketoon I was issued. I have about five shots worth of gunpowder for my musket, and about twenty seven shots worth of powder for the musketoon. Our ammunition is bleak, but our spirits are high. The regulars have more of everything than us. Almost all of us don't have any training at all and some of us have never seen action. My only training was hunting back home, and I must admit I was a pretty good shot. I have seen at least seen three engagements, and I didn't enjoy any one of them. When I fought the battle of bunker hill, I was high in hopes. It was my first time in combat. As I raised my rifle, sigthed down the barrel at tall and lean redcoat, and pulled the trigger. When the smoke cleared, I saw the man fall to his knees, grasping his chest, as he fell bckwards down the hill. A wave of shock came over me, knowing that I had just taken another man's life. Before I had time to grieve for the man, I heard a british officer yell,"fix bayonets!". I looked over the trench and saw the redcoats advancing. I shot off a round, before they were upon us. I thrust my knife in the first man who came over. I looked down to put my knife away, and as I looked up, a redcoat smashed his rifle butt into my forehead. Everything went immediately black. When I came back around, I was in a bed in a makeshift cot. I was about to sit up, but a stinging pain in my forehead made me think otherwise. Another wounded soldier in the next cot over informed me that we had lost Bunker Hill. That was my first sight of action. The conditions are fair in the summer. It is easy to march and is good on our feet. But when winter comes around we are forced to bear the frostbite and the other diseases the cold weather brings. I hope my fighting will bring less taxation and freedom from Britian. All this suffering, all this bloodshed and anger, the torture of knowing that you just took another life, another heart, another soul, another human being. It isn't what you first thought it to be. Maybe as an adventure, an opportunity to make yourself a hero. It's just another waste of millions of valuable lives.