King George’s Boys
by Terry Germaine
by Terry Germaine
At the dawn of the American Revolution, life is harsh for blacks and whites in the wealthiest colony in North America. Coffy has worked for ten years to buy his freedom, but love, war, and a preacherman threaten to tear his dream apart. How far would you go to be free?
Amazon Reader Review
"King George's Boys" is one of those stories that sticks with you long after you've turned the last page. Coffy's struggle to survive and free himself from slavery is an emotional gut punch. It is a grim and gritty look at the lives and struggles of African slaves in the USA during a time of war and social upheaval. Coffy's story is both painful and full of hope, as he endures the hand he's been dealt in life while never losing faith that someday, he will be free. As the first in the series it lays an excellent foundation for what looks to be a very driven, compelling series, and I'm looking forward to reading the next book. – Cat Jones, Top 500 Reviewer
This book follows Coffy and other enslaved African Americans as they work their way to freedom. Coffy wants to buy out of slavery while others cook up a plan to escape the rice plantation they work on. Great tale of love and heartbreak and the horrendously true reality that was the slave trade. Very intriguing, I can't wait for book two! You'll get pulled right into the story and won't want to put it down. Recommended! – Amazon Reviewer
Excerpt from King George’s Boys by Terry Germaine
Prologue
Gator Bait
“Do you hear a baby crying?”
I’m too tired to think. We have been walking all night and I’m just happy to reach this creek before sun up.
“I hear something,” I reply. “But it can’t be a baby.”
“Kofi, that is definitely a baby crying,” says Collie. He says that only his mother in Ireland calls him “Colin Lowery,” he prefers to be known as Collie. Driggus and Jaco chime in.
“I don’t hear anything,” says Jaco.
“If it’s something,” says Driggus. “I pray we look into it.”
“Maybe it’s a bear giving birth,” says Joe.
“No,” says Driggus. “I fear your brother was correct in his earlier assessment.”
Joe and I fill our canteens with water and the five of us walk along the creek’s edge toward the noise.
“Do they have alligators this far north?”
“You afraid of gators, Jaco,” asks Collie.
“I don’t fear much,” says Jaco. “But it would explain why there’s a crying baby in a swamp.”
“How is that?”
I see her.
“There’s a pikinine tied to that tree with a rope around her neck and torso,” I say.
“A pee kee what?” asks Collie.
“He means you were right about hearing a crying baby,” says Driggus. “My old eyes spy her under that cottonwood tree.”
I walk ahead of the others.
“She can’t be more than two years old,” I say.
“Hold up,” says Collie. “What did you mean about alligators?”
“Let it go, mountain man,” says Driggus. “You and Joe haven’t been Americans as long as the rest of us.”
I get to the girl and reach down, loosening the rope around her neck before trying to pick her up. I’m actually not sure which would be worse: running into the gator she was set out as bait for or meeting the hunters who left her here. My answer came with the loud crack of a long gun.
“Asambone!”
I feel the ball tear through my left wrist. I tuck the child closer to my right side. My dear mother would slap me if she’d heard me curse so loudly, but it feels like I was just set on fire.
Driggus is calling behind me, but I can’t make out what he is saying. Am I falling? I see a blue coat running past me. The ground is cold this morning. I am lying on my back and the baby in my arms is still crying. I have got to get myself together. I hear another loud crack, it’s another gunshot.
“Them big and black, but better than catching gators,” says one of the bluecoats. Soldiers? No. Partisan guerillas like us. Colonial partisans are rushing us.
The regular armies on both sides fight on battlefields head on. This is the other side of the war, bands of five to ten guys burning down farms, disrupting supply lines and fighting one-on-one on the edge of swamps and creeks. At our best, we lay the groundwork for those larger battles giving our side the upper hand.
The one who ran past me is wrestling with Jaco – not a smart move. I wish I had his fighting skills right now. I hear horses. I’ve got to get hold of myself. I cannot see my left hand, it’s covered in blood.
“Sorry, likkle one.” I have to put the girl down to reach for my knife, but there’s a colonial right on top of me. He grabs me in a chokehold before I set the girl down.
“Likkle?” he mutters with his hands tightly around my neck. “Can’t you boys talk good English?”
I can’t let him choke me out.
“Run,” I say pushing the girl away. She just sits down, covered in my blood and crying. I guess she’s safer there than in my arms right now.
I grab toward his waist with my free hand. I feel a bit light-headed, but it can’t end like this. The bluecoat is mumbling something.
“When you’re dead,” he says.
Mostly, I just hear the child crying. The partisan is squeezing tighter as I strike gold. His pistol is in his waist, lodged between his gut and the buckle of his belt. Got it! The muffled pop of his flintlock wakes me up as his grip fades.
Collie bayonets a man while Jaco stands over another. Driggus isn’t faring as well.
“There are more coming.” says Joe. He kneels to get a good aim as a horseman charges him. I step over the child to help Driggus, who is staggering back into the creek. I hear more men running toward us as Joe fires.
“Why so many?”
Joe shoots the rider, but another man charges him from the ground as he reloads. The leader arrives on horseback, with his sabre drawn.
“Tarleton’s quarter,” he says, howling louder than I had been when I got shot. “Remember Waxhaw!”
Tarleton? Tarleton is one of our paymasters; five pieces of gold for every farm raided. Now I get it. These guys aren’t hunting alligators, they’re hunting us.
I should be plotting our escape, but I can only ask myself, “How did we get into this mess?”
( Continued... )
© 2015 All rights reserved. Book excerpt reprinted by permission of the author, Terry Germaine. Do not reproduce, copy or use without the author's written permission. This excerpt is used for promotional purposes only.
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About the Author
Terry Germaine is a native of Houston, TX living outside Washington, DC with his wife Nana Yaa Bernice. A graduate of Howard University, his writing has appeared in the Washington Post, Njozi Magazine, and Mosaic Literary Magazine. A portion of all sales go to support Making a New United People (M.A.N.U.P.), where Terry mentors at-risk youth in his free time.
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