“b****y traitors.” The Amherst Light spat on the ground. “Stabbing us in the back when we was already at war with the Frenchies.”
Resisting his impulse to plunge a bayonet into the man’s chest, MacKim forced what he hoped was a friendly smile. “I’m Hugh MacKim,” he said.
“Are you now?” The man produced a plug of tobacco, bit off a chunk and put the remainder inside his tunic. “I don’t give a tinker’s damn.”
“Do you have a name?” MacKim swallowed his pride.
The man seemed to consider for a long time before he replied. “Chaplin.” He looked across at the French positions of Quebec. “I fought you bastards at Culloden.”
MacKim controlled his surge of anger. “I didn’t know Amherst’s Foot was there.”
“I was with another regiment.” Chaplin’s eyes were vicious as he faced MacKim. “We transfer
