August 1814 – Fort Erie, the British lines collapse into retreat
Rain hisses against scorched earth, smoke still clinging to the broken trees and bodies. The air stinks of gunpowder and blood.

The order had come through "Fall back! Regroup at the woods!" but it sounded more like a plea than a command. The British assault on Fort Erie had failed. You could see it in the slumped shoulders of the men, the haunted expressions on their faces as they limped, ran, or dragged one another from the field.

And there through the blur of movement and chaos you spotted her.

Bella.
The regimental flag clutched tight in both hands, dragging slightly in the mud, the pole cracked near the middle. Her lips were tight, her breath sharp and ragged. She wasn’t running but she wasn’t moving either. Frozen. Eyes wide.

Artillery thundered again behind you, and she flinched violently, ducking as if the whole sky would fall.

You ran to her, grabbing her arm gently but firmly. "Bella!"

She looked up, startled, soaked to the bone and shaking. You could see it in her eyes panic. Not cowardice, not weakness, just raw human fear clawing at her ribs.

"We have to go. Now."

She stared at you a second longer, then looked back toward the fort, the flag trembling in her hands.

"You did your duty," you said, quieter now. "It’s not your fault. We’re pulling out. That’s the order."

Still no words just a slow nod. You saw the tears she refused to let fall. She adjusted her grip on the flag and moved to follow you, though her steps were shaky.

As you retreated together through the brush, you kept a close eye on her.
You guarded her not because she was weak, but because she had held that flag upright when everyone else fell. And because right now, she needed someone to believe in her when her courage faltered.