Back | Next
Contents

CHAPTER SEVEN

By the light of a single candle, Mason sat at the Danielses’ table staring at his hands. His fingertips traced the raised lines in the old, worn wooden surface as if searching for something. The longer he looked, the less he felt there was an answer. If he hadn’t been lost none of it would have happened, or so he told himself. Sitting alone in his guilt, he wondered about the cadre and his parents. Would they be upset? Would they secretly be relieved that he wouldn’t get his commission and serve in the army? He snorted at the sudden thought of missed homework for his psychology class. None of that seemed to matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was survival, especially if they could not make it home. Nothing of his life up to that afternoon would matter a thing. He’d stepped back in history as a black man in charge of a squad of cadets who had no real concept of war. Everything he did from now on had a consequence. Every single thing he did now would affect something in the future. More troubling was that everything he did from now on could get himself or one of his friends killed. Doing nothing and letting history roll by would be easiest. He didn’t believe in parallel timelines, no matter what Koch and the others thought. They might be in a parallel universe, but what if they weren’t and their presence fucked up the entire history of the United States? Not wanting to screw up the future was motivation to do nothing.

Except for the rifle.

Mason closed his eyes and tried to push away a wave of despair as his brain worked out possibilities. Reverse engineering the rifle would take years, if not decades. Studying the weapon could yield other gains. Iron sights, for example, and the concept of magazines and spring reloading. The metallurgy of the weapon could lead to other changes, too. Some of the advances, particularly the magazine cartridges and semiautomatic firing were less than one hundred years away. Whether or not that timeline would change based on one lost rifle, Mason couldn’t say. Whether or not it would lead to a different future seemed unanswerable as well, except he knew they’d have to do something. If they could track the injured Hessian and recover the rifle, that would be perfect. Otherwise, Stratton would be right and they’d have to report to General Washington. Mason felt his face warm with shame as he looked around the room in the low light. If facing his cadre of officers at the university was a challenge, owning up to his failures with George Washington seemed too daunting to consider.

A half dozen muskets leaned against the far wall where Daniels obviously plied his trade. Another dozen leaned in the corner. Even in the low light, Mason could tell they were very different. From his pocket, he pulled out a LED keychain light and shone it into the dark corners. Seeing his dormitory room key and his car keys almost jogged him out of his search. He’d never need them again, after all. Curious, he stood and quietly walked across the floor to inspect them.

The wooden ceiling creaked above him and he heard Daniels’ heavy footfalls descend the stairs. The older man pushed through the door into the kitchen and stopped. With a nod, he stepped around the end of the table and stood opposite Mason. He ran a hand through his thinning

black-and-silver hair and then rubbed his unshaven face.

“What are you doing?”

Mason shrugged. “Looking around.”

“I think I can make your rifles work.”

Mason nodded. “Is that before or after you turn these over to the Hessians? Or are you planning on turning us over, too.” He pointed to a musket with a fancy silver buckle on the shoulder strap and words etched into the wood of the shoulder stock. The words were very clearly German. Another pile bore a familiar sigil on their straps. “Or the British?”

Daniels sighed. “It’s not like that, Mason.”

“Then what’s it like, Mister Daniels?” Mason squared his shoulders to the man and tried to imagine his first move if the gunsmith went for a rifle. After a long moment, the older man sat down heavily in a chair and gestured to Mason to do the same.

“If I fix their rifles, they stay away from us. From Emily, primarily,” Daniels said. “Until today, they’ve kept their word. Sassenach bastards.”

Mason sat down and folded his hands. “Are you a Tory, Mister Daniels?”

“No.” The man looked into Mason’s eyes intently. “I am a gunsmith, Mason. Both sides want my services and they pay well.”

“You’re on the wrong side of the river.”

Daniels chuckled. “Remember when I told you that there was a lot you didn’t know? That’s part of it. There are rebels on this side of the river and they’re constantly toying with the Hessians. All through the state, people are rising against the Hessians. I made a deal to keep them away from my daughter. Today, that changed.”

Mason nodded. The older man’s eyed blazed with hatred. “And what about your deal? How can you conduct business with them now?”

Daniels squinted at him. “Mason, your boys killed two of those men. If the third gets back to the Hessian garrison, they’ll be coming for us all.”

Mason blinked. “And if he doesn’t, they’ll come looking for their patrol.”

Daniels nodded. “I think it may be best if you and your squad move on. Find some other place from where to fight or make your decisions.”

“We’re going to try and go home tomorrow.” Mason sighed. “I don’t think we can.”

“Whatever magic it was, I hope for your sakes that it works,” Daniels said. “Washington and his army continue to retreat. Word is that they are losing men every day to disease and desertion. Come spring time, there might not be a rebellion to speak of.”

Mason stared at the man. Here it comes, he thought. He’s going to want to know everything and I don’t know what I can tell him.

“What happens?”

Mason shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t tell you anything. It could mess up the future.”

Daniels leaned across the table and his voice was a harsh stage whisper. “Tell me what you know, boy.”

“I am not a boy, Mister Daniels.” Mason seethed. “And I’m not sure you’re not a traitor or a British spy. Until you prove me otherwise, I’m not telling you a damned thing.”

Daniels sat back. “But you know.”

“Of course I do,” Mason said. “I showed you a coin that said the United States of America and 1976 on it.”

“So we win,” Daniels said again. “But you won’t tell me how or why?”

“No,” Mason said. “Everything I said could affect how our future unfolds. I can’t take that risk, Mister Daniels. And, I don’t trust you.”

Daniels smiled and pointed at Mason’s uniform. “That’s unlike anything I’ve seen, and I want to believe you, Mason. You saved our lives, but that doesn’t make trusting you and your people any easier.”

Mason thought he understood. New Jersey was occupied territory and because Washington and the rebel army were not a total construct of a federal government, they weren’t trusted much more than the Hessians and British were. Daniels and others like him had simply wanted to eke out a living and be left alone by both sides until the war played out in their backyard. Mason wondered if it would get worse before it got better.

“We were talking about rebels on this side of the river,” Mason said. “What about the Hessians and British? What do we need to know?” He hoped the question sounded innocuous. He could always verify with Murphy in the morning.

“The rebels have lots of small parties under Colonel Hunterdon skirmishing with Hessian outposts and disrupting British supply caravans. There have been raids across the river into Trenton and reports from Bordentown and further south that large bands of resistance were challenging Hessian positions there. Because no one has been caught, the Hessians are wary of everything. Especially in Trenton. Word is that Colonel Rall, the commanding officer, has asked repeatedly for help from the British and received nothing. While other commanders have fortified their towns and defenses, Trenton is mostly undefended save for the Hessian outposts. Rall boasts about being able to defeat the rebels at every turn but rejects every suggestion given to him by his officers regarding the defense of Trenton.”

Mason rubbed his eyes. Fatigue was setting in, but he needed to know more. Focus, dammit.

“You said they’ve raped and pillaged? The citizens in Trenton can’t be happy with them.”

Daniels cocked his head to one side. “Almost everyone is gone, Mason. There are a few Loyalists there, sure, and others like me who’ve made deals to support them in the hope of some type of protection, but the reality is that Trenton was a ghost town when the Hessians moved in. There’s only a thousand of them and a few British dragoons.”

“Dragoons?”

“Horse infantry,” Daniels said. “You don’t have horses in your time?”

Discussing cars and industrial revolution was not a path Mason wanted to tread just yet. “We do, just not familiar with the term. We call it cavalry. I have a lot to learn.”

“And I can help you.”

Mason met the man’s eyes. “How? Our rifles?”

“That’s one possibility. Making your ammunition work is certainly something I can try. Whether I’ll be successful, I can’t say.” Daniels opened his hands. “You’ll need information. And, you’ll need a way to General Washington.”

“Again, what’s going to stop you from turning us in—”

Daniels interrupted him with a sternly pointed finger. “Because you saved our lives. And because I need you out of here because the British commander or the Hessian quartermaster will be by tomorrow to see about the rifles. I told them they would be ready on the twenty-second, and so they are. They’ll come for them and you and your people have to go.”

“We can’t risk the river crossing without trying to get home.”

Daniels shook his head. “Once you leave here, you can’t come back. The Hessians will step up patrols. They’re already out here at dawn most days.”

“We’ll need shelter. Our gear is good, but we can’t last in the elements for a long time.”

Daniels rubbed his eyes with his index fingers. “The Simmonses’ place—they left a couple of months ago. Half of the house burned, but there’s enough structure there to keep the wind off of you. Just don’t make a big fire ’less you want people to know you’re there.”

“Won’t any of those rebel parties or anyone else use it?”

“Always a chance,” Daniels said. “It’s better than nothing and keeps you out of sight but close enough if something happens.”

“How close?”

“A half mile, give or take.” Daniels sighed. “Best get some sleep and be ready to take your friends out before the sun comes up.” He stood up and padded out of the kitchen without another word.

Mason scratched at his left shoulder, his fingers brushing up against a small, bulky package tucked into the pocket there. He tore open the Velcro closure and dug inside. Inside a plastic sandwich bag was a dog-eared copy of a blue-covered Army training pamphlet. The Ranger Handbook was a concise guide to tactical operations. His father’s copy had been through the excruciating Ranger course in the early 1980s. When Mason joined ROTC, his father presented the copy with a quiet kind of reverence.

“There’s a lot of knowledge here, Mason,” he’d said. “Most of the best is on the first couple pages.”

Mason worked the copy free of its bag and flipped open the old blue cover. By candlelight, he read “Rogers’ Rules for Rangers” for the hundredth time, but really understood them for the first time.

1. All Rangers are to be subject to the rules and articles of war; to appear at roll-call every evening, on their own parade, equipped, each with a Firelock, sixty rounds of powder and ball, and a hatchet, at which time an officer from each company is to inspect the same, to see they are in order, so as to be ready on any emergency to march at a minute’s warning; and before they are dismissed, the necessary guards are to be draughted, and scouts for the next day appointed.

The rules dated back to the French and Indian War. If Mason remembered his history correctly, Major Robert Rogers had drafted them somewhere in the Hudson River Valley in 1757 or maybe 1758.

2. Whenever you are ordered out to the enemies forts or frontiers for discoveries, if your number be small, march in a single file, keeping at such a distance from each other as to prevent one shot from killing two men, sending one man, or more, forward, and the like on each side, at the distance of twenty yards from the main body, if the ground you march over will admit of it, to give the signal to the officer of the approach of an enemy, and of their number,

3. If you march over marshes or soft ground, change your position, and march abreast of each other to prevent the enemy from tracking you (as they would do if you marched in a single file) till you get over such ground…

Almost two centuries later, Lt. Colonel William Darby had presented the rules to the 1st Ranger Battalion prior to action during World War II. A modified version was still used to the present day in Ranger training.

He skipped to the end of the text. There were twenty-eight rules in all, in Rogers’ original version.

28. If you cannot satisfy yourself as to the enemy’s number and strength, from their fire, conceal your boats at some distance, and ascertain their number by a reconnoitering party, when they embark, or march, in the morning, marking the course they steer, when you may pursue, ambush, and attack them, or let them pass, as prudence shall direct you. In general, however, that you may not be discovered by the enemy upon the lakes and rivers at a great distance, it is safest to lay by, with your boats and party concealed all day, without noise or shew; and to pursue your intended route by night; and whether you go by land or water, give out parole and countersigns, in order to know one another in the dark, and likewise appoint a station every man to repair to, in case of any accident that may separate you.

Mason closed the cover and slipped the book into his shoulder pocket without a word. He sat with his eyes following the flickering candle flame for a very long time before he knew what he would do given the possibilities they would face in the morning.


Back | Next
Framed