CHAPTER NINE
The farmhouse was severely damaged, but livable. One side of the simple one-floor cabin had burned and partially collapsed leaving one large room open with access to the somewhat collapsed, but still workable fireplace. On the un-collapsed side the roof appeared intact enough to keep off the weather, but whatever provisions or usable items had been in the house were long stolen.
Mason pushed through the still working door and looked into the room. Despite smelling of wet, burnt wood, the room appeared dry and large enough for them. Satisfied it was safe, he stepped inside and looked around. A small table stood against the far wall along with what looked like the frame for a bed now broken into pieces. Mason couldn’t see any animal droppings, which was a plus. Mainly the room was dry and while it would be tight, it would provide them a break from the wind and precipitation. Two cracked and smoke-smeared windows looked out into the forest on opposing sides of the far corner. With a person at the door, they could almost see a full three hundred and sixty degrees for security. While not ideal, they could work with it.
“Stratton?”
“Yeah?” his counterpart called from outside the home.
“Get the squad and move them up here. Now.” Mason shrugged out of his ruck and set it on the floor. His watch read 0830. They could set up security, eat, and plan their way back to the site. Weapon in hand, Mason stepped to the door and cracked it ajar two inches. He could clearly see Stratton’s fireteam moving back through the forest to Higgs. He watched them, the gray-green-suited figures clearly standing against the dark, moist ground, getting their rucks on, and moving through the forest all the way to the door. Mason pushed it open and waved them inside one by one.
“Higgs? Stratton?” They turned toward Mason. “Set fifty percent security. Everyone get a bite to eat. Fifty percent security on thirty-minute rotations while we eat, change socks, and get the lay of the land. Move.”
Higgs stepped away and Stratton even managed to nod. Within a few minutes, half of the squad positioned themselves near the two doors and one window on the undamaged side. Koch crawled under the partially collapsed roof and watched from the other side of the cabin. Content that they had three hundred and sixty degrees of security, Mason settled into the center of the cabin, opened a canteen, and again consulted the inventory list Higgs had collected. Between the eight of them were twenty Meals, Ready to Eat or MREs. They’d each consume one for the morning meal, leaving twelve.
If we don’t go home, that’s twelve. We can’t survive on that. He debated not eating one of his meals for a moment before opening one of the exterior pockets. Using his multi-tool knife, he opened the package labeled Pesto Pasta with Chicken and sorted through the file packets. Every single of one of them was a finite, perishable resource. Right down to the artificial coffee creamer, never mind the miniature bottle of Tabasco sauce. If they did not get home, it would be a reminder of a world they would never see again.
Mason shook off the thought. “Focus,” he said softly to himself and rubbed his eyes.
Footsteps clomped on the floor next to him. Higgs took off her rucksack and sat on it across from him. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Mason said. “Just trying to stay focused.”
Higgs drank from her canteen. She leaned closer. “You’re thinking we’re not going home.”
Mason met her eyes but did not move his head. He knew that he didn’t have to. Ashley Higgs was incredibly smart. As a freshman, she’d beaten out all of the other cadets in the program for a slot to the U.S. Army Basic Parachutist Course. The next summer, when her classmates planned their beach trips and vacations, she spent two summer sessions studying Pashto, one of the tribal languages of Afghanistan. She was everything Mason knew a leader should be, and most everything that he wasn’t.
“Don’t give up, Mason.”
He grunted and tore open his plastic spoon and main entree. “I’m not, Higgs.”
“We have to think like we’re going back.” She sat her canteen on the floor. “If we don’t then we can deal with it.”
“We have to have a plan, Higgs.”
She nodded. “I’m not saying we don’t have to. You need to have faith, Mason. If not in the situation, then have it in yourself. You made the right call with this place. You’re going to make a lot of right calls.”
“Thanks, Higgs.” He took a bite of pasta and chewed. The simple act of eating helped to clear his mind and focus it on the simple things. Mission first and people always were the key touchstones of the Cadet Creed. It was a perfect place to start.
“Once everybody has eaten, we go to one hundred percent security so you, Stratton, Booker, and I can plan this afternoon. I’m not talking an operations order or anything like that. We just need to get back to where we came in and see what happens.”
Higgs nodded as she chewed her spaghetti meal. “Koch thinks we need to be there at the same time of day to make it work, or…” She paused and wiped her mouth with the back of her left hand. “Or that it will be in a year from yesterday if it even works at all. He’s not convinced it will.”
“A year?” Mason almost choked on his pasta. “We don’t have the supplies to last a year here, Higgs.”
“If we stay here, we can’t run.”
I was afraid you were going to say that. Mason sighed and kept eating. The trouble was that he knew she was right. What they had, what they knew, and what they believed could change the course of the American Revolution. The battle of Trenton would turn the tide of the war, but there would be several more years of bloodshed and turmoil. He tried to remember the details of the years after Trenton but could not. “Murphy wrote a paper on this thing, right?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Then I need to talk to him. We need a full brief on what happens in Trenton and the days after.”
Higgs nodded. “Why just a few days?”
Mason grinned with one side of his mouth. “If we can’t go back, all we can do is live a few days in the future, Higgs. Any farther than that are things we can’t control.” He chuckled. “We have to get back, because if we don’t, Kennedy and Porter won’t be the last of us to die, Higgs. Whether it’s in battle, or from disease, the odds are against us.”
“We need to know everything Murphy knows or thinks he can remember”—she gestured to the group—“and everything we all know. Knowledge is power, Mason.”
“What if it’s trouble, too?”
Higgs nodded and the conversation lulled. Mason knew he was right. There were too many variables in play and way too many things that could go wrong. As he ate, he opened the Ranger handbook and reviewed the Standing Orders for Rogers’ Rangers. Rogers was out there, somewhere in the strange new world, right now with his Rangers making trouble for Washington’s army. As he read, Mason noted with pride that they’d posted sentries before eating and were planning to run on fifty percent security for the next several hours. He’d also gotten up before dawn. No sooner had he thought about it than he heard his father’s voice telling him to focus on the present. That he could pat himself on the back later. That people were going to die because he’d eventually screw up. Mason choked down his remaining pride with a bite of pasta and a splash of cold water from his canteen. The icy swallow triggered a thought and he looked at Higgs.
“We need to find a water source.”
Higgs nodded. “After everyone eats, I’ll take my team and do a quick box around the house and see what we can find. If nothing else, we get a lay of the land and see where an enemy could hide.”
Mason nodded and ate another spoonful. I should’ve thought of that.
Dammit.
He decided to play it cool and collected and replied, “That sounds good. We’ll also need to identify food sources.”
Higgs looked at him. “After this meal, we ration. One MRE per person per day. That buys us time to reach Washington’s army, if we can’t get home.”
“We could hunt,” he shrugged. By the look on her face, he knew it was a wrong answer. “But, yeah, we might call attention to ourselves. That won’t work very well, huh?”
Higgs chewed slowly through a bite of spaghetti. While she chewed, she added a few sprinkles of hot sauce and stirred the remainder inside its foil pouch. She looked up at him. “We have food for two days, Mason. Water for one. If we can’t get home, that’s our first priority.”
Mason nodded. “We can find water, I’m sure of that. The food we can forage for if we…” He trailed off and realized that his impossible thought of running west would be harder, infinitely harder, than actually joining Washington’s army after all.
“We have to get home,” he said more to himself than to his friend.
She frowned. “Mason? If we can’t, we have to have a plan.”
He sighed and met her eyes. “I know.”
“But you don’t want to think that far ahead.” Higgs frowned deeply enough he could see the lines in her face in the low light of the room.
“No,” he looked away. “No, I don’t want to think that far ahead.”
Higgs rolled her eyes. “You sound just like Sergeant Sheets. Mason? There’s a lot more than worrying about who’s going to die when you’re in command. How about thinking, maybe just a little, about everyone who’s going to live? What happens when they’re looking to you for leadership? That’s a bigger problem you can affect than who’s going to die. You could walk out that door, trip on the steps, and break your neck. It is highly unlikely, but it’s possible. What’s more possible is that you skin your elbows or your knees and everyone laughs at you. Which one do you plan for?”
Mason shrugged. He’d never thought of it that way. Leadership, especially leading soldiers in a combat situation, was like a heavy yoke around his neck. The burden was simply too much to bear. “You can’t plan for either.”
“Right. So stop thinking in absolutes beyond taking care of your people.” She pointed at him with her fork. “Taking care of us.”
“But if I fuck up, Higgs,” Mason huffed. “I mean—”
Higgs nodded. “Yes, people will die. Your job is to do your best to mitigate that. Every squad leader in history has wanted one thing for their people—to bring them home alive with all of their fingers and toes. You can try to do that, but you may not succeed. Winning battles and wars should be the farthest thing from your mind. Yeah, we can change the world and all that”—Higgs rolled her eyes and gestured wildly with her hands—“but, the reality is pretty simple. If we all die tomorrow, we can’t change anything. If we stay alive, every day is an opportunity to change history. You have to give us that opportunity.”
She stood up and tucked her half-eaten foil pouch into her armpit carefully so it wouldn’t spill. “Where are you going?” Mason asked.
“Taking care of my people. The faster they can eat, the better.” She smiled at him. “It’s the little things, Mason. Try to remember that.”
She moved away and Mason found himself eating a little faster. There were too many things to do and the day was wasting.
* * *
Sutton opened the Christensens’ front door and nearly swooned at the smell of fresh sausage coming from the kitchen. The widow Christensen, he believed, must have caught a vestige of the Christmas spirit and traded with the passing hunters of the day before. He’d seen the rough, dirty men approach the town with their catches that the Hessian quartermasters took en masse with barely a second thought. As he’d watched the men—an older father and a younger son, Sutton surmised—he’d waited patiently to see something in their tired, desperate eyes that bordered on something like subterfuge. Had they looked up, glanced around, or taken more of an interest in their surroundings than the actual transaction of trade, he would have gathered them up in a heartbeat and tortured them for information. Countering Washington’s growing nest of espionage was of great importance to General Lord Howe and his staff, but in the wilderness of New Jersey, Sutton seldom knew who was friend or foe in those he passed along the muddy streets of Trenton. Further outside the all but deserted town, he didn’t know what to expect.
The man, Daniels, he remembered, seemed to occupy a clever niche between the armies at war. He repaired any rifle or weapon brought to him for a fair price. Lieutenant Sturm’s early report of finding colonial muskets along Daniels’ walls were hardly troublesome. The man’s dealings were simply to protect him and his young, pretty daughter in the face of any threat from any side. However, by taking no side, he’d isolated himself and his family. The time would likely come when protection would be necessary, from the rebels most likely, and Sutton was prepared to offer that and more, particularly where the daughter was concerned.
Selena Christensen was simply not interested in him. Like the gunsmith, she’d simply aligned herself in a way to protect herself and her boy. Unlike Daniels, Selena recognized that the British and Hessian armies were better equipped, despite the Hessian savagery, to protect her interests. Ultimately, it did not matter. She would have nothing of social interaction or his gentlemanly, or other, intentions. Only once he’d considered forcing himself upon her only to walk away and find solace in a wineglass at the tavern. Simply taking what he wanted wasn’t exciting anymore. Taking what no other man thought he should, however, had promise.
The gunsmith’s daughter, for example.
Rall’s Christmas-dinner invitation would be lost on Selena Christensen. Sutton decided to ask the pretty brown-haired girl instead. Maybe he could spark some resemblance of jealousy in the widow who barely spoke to him or even marked his existence with a passing glance. The predawn cold outside drove home the point that his own existence in this awful place was vacant and alone. He’d thought of going to Selena so many times, but had never even attempted it. The smell of cooking sausage suggested a gift of some type, but it didn’t matter. His mind was made up before he walked into the kitchen. Seeing Selena with her back to him, he flushed with warm excitement for the first time in weeks.
“Good morning,” she said without looking at him. “Would you care for some breakfast?”
“Yes,” he said and stepped through the door. He moved to the table quickly, sitting down just as Selena turned with a plate of a fried egg and sausage. “I believe you traded for this yesterday, did you not?”
Her dark eyes glinted in the low light of the kitchen as she smiled. “I trade nearly every day, Captain. You’re well aware of that.”
Her smile did not falter as he grinned up at her. His eyes flitted over her chest, hidden behind the blue dress and black knitted shawl she wore over her shoulders against the chill. “Indeed, and sausage? You’ve outdone yourself, madam.”
A touch of color appeared in her cheeks. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re quite welcome.”
She moved back to the fireplace. “There’ll be some tea shortly.”
With a speed that surprised him, Sutton tore into the plate of food. If anything, Selena was a more than decent cook. He watched her for a moment and realized that she was much more civil than in recent memory. She pushed through the kitchen door toward the parlor, leaving him alone. He made quick work of the eggs and the sausage, finishing them just as she stepped into the kitchen with her young son Ian behind her. The boy took his customary place behind her legs and squinted out at him distrustfully.
“Good morning, Ian,” Sutton smiled. The little brat ducked behind his mother fully.
“Now, Ian. Don’t be rude.” Selena looked up at him with a sad smile.
“It’s quite all right,” Sutton said as he stood. “I must get going any way.”
“You won’t stay for tea?” She asked with a hopeful expression that almost made him change his mind about the Daniels girl.
“I’m afraid there are long patrols to the north today,” Sutton replied. “I must get going.”
Selena actually smiled at him. “Be safe then and we will see you this evening.”
Sutton flushed in sudden embarrassment at his thoughts of the young girl compared to the sudden interest of the beautiful widow. “Yes, of course.” He nodded at them and rushed through the cabin to the front door and into the cold morning with a broad smile on his face. The day showed promise for a change. If the Daniels girl would entertain his offer, then he could surely inflame Selena Christensen’s newfound interest through jealousy. So much was his preoccupation with the idea of playing a young, beautiful girl against the equally beautiful widow, that he barely noticed the intense cold and the freshening breeze from the west. The four-mile ride to the gunsmith’s place would be an agonizing crawl in below-freezing temperatures. Still, his excitement never wavered. He turned from Trenton with his head bowed into the high collar of his coat and a smile on his chilled face.
Frost gave the drooping forest branches the glint of jewels in the sunrise. High, thin clouds dominated the skyline to the west and foretold of heavier weather in the week to come. The breeze came up gently, like a frigid kiss on his cheek and Jack nickered under him.
“Easy, boy,” Sutton said and patted the horse’s thick neck. They’d been through a lot together in the last several months, but the sturdy gelding never wavered under fire. Jack tossed his head and looked side to side as they plodded through the mud toward the gunsmith’s home. Rider and horse were well matched: both anxious and looking for a fight. Sutton clicked his tongue and pulled back on the reins gently and they stopped at the muddy intersection. For a moment, Sutton listened and closed his eyes to adjust to the sounds of the wilderness. He removed his helm and let the breeze cool the top of his head for a moment while he concentrated on the stillness around him. Far enough from Trenton that Rall’s damned band practices could not be heard, Sutton believed himself to be ready for anything that might meet him. Pistol loaded and sword at the ready, he replaced his helm and nudged Jack down the Princeton Road and what he hoped to be a great prize for the taking.