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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Hessian drums woke Sutton instantly and he leapt from the bed and reached for his clothes in one smooth motion. Wind and rain lashed the home as the first cannon fire rumbled through the valley around the town. He could hear the Hessians screaming that the enemy was coming. For a brief moment, he wondered if it wasn’t one of Rall’s strange alerts until the clear snaps of a musket volley cleared the thought from his mind. They sounded to the north and Sutton reached for his weapons with his mind racing on how to get behind the enemy and destroy them.

We merely have to—

A thunderous ripple of artillery fire rumbled from the west, by the river. He paused for a moment, his racing mind wondering if Washington had dared to attack in two columns to envelope the town.

Victory was out of the question. If Washington’s army had indeed spread their attack, survival would be all that mattered. Dying in Trenton as a part of Rall’s ultimate failure was not his wish. Sutton tore from the house, past a visibly frightened Selena Christensen and out into the chaos of the storm and Washington’s attack. Another ripple of musket fire, this one sounding much closer, urged him to run to the stables. There he found his men in various states of dishevelment preparing to mount their horses.

His sergeant at arms caught his eye. “Orders, sir?”

“Get what you can carry and get across the Assunpink Creek bridge before the rebels take the town.” He found Jack, quickly worked his saddle over the big gelding’s back, and mounted. “I’ll check the situation to the north and return. Now, go!”

He rode out, turning north along Queen Street at a full gallop. At the north end of town, he could barely see the rebel army approaching through the wind and heavy sleet falling. The Hessians, the ones fighting at least, were holding the rebels back and retreating slowly into town. Cannons fired again from the high ground not more than a quarter mile away. Several of them arced over his position by the sound. He whirled in his saddle and saw a cluster of cannonballs fall into and around the stables.

Bastards!

He nudged Jack as a second volley fired from the cannons and the stables again received the brunt of the attack. A large fire spread and Sutton heard the unearthly squealing of the royal mounts. Two of his men and their horses managed to get through the burning structure and into the street.

“Go! Get to the Princeton Road!” The men were off like a shot and Sutton followed them. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping to see others break from the burning stables and saw nothing. He charged east, out of the town and just south of the apple orchard. To his left, he could see and hear the rebel muskets and cannon. Hessians ran and gathered in the orchard.

To hell with Rall.

Sutton turned more to the southeast as he breached the wood line. For fifteen minutes, he trotted Jack through the woods and stayed north of Assunpink Creek before turning north.

When they reached the Princeton Road, it was quiet. In the distance, a few cannons fired and Sutton felt as if he could hear the rebels celebrating their victory. There was no other possible outcome. He slapped at the pommel of Jack’s saddle and shook his head angrily. Washington, whether through luck or God’s will, had completely surprised them. In the space of an hour, maybe less, Trenton had fallen. His soldiers, good men to the very last, were either captured or killed in the rout. Of the two soldiers still with him, one had run for his horse without boots or a weapon and the other one shivered in the cold without his tunic. Still, they were away from the rebel army and the stunning surprise attack. Waiting for any other escapees for an hour left them all chilled and growing ever angrier. Rall’s incompetence had been on full display. In the midst of a howling storm, Washington and his men had attacked and taken the town with hardly a shot fired.

His men murmured amongst themselves. As if hearing the disgust in their voices, Sutton felt his cheeks flush with fresh anger at Colonel Rall. Damn that man! His want of cards of fancy dinners instead of redoubts and tactical responses!

Sutton exhaled explosively and turned his face to the breeze. Why would Washington attack in a storm? Had he known the weather would change?

Had he known of Rall’s party and love of cards?

His raging mind calmed in a flash. The party. Only one thing had been different at the party.

Emily Daniels.

The weapons in her father’s shed. His late-night hunting expeditions. All of the indicators flickered to life.

Sutton turned in the saddle. “Stand ready and prepare to ride.”

The one without his boots maneuvered his mount next to Sutton’s. “Orders, sir?”

“Princeton,” Sutton said. “Ride for Princeton and warn General Grant. Tell him that I will bring a full report when I join you there. I must depart from you to address…”

“Sir, should we not stay together?”

Sutton smiled. “I have business that must be attended to personally, Sergeant. You’ll carry the message of his attack to General Grant. I will join you presently.”

“Yes, sir.” He and the other soldier rode off.

Sutton nudged his mount into a fast trot toward the Daniels home. His mind raced. Daniels’ smug face and thin smile came to his mind and his anger at the Hessian defeat turned to rage. The girl possessed the gall to kiss his cheek and take his arm while spying on Rall and his generals. Their exhaustion and frustration had been all over their faces! The rising storm should have been a clue and he had missed it. Perhaps no one could have seen the attack coming, but he felt the shame of missing the signs like a yoke around his neck.

Yet, because of the attack’s success, Washington and his army lay exposed in Trenton and if the storm raged on, the ice-filled river could trap the cowards in Trenton while the British army and Colonel Von Donop’s forces fell inward to end the rebellion once and for all. His shame, his very honor, could be cleared by bringing justice to the spy Vernon Daniels and his daughter as well. At the Pennington Road, he turned and left his dragoons to their ride to Princeton. He nudged the horse into a gallop and set his mind to the task at hand.

The cabin appeared in the distance amidst the swirling snow. Sutton slowed the horse to a walk and studied the terrain. All was quiet. He smiled and stopped fifty yards away from the door. In a moment’s time he lashed his horse to a small tree below a slight embankment. Withdrawing the pistol from his belt he grasped the hilt of his sword and strode to the door of the cabin. Instead of a knock, he kicked at the door and knocked it from his hinges. Daniels appeared around the corner with a musket. Sutton swung the pistol and reveled in the dull, wet sound it made when it hit the man’s head. The gunsmith fell in a heap at the door.

Emily screamed from the kitchen and tried to run for the staircase. Sutton closed the distance and grasped her by the neck.

“Spy!” he hissed into her face. “You came to dinner not for me but for your whore’s cause and disgraced His Majesty’s army!”

She struggled, red-faced and kicking, against his grasp. He tossed her to the floor and waved the pistol in her face.

“Now. Tell me what you know about Washington’s army and their plans.” He grinned like a jackal. Standing over her, he pressed the barrel of the pistol against her forehead. “Tell me everything.”

* * *

The path Mason chose to the Danielses’ home led them through the eastern end of the forest where they’d appeared in this now different past. Across the field where they’d carried Kennedy’s body, they ran almost as one. Martinez lagged behind a couple of hundred meters. Mason glanced over his shoulder and saw the big kid sweating and puffing but his pace never changed. He might have never made it as a cadet, but Martinez had heart like no one Mason had ever known. They’d stopped three times to wait for Martinez. At the last stop, a half mile short of the cabin, Martinez wheezed and puffed as he stopped and bent over next to Mason.

“You okay?” Mason had asked.

“Yeah,” Martinez huffed. “Go on without me.”

“We’re not leaving you, Martinez,” Stratton said. He had glanced at Mason and almost smiled. The change in their relationship was welcome, if weird. The disappearance of Dunaway in the middle of the night made them all the more vulnerable and dependent upon each other.

“He’s right, Mark. Get to the barn,” Mason said. “We’re going to attack from there. They can’t see us approach from there.”

“No windows,” Martinez huffed. “The one on the east side of the house is too filthy to see anything, either.”

Mason slapped Martinez on the back. The kid was more observant than he’d realized. Mason stood and watched his fellow cadets. They were now just five. Stratton and Murphy were fifty meters ahead and pushing hard through the snow. Mason and Koch were next with Martinez trailing. Ahead, Mason saw the outline of the cabin appear in the snow. The wind howled. Without cover, they’d all freeze to death from the sweat running down their bodies from their six-mile run. If the British were there expecting them, a brief fight or a long pause in the snow was not something he looked forward to.

Stratton turned, still moving forward, and pointed at the barn. Mason nodded and waved them that direction. Stratton reached the back door first and slipped inside. Murphy followed. By the time Mason and Koch arrived, Stratton and Murphy were already out of their rucksacks. Mason paused at the door, waved Koch inside, and stopped to look for Martinez.

“He coming?” Stratton asked.

Mason nodded. He strained but could not see through the storm. Another blast of wind chilled him to the bone as he watched. Martinez was there, still moving forward at a shuffle. “There he is.”

Stratton moved to the side of the barn to peer through the slats. “I don’t see anything.”

“There’s a horse down there,” Koch said. “Left side of the road. Just down the side.”

“I don’t see it.” Stratton pressed his face against the wood. Mason turned and watched Martinez shuffle ever closer.

“It’s there,” Koch replied. “Look closer.”

“Yeah, yeah, I see it,” Stratton said. Mason chuckled to himself.

No, you don’t see it, Stratton. I can’t see it either.

“What color is the horse?” Murphy asked.

“White. I think it’s that officer’s horse,” Koch said. “Sure looks like it.”

Fuck.

Come on, Martinez.

Three minutes later, Martinez shuffled through the door and dropped to his knees. “Holy…shit…I’ve never ran that far before.”

Mason touched him on the shoulder. In a microsecond, a plan formed. “Martinez, you stay here and guard our gear. Stratton? Murphy? Come here.”

They gathered as Mason sketched out a rough rectangle on the ground approximating the Danielses’ cabin. “We’ll stack against the door. Stratton on point, Murphy in the middle taking right and I’ll take the left. We’ll clear the kitchen first—that’s where he’ll be. Koch, you’ve got the rear.”

Murphy swallowed. “Are we weapons free?”

Mason looked at Stratton. “Yeah. Kill him.”

“Okay,” Murphy said. “I’m ready.”

“Me, too.” Stratton nodded. “Let’s go get him.”

Mason turned to Martinez. Doctrine said he was to leave a GOTWA report with the stay-behind element. Like all good army techniques, the mnemonic device was simple. A leader was to state where they were going, others they were taking, what time frame for success or failure, and actions if either the reconnaissance party or the stay-behind party were engaged. “We’re going in there, Martinez. We’re going to take him out. If he comes out of that cabin, and not us, fire at him. Try to take him out. If you can’t, run. Get back to Trenton and General Washington.”

Martinez wiped his face with a gloved hand. “Okay. Yeah.”

Mason knelt down to look the big sophomore in the face. “Hey. We’re going to be okay. Stay here, catch your breath, but be ready to help us out, all right?”

“Got it, Mason,” Martinez said. “Be careful.”

I hope so.

He looked up at Stratton and Murphy. “Your muskets loaded?”

Both of them nodded. Stratton pointed at Martinez. “You loaded?”

“Yeah.”

Mason looked up at them and met each of their stares with his own. Every sensation seemed clear as if his body was aware of everything necessary for survival. He took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled slowly through his mouth. A sudden thought made him snort and grin at them. “The movies all say we’re supposed to say something epic right now.”

Stratton grinned. “I was thinking about that, too.”

“It’s a bit more serious than that,” Martinez said. “It has been since Kennedy died, man.”

Mason nodded and their smiles disappeared. “You’re right, Martinez. We all know what’s about to go down. I think it’s time we go and do it.”

“Fuck the British, man,” Koch said. They all grinned a little.

Stratton moved to the door. “Follow me.”

“Be careful,” Martinez said again. “See you in a few minutes.”

Mason nodded and followed Stratton through the barn door. They sprinted across the snow toward the cabin. With no window looking out at them, Mason, Stratton, and Murphy reached the ragged wall and pressed their backs into it. Stratton moved to the corner with Murphy sandwiched in the middle. Mason could feel Koch’s shoulder against his. They were ready.

“Move,” Mason whispered and Stratton slid around the corner with his shoulder against the frame. The wind braced them as they moved to the door. Stratton peeked in and turned to Murphy.

A second later, Murphy turned and whispered, “Door is down.”

Fuck. Mason replied immediately. “Kitchen. Go.”

Stratton rushed inside and they followed behind him. Mason blinked against the near darkness as they rounded the corner into the kitchen—

BAMM!

Stratton went down to the floor. Murphy screamed and came up with his rifle. The British officer, his powdered wig askew on his head and a pistol in each hand, whipped Murphy aside with relative ease. The pistol in the officer’s left hand smoked from the shot that felled Stratton. The other wasn’t smoking and it was pointed at Mason.

“Well.” The man smiled. “Look at you! Drop your rifle or I kill your friends.”

Mason glanced at the red pool of blood circling around Stratton’s head. The wound looked bad but head wounds always bled a lot—and he could see the young man’s chest moving. Stratton was still breathing, clearly enough.

Murphy lay against the hearth, eyes closed. But he was breathing also.

Mason shook his head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Actually, I do.” The man’s thin smile seemed fixed in place. “Now, put your rifle on the floor.”

Mason did. As he knelt, he tried to listen for sound behind him. There was nothing. Koch was still in the foyer, which was what Mason was counting on. “Fine. My rifle is down. Put your own weapon down.”

The man laughed and centered the pistol on Mason’s forehead. “You’re a stupid bastard.”

He pulled the trigger and there was a loud click. Mason flinched and instantly realized the weapon had misfired. Movement around his right shoulder caught his eye. The barrel of a musket appeared and there was a crash with a flash of light so intense he moved away.

The British officer’s chest exploded with the shot. Eyes wide, he looked past Mason toward Koch. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. A heartbeat later, the officer fell to the ground over Stratton’s form.

Mason looked at Emily. “Where’s your father?”

“In the parlor.” She stood. Her face was strained but she moved quickly to Stratton and leaned over, examining him. “I don’t think the bullet pierced his skull. It’s just a flesh wound.”

She made a face. “Nasty one, though. He’ll have quite a scar.” She turned away and reached for a cloth hanging from a hook, in order to stop the bleeding.

Mason glanced at Murphy and Koch. “Help me with Daniels.” Emily’s father was breathing but unconscious with a vicious cut on the side of his face. They rolled him up and carried him into the kitchen also.

“What do we do now?” Murphy asked.

“Go get Martinez in here,” Mason said. “And get the horses and wagon hooked up. We have to get back to Trenton and tell General Washington that the British are going to come in a few days.”

Murphy nodded. “They’ll take Trenton easily. They come down and Washington counterattacks to Princeton. They fight at Trenton again and it’s costly as hell. Washington runs across the river and they head to northern New Jersey for the winter and—”

Mason shook his head. “Not this time, Murphy.”

“What do you mean? The British will bring almost eight thousand soldiers. They’ll push Washington back across the Delaware and—”

“We’re not going to let that happen,” Mason said. “We know where they’re coming from. We know their strength and intent. We’re going to hit them when they’re not expecting it and send the British back to New York. That’s what we’re going to do.”

28 December 1776



Footsteps from the lower floor shook Cornwallis from his daydream. Assuming the courier had arrived, he sealed the letter for Jemima with his customary red wax and blew gently on it. With any luck, the letter would reach England a week before he would. Imagining her smiling face in the window of their home as he arrived made him smile. He pressed his seal to the wax just as a knock came at his bedroom door.

“Enter.”

“Sir.” It was Jenkins, his aide-de-camp. The young man’s eyes were wide and in his hands was a familiar parchment bearing the obvious, overblown seal of General Lord Howe. “A letter, sir. And news.”

“News?” Cornwallis stood from his desk and walked toward the young man.

“Sir, the rebels have taken Trenton from the Hessians. Almost a thousand captured and all of the Hessian artillery.”

Cornwallis blinked. Washington had attacked?

“When?”

“Two days ago,” Jenkins said. “Reports are that they’ve fortified the town and stand prepared to repel an attack from both directions. Colonel Rall’s command was decimated. Colonel Von Donop was south in Mount Holly quelling a rebellion. They attacked at the perfect time.”

“In the bloody storm?” Cornwallis gaped. “Washington barely had an army a week ago, how could he have crossed the Delaware much less taken an entire Hessian garrison? There must be more to this story, Jenkins. A barely capable army cannot simply destroy a Hessian unit by surprise.”

Jenkins did not immediately respond. Instead, he sputtered and extended the letter. “Orders, sir.”

Cornwallis looked at the dull envelope. An awful, twisting feeling rumbled through his gut. A good aide knew the contents of any package before it was opened. “I’m to return to the garrison immediately?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see,” he said and turned to the window. Disappointment turned to anger. “My leave has been postponed or canceled?”

Jenkins swallowed again. “Canceled, sir. General Grant requests your presence at the garrison with haste.”

Cornwallis looked out into the snow-covered street below. The storm had passed and left an icy coating across the sleepy city. “Recall my bags from the Bristol and summon my horse. Prepare to move the staff forward. I imagine we’ll have one very clear order to follow. Dismissed.”

Jenkins’ footfalls on the stairs sounded like a coming thunderstorm. The noise and rhythm was not lost on Cornwallis. Washington’s bravado in crossing the river would be met with a crushing response. Once and for all. With forces to his north and south, Washington would most likely retreat across the river before any attack could march, but the chance to destroy the rebel army and their increasingly aggravating leader called to him.

March the army. No, the entire garrison. We’ll outnumber them three to one.

He’d also send riders to the Hessian forces at Mount Holly. Move them up from the south to join forces. They’d close down on Washington like a vise and put down this rebellion.

Cornwallis fingered his own letter, forgotten for a long moment, and frowned. He tore it into two pieces and set it aside. To make the next ship, he would not have time to draft a full letter professing his love. A short note, hastily written, would alarm Jemima and coupled with the news of Washington’s attack, she would worry more than normal.

It was best not to send anything. After putting down Washington’s army, he would haul the traitorous bastard across the ocean and present him to His Majesty personally. After that, he could leave the army behind and live the rest of his life in quiet retirement in the favor of his king.

Cornwallis tossed aside his more formal tunic and outer coat. In the top of the battered trunk he thought of as his war chest, Cornwallis found his traditional tunic and cloak. After a moment, he decided to wait before putting it on and rushing off unkempt to see General Howe. Cornwallis gathered the pieces of the letter to his beloved Jemima and walked to his desk. For a moment, he considered burning them. Instead, he sat them atop a bunch of administrative documents he would leave right where they sat. The same would go for most of his belongings. Washington would be a fool to leave Trenton. Intelligence reported that Washington’s supply lines verged on disaster even with a great victory. It would take weeks for the rebel Congress and Washington’s army to right the ship.

Weeks they don’t have.

Cornwallis made a mental note to have Jenkins pack only the war chest and leave the rest here for his triumphant return. If his mission lasted more than two weeks, he would send for the rest of his belongings. Two weeks, however, should be more than enough time to end this war once and for all.


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