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CHAPTER FOURTEEN


An hour after sunset, the cadets left their cabin carrying everything they owned and moved into the forest. They’d agreed to keep the pace almost glacial, moving as silently as possible. Mason put them into a tight Ranger file with Murphy leading the procession. Under fair skies, the nearly full moon cast a weird glow over the land as it rose to the east. The clouds would provide some protection from the moonlight, but they’d need to move quickly before the moon reached full illumination overhead. As long as they moved quietly, it would be okay. The open forest near the farmlands closed in around them as they moved to the east. Even with the moon rising, the forest grew darker than anything Mason had ever seen. When he’d first joined ROTC, he’d wondered about the small rectangular patches sewn to the back of every cadet’s patrol cap and helmet bands. The “cat eyes” were universally laughed at because they broke every rule about light discipline being luminous, but making their way through a forest at night, Mason could see Koch immediately to his front and Stratton another five meters away. Their white sheet ponchos helped, too, but if they had to lay down for any reason, Mason hoped they’d be near the sporadic patches of snow so that any interested parties would be challenged to see them at all.

For nearly an hour, they crept through the darkness. A couple of times, Murphy froze them in place. In the ever-lighter forest, there were no voices in the night and once they caught sight of a lighted wagon in the distance. Staying off the roads and near any lower terrain like creek beds worked well as time ticked. By 2200, they were close to their objective and Murphy wisely slowed down even further. As they walked, Mason fingered the pace-count beads his mother had given him for Christmas. The small black plastic beads were designed to slide on a piece of parachute cord to count the tens and hundreds of a traditional pace count. The slow pace and Ranger file were throwing off his traditional pace count. He’d measured it as sixty-six steps with his left foot equaling a hundred meters. Mason had reset his beads at three thousand meters when movement caught his eye.

Koch stopped and raised a fist—the signal to freeze. Mason strained to hear something but couldn’t hear anything over his heart thumping in his chest. Koch knelt in the snow, passing back the signal for the squad to do the same. Mason moved forward quietly, his boots crunching the snow underfoot. While he couldn’t see Koch’s exact footprints, Mason tried to put his boots into the same spaces when they crossed a patch of snow. He snorted and tried not to smile. In his final briefing, they talked about using a tight Ranger file. Traveling single file would hide their numbers, Stratton had said. Mason smiled at the memory because Murphy had immediately started quoting Star Wars as a result. The patrol briefing almost spun out of control. But, they’d laughed and smiled as a group for the first time since arriving in 1776. For Mason, it was a start.

As he moved passed Stratton, Mason whispered, “Come on.”

They moved past Booker and hunched over as they moved to Murphy, who knelt in the snow at the crest of a small hill. He pointed down the hill.

“Road junction.” Mason nodded. “Not bad. We’re a little south of the ferry.”

Stratton whispered, “You mean that ferry?” He pointed to the darkened face of the river where a solitary boat with two lit lanterns slowly made its way across.

“Yeah.” Mason said. He sighed and looked at Stratton. “Set the squad in a cigar-shaped perimeter. One hundred percent security. We’re early, so we’ll sit here behind this hill and wait. No noise.”

Stratton grinned. “You got it.” He slapped Mason’s shoulder and crept back down the hill toward Booker.

Murphy laid down fully and crawled up the hill so he could see. “I’ll let you know when I see something.”

Mason looked over his shoulder to see the squad move up tighter to the hill and get into the configuration he’d asked for without much noise at all. He settled into his position, looking off Murphy’s right shoulder into the distance and watched the moonrise create strange shadows that moved across the ground until the clouds thickened again. An hour passed quickly. Not long after, Murphy kicked his leg. Mason crawled awkwardly to his left and forward to meet up with Murphy.

“What’s up?”

“Two lanterns. All the way across.”

Mason looked onto the river and saw the boat crossing swiftly. “Here we go, huh?”

Mason hunched into a sitting position and looked into the squad’s formation. He made a “psst” sound and tapped his shoulder, the sign for his team leaders. Higgs and Stratton came forward immediately without a sound. Mason pointed at the river crossing.

Stratton grinned. “Looks like we’re crossing the river.”

“Meeting George Fucking Washington.” Murphy smiled.

Mason nodded and smiled himself. “We can stop giggling like little kids any time now, guys.”

They all giggled. “This is so wild,” Murphy said.

Higgs cleared her throat quietly. “Game faces, guys. They may be Americans, but they’re just as likely to kill us. We are an armed, unknown quantity. Got it?”

The smiles disappeared in a heartbeat. Mason studied the path of the boat. It was coming in north of their position—to their collective right. “We need to move that direction. Stay on the backside of the hill, Murphy, but keep track of where we are. Once we get to the ferry, we’ll stop and wait for the signal. Got it?”

“Roger that,” Murphy said and stood.

“Move out,” Mason said. He and Stratton nodded at each other as they changed direction and the patrol slid to the north. Not more than three minutes later, Murphy halted them again and gave the signal for assault position. They’d not come up with anything different and the assault position was typically very near the objective, so it worked. Mason brought up Higgs’ fireteam and watched them form a tight perimeter in the snow. He knelt in the center and waited for Stratton and Higgs to meet him there.

“Okay, we made it, Mason,” Stratton said. “Now we just wait for the signal.”

“That’s your job, Stratton,” Mason said. “When Daniels whistles the all clear, you move down the slope first. If all is good, then we’ll join you.”

“Why me?” Stratton squinted at him.

“You’re white, Stratton. They’ll think I’m a freedman and it will complicate things. We need to get into the boat and get moving. As little distraction as possible, right?”

Stratton chewed on his lower lip. “Makes sense, I guess.”

Murphy gave a soft psst from his position on the crest of the embankment. Mason looked at them. “The boat’s docked. Here we go, guys.”

Stratton moved away to join Murphy, leaving Higgs and Mason alone. She leaned over and whispered, “You’re doing great, Mason.”

“Tell me that in a couple of hours.” Mason shrugged. “I hope I’m right.”

“We all hope you’re right,” Higgs said. He could see her smile at him. “You do realize you made a patrol four or five times longer than you’ve ever done without getting lost and arriving at the objective on time, right?”

Mason hadn’t thought about it until that moment. A sense of pride sprung up in his chest. “Guess I can do this after all.”

Higgs put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t forget that.”

From the far side of the hill, they heard a soft warbling whistle. “All clear,” Mason said. Stratton was already up and moving.

Mason looked around at the small group nearby. “Everybody up,” he said softly. “Follow me.”

Mason strode past Murphy and down the slope with the rest of the squad behind him. In the lantern light of the low Durham boat, he could see Stratton, Mister Daniels, and a man in an ornate Continental uniform. Behind them were at least a dozen armed soldiers with their rifles on Stratton.

The ornately dressed man gestured the rifles down as Mason approached. Stratton turned to him. “Mason, this is Colonel John Glover.”

Mason came to attention and saluted with the musket. “Sir, Cadet Sergeant Jameel Mason in command of a squad of eight.”

Glover nodded, but he eyed Stratton for a split second before returning the salute formally. “Sergeant Mason, I am here with this armed guard to escort you across the Delaware to General Washington. Your men will—” He stopped. Mason realized that Higgs had come up to just behind his left shoulder. “Your men will hand over their muskets until General Washington clears you.”

“Yes, sir,” Mason said. “Collect the muskets.” Higgs and Stratton turned away to do just that. In thirty seconds, Stratton held all of them like firewood in his arms. Mason knew Glover was staring at them, just like the soldiers were. A mix of incredulous wonder and deep suspicion covered the colonel’s face.

“Sergeant Mason? You’re a freedman?”

How many times am I gonna be asked this?

Mason pushed his shoulders back. “No, sir. I was born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.”

Glover nodded. “We must get going. Get your squad aboard.”

“Yes, sir.”

Glover gestured and two young men came forward. “Captain Washington and his deputy will safeguard your weapons.”

Mason watched Stratton hand over his team’s muskets to Washington. For a second, Mason wondered if the young captain and General Washington were related. Have to ask Murphy, he thought. Higgs stepped forward and the young deputy smiled at her. Even in the low light of the lanterns, Mason could see her blush and return the smile.

“Board the boat,” Mason stage-whispered to the rest of the squad. They moved to the middle of the boat with the armed men around them. For an army without a whole lot of professionalism, they understood security pretty damned well. Mason turned to Daniels.

“Thank you, Mister Daniels. For everything.”

Daniels extended a hand. “Be safe, Mason.”

“You, too.”

Glover’s men extinguished the lanterns as Mason stepped aboard. With Glover at his shoulder, Mason joined his squad at the center of the boat and shrugged out of his rucksack.

“I’m to understand you are a cadet?” Glover asked quietly. “But a sergeant as well?”

“I’m a cadet, sir.” He paused. “We have ranks for each class of cadet to better learn the system.”

How much should I say?

“And you were raised in Pennsylvania? What did you pay for your commission?”

Mason shook his head. “I’m not commissioned yet. A cadet is an officer in training, Colonel.”

“I am aware what a cadet is, Sergeant,” Glover stiffened. “I’m trying to discern if you are friend or foe. I’ll take one to the far shore. The other, I’m willing to execute and dump your body in the river for the British to find downstream.”

Jesus Christ!

Mason squared his shoulders to Glover. “If you’ll permit me to reach under this sheet, Colonel?”

Glover squinted. “A weapon gets you killed, Mason.”

Trying not to tremble, Mason reached up under the white poncho to his right shoulder pocket and grasped the corner of the Velcro-backed American flag there. He tore it off slowly, minimizing the sound as much as he could until it came free. He pulled his hand down slowly and opened his palm with the flag in the center.

Glover’s eyes widened. “A friend, then.”

Mason took a breath and tried to relax. “A friend, sir.”

“Well met,” Glover extended a hand. “It will take us a quarter hour to cross the river with the current here. From there, we’ll march to your designated meeting point with General Washington.”

Mason nodded, immediately understanding. They’d go nowhere near the actual position of the army and Mason doubted that Washington would be alone. This security contingent would follow them everywhere. He glanced at Higgs in the starlight, but couldn’t immediately discern her face or the young officer responsible for her blushing.

At least one of us is having fun.

“May I ask you one thing, Sergeant Mason?”

Mason turned back to Glover. “Yes, sir?”

“Where did you come from?”

Mason sighed. “It’s hard to explain, sir.”

Glover looked him over from head to toe. “Your uniform notwithstanding, a colored man is not a leader of men.”

Mason licked his lips and took a long slow breath. “Where I come from, Colonel, the color of a man’s skin does not matter when it comes to leading soldiers. All that matters is that the leader accomplishes the mission first and always takes care of their people. That’s my job.”

Glover said nothing in response and they stood in the gently rocking boat. For a moment, near the center of the river, Mason considered sitting down because of rising nausea, but decided he would not give Glover, or any of them for that matter, the satisfaction of seeing him in a moment of weakness. The queasy feeling passed and as the Durham boat slid to a stop against the Pennsylvania shoreline, Mason felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders. They were finally on friendly ground.

“Arrange your squad single file. My men will walk on either side of you until we get to the meeting point. You will march in complete silence. Is that clear, Sergeant?” Glover asked. There was something about the man’s voice Mason recognized. Authority and command were tone as much as anything.

“Yes, sir.” Mason turned to Higgs and Stratton. “Ranger file, on me. Not a fucking word.”

* * *

“Captain Sutton? Can I get you anything?”

Slumped down in a chair by the dwindling fire, he pushed himself to a sitting position. The damned brandy had run out. “Yes. More wine if you please.”

As much as he knew it was a bad idea to drink more, it was perhaps the only way to handle Rall’s idiocy. The dragoons would be sent out on patrol again at dawn to wander up and down the roads around Trenton looking for an enemy who was likely sleeping late and praying for warmer weather. A turn in the weather was coming by the sound of the freshening wind outside. He could hear Selena rustling through the adjoining kitchen for another bottle. There was the distinct tinkle of another glass coming down from the cabinets.

She’ll have a drink with me. Will wonders never cease?

The door opened and Selena came with a glass and the dark green bottle. She poured a healthy portion into his glass and matched it with her own. She sat opposite him in an ornate chair he surmised she’d not sat in since her husband’s death a year ago.

“Ian is asleep?” he asked with a smile he hoped was warm and genuine.

Selena returned the smile. “Yes, he went to sleep without a fight this evening.”

“He’s a rambunctious boy,” Sutton said.

“Aren’t they all?” she replied and looked for a long moment into the fire. He couldn’t help but think her mind was on her departed husband and how much the boy must take after him and not her.

Selena said nothing for a long moment. He waited for her to speak of the war. Of some type of lasting peace, some desperate dream of a person far from the Crown who tasted a vestige of difference and liked it, but longed for home at the same time. She said nothing until she surprised him. “You are attending the colonel’s dinner tomorrow at the Potts residence?”

“Certainly,” he said. “And you?”

“Miss Potts asked me to be there, so I will be,” Selena said. “And the colonel has requested all of his officers, no?”

Sutton nodded. “He has. But His Majesty’s dragoons are not his, Missus Christensen.”

“Of course not.” She smiled. “Yet, he makes you patrol endlessly and his troops are ragged with fatigue.”

Sutton snorted and nodded. “Rall does not know how to command or how to defend. Not that it matters.”

“You don’t feel there is danger here?”

“No,” Sutton said and took another deep swallow of wine. “The only danger here is for those who deny what His Majesty’s forces want.” He locked eyes with her and saw the small bit of confidence in her pretty face disappear. “Isn’t that right, Missus Christensen?”

Selena licked her lips nervously and looked back into the fire. She stood without warning and nodded at him. “Good night, Captain Sutton.”

His hand shot out and caught her sleeve in a powerful grip. “What are you playing at, Selena? You’ve ignored me for weeks and suddenly have an interest in my affairs. What do you want?”

“My apologies. I merely wanted to have a conversation and—”

“And what? Report to Colonel Rall? Or maybe even to Washington?” He grinned and chuckled at her, but made no attempt to lessen his grip. “Are you spying on His Majesty’s forces, Selena?”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing!” Anger appeared in her face and he almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “My husband died in His Majesty’s army and you have the gall to accuse me of spying for the rebels?” She snatched her dress above his hand and tore it away, leaving a handful of lace in Sutton’s palm. “Good night, Captain Sutton.”

Sutton laughed and waved her away with his fingers splayed. “Run along, Missus Christensen. Remember that those who deny our king will one day beg for his forgiveness and mercy.”


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