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CHAPTER EIGHT


November 2008

Fort Dix, New Jersey


Darkness fell on Fort Dix, but the search gained steam. More than a thousand soldiers from various units filled the training range complex and walked in the darkness with white flashlights. Lieutenant Colonel Sam Graves stood at the break in the vehicle trail with the commanding general of Fort Dix and the garrison commander. The search command post was little more than a few vehicles and about ten officers. Graves leaned over the hood of a Humvee and stared at a topographical map of the area. Outside of the perimeter fencing, there wasn’t much of an area where a search would need to take place. Local police forces were already looking for the cadets in the off chance that they’d somehow left the installation. Graves frowned. Cadet Porter wouldn’t have let that happen.

For a moment, he considered calling the senior again, but there was no answer and the voicemail box was full. Not wanting his frustration to show, he turned away and looked at the strange forest where the road had been. None of it made sense.

“Something the matter, Colonel?” the commanding general said behind him. Graves turned to meet Major General Cuthbert’s gaze.

“This wasn’t here during our recon, sir.”

“What wasn’t?”

Graves pointed at the road. “The road stops here and picks up over there. This group of trees wasn’t here—it was a road. That’s one thing. Look at the trees, sir. Those branches are cleanly sheared off. None of this fits.”

Cuthbert shook his head. “We’ve been through this. I’ve relayed the situation to the provost marshal and he’s notifying Federal authorities to aid in the search.”

A helicopter flew overhead drowning out conversation for a moment. A searchlight flashed on and traversed the length of the strange wood line as the helicopter hovered a hundred feet above the trees. The rotor wash kicked up snow and blew it around. Graves shielded his face but watched the helicopter pivot and move to the east and start to land in a nearby clearing.

“See who that is,” Cuthbert directed his garrison commander. When the other man moved away, Cuthbert wiped his face and looked at Graves for a long moment. “Are they good kids?”

Graves blinked. “They are, sir.”

“Your cadet in charge? What was his name?”

“Porter,” Graves replied. “Selectee for regular Army and branched infantry, sir. Married with a young son.”

“Not the kind to run off in the middle of a snowstorm?”

Graves shook his head. “Definitely not, sir. He’s as good as they come.”

Cuthbert nodded but said nothing for a moment. Graves watched the general study the cut of trees and the sheared branches above lit by artificial light poles from a construction battalion. The general sighed and curled one side of his mouth under. His face filled with trouble, Cuthbert avoided eye contact and stared into the forest that shouldn’t have been there. The helicopter touched down, its engines spooling down quickly. His eyes darted in that direction. Graves glanced but couldn’t see what was happening there. Cuthbert spoke slowly, “We’re going to keep searching through the night. I want you to move along their direction of travel, to the north. Once the search parties reach you, pivot them along the perimeter fencing. You have my phone number—stay in contact every thirty minutes. Clear?”

Graves nodded even as his face betrayed him. “Yes, sir.”

“Is that a problem?” Cuthbert leaned closer.

“Begging the general’s pardon, but shouldn’t I remain here?”

Cuthbert frowned. “No, Colonel. Move out and take charge of the search along the fence. Find your cadets.”

Graves walked into the darkness, heading north. He turned over his shoulder and saw two men in dark suits leave the garrison commander’s Hummer and walk up to General Cuthbert. One of them carried a briefcase and the other a hardened laptop computer. Graves looked away and moved north. The perimeter fence was a mere two kilometers ahead. Another helicopter moved in that direction, sweeping its light back and forth. As he walked, thankful that the snow had stopped, Graves had the difficult thought that his cadets were dead. He tried to brush it away, and mostly succeeded save for a more disquieting thought about the agents he’d seen with Cuthbert.

What in the hell is going on?


December 22, 1776


At first light, Mason looked over the sleeping forms of his squad and let his eyes fall on the extra rucksack of Kennedy’s against the far wall of the Danielses’ parlor. The green nylon rucksack sat on top of Kennedy’s load-bearing vest and the clothing they’d gathered from his and Porter’s bodies before committing them to the sinkhole. He tugged open a chest pocket and pulled out two sheets of paper that Higgs had laid on his gear the night before. Their inventory. Amidst the list of gear was the standard Cadet Command garbage. Everyone had an extra change of their green-digitalized camouflage Army Combat Uniforms, and an extra pair of boots, underwear, Army Physical Fitness Uniform components and running shoes, and personal items. Higgs smartly labeled all of those on a separate sheet of paper.

All of them carried smartphones and a few had their headphones. Two of them had separate music players. Four of them brought textbooks but there wasn’t a subject listed for the entry. He’d have to address that later. Having a history book would be both a huge help and a risky undertaking. Kennedy carried an iPad tablet in his gear, along with a solar charging station. The computer science engineering student, no surprise, had been a huge techno-geek.

Mason snorted. If we can’t get home, we’ll end up fighting over who can charge their phones. At the bottom of the list were the two ancient AN/PRC-77 radios and their extra batteries, just under two thousand rounds of blank ammunition, two artillery simulators, and a red star cluster signaling device. The pyrotechnics had been in Porter’s vest. The artillery simulators were essentially large cherry bombs and the red star cluster was a hand-operated firework/flare. All of them could come in handy if they couldn’t get home.

At precisely 0530, Mason crept across the room and nudged Higgs awake. She sat up, ran her fingers through her hair and rubbed her eyes.

“When do we want to move?” she asked with a yawn.

“Soon as we can,” Mason said. “We can eat, shave, and do whatever else we need at the farmhouse. Right now, we just need to un-ass this place.”

Higgs nodded. “They’re in danger the longer we stay here.”

“Right. We can easily get back to our site from there, too.” Mason stepped over to Stratton and relayed the same message. Instead of intelligent questions, Mason got smirks and barely respectful nods. “You done, Stratton?”

Stratton laughed. “You think you can lead us, Mason? You couldn’t lead Girl Scouts to a bake sale.”

“I’m the squad leader. You got it?”

“Yeah. Whatever.” Stratton turned away. For a moment, Mason didn’t believe he’d actually do anything, but the other man packed his gear and leaned over to wake up Koch. After another moment, he moved to Booker and did the same. Mason watched him for a moment more, thinking that they’d have to have it out at some point. Within minutes, his fireteam leaders had woken up everyone.

“We do this quietly,” Mason stage-whispered to the group as they milled about. “Murphy? You, Booker, and Koch split up the extra gear. We’re not leaving anything behind.”

He turned to securing his own gear. By 0545, he was ready to go. Another ten minutes and everyone in the squad was ready except for Dunaway.

The dark-haired freshman huffed and struggled with her layered sleeping system. Designed to simply stuff into a cinchable sack, Dunaway was dutifully rolling her sleeping bag and looked around with pleading eyes. Thumping footsteps on the stairs caught Mason’s attention. He pointed at Murphy to assist Dunaway as he stepped into the small hallway where the stairs were and saw Mister Daniels descending toward him.

“You leaving?”

Mason nodded. “We don’t want you to be in danger any longer than we have to.”

“You going to try and go home?”

Mason nodded. “First thing we do is to get to that burned-out farmhouse. From there, it’s not far to our . . . site. Then we’ll see what happens.”

“If you can’t, then what?”

The million-dollar question. He sighed. “I have no idea.”

For a moment, Daniels chewed his lip. His contorted face again made Mason feel the man did not fully trust him, or any of them. “If you can’t get home, come back tonight and let me know. I’ll see what news I can get from in town. Maybe there will be a way to get you to General Washington.”

I’d really rather run, he thought and said nothing. “Thank you, Mister Daniels. Do you want us to cover any tracks outside?”

“Ground’s frozen solid. It will be fine.” Daniels slipped past Mason and opened the front door to peer into the predawn light. “Cold and quiet.”

Mason nodded and stepped back into the parlor. Dunaway was ready to go. All of them had weapons at the ready and their rucks on. He stared at Dunaway for a moment as if he was going to say something and then shook his head. “Come on, let’s go.”

Mason shrugged into his rucksack and stepped back into the narrow hallway. Daniels met him and held up a single 5.56mm round. “You want me to try and reload this?”

“No.” Mason held out his hand and Daniels gave back the round. “If we can’t get back, I might. But right now, no evidence we were even here.”

Daniels stuck out a hand. “Good luck, Mason.”

They shook and Mason said, “Thank you, Mister Daniels. Sorry for any trouble.”

Daniels smiled. “Somehow, Mason, I think you’re about to be trouble.”

Outside the house, Mason directed them into a Ranger file. Spread five meters apart, they walked in a single file line away from the Daniels home. As the daylight grew, they could move into a standard wedge formation, but in the predawn twilight they needed to move as fast as possible. Martinez started as the point man with Koch right behind to watch the compass azimuth and keep them headed west-northwest toward the Danielses’ former neighbors. From his position in the middle of the squad, Mason looked behind him, all the way to Booker bringing up the rear. The lanky sophomore kept turning as they walked to check for anyone or anything coming up from behind exactly as he was supposed to do.

Content, Mason looked around the forest while they walked. Thick brush gave way to lighter, easier forest about two hundred meters out. As they came through, Mason made a “psst” sound to Higgs in front of him and then again to Stratton behind him. He gave the hand and arm signal to increase intervals and each cadet slowed down and allowed ten to fifteen meters before following the person in front. With early-morning twilight, something his father referred to as BMNT—before morning nautical twilight—dawning around them, he could make out individual trees in the semidarkness.

Martinez raised a gloved fist, the signal for freeze, and everyone stood still. Martinez took a knee and gave the signal for “danger area” by acting as if slitting his own throat with his fingers. Koch and the others passed it back, but Mason was already moving toward the front of the patrol. He tapped Higgs on the shoulder as he passed. When they reached Martinez, the heavy cadet wiped his face and pointed ahead.

“Looks like a road,” Martinez said. “What do we do?”

Mason’s first thought was to practice a tactical road crossing, complete with security on both sides, but common sense took over. “Go quickly across it. Move out.” He gestured to the squad to stand and then gave them a signal to “double time” by pumping his fist vertically. Everyone shuffled across the road and down the slight hill beyond it before Mason was able to tell everyone to slow down. Out of view from the road, Mason called a halt and brought everyone in to a circular perimeter. Once the squad was set, he knelt in the middle of the circle with Higgs and Stratton.

“What the fuck was that?” Stratton asked. “That’s not how we cross roads.”

Mason shook his head. “We needed to get across fast. I’d rather do it that way. Even with security posted, we’ve got nothing to shoot back, Stratton.”

“We’re just gonna keep running, huh?” Stratton spat.

Here we go.

Mason made to argue, but Higgs raised her hands to both of them. “Shut up. Both of you.”

Stratton shook his head. “Let’s get moving to the farmhouse, or do you want to just keep running all day?”

Mason stared at him. “Your team has point. Should be four hundred meters northwest. Got it?”

“I can find that in my sleep.” Stratton turned away and said over his shoulder, “Unlike you.”

Heat flushed in Mason’s face, but he said nothing. The squad was up and moving within a minute, taking care not to step in any remaining deposits of snow. Mason walked in silence, stewing in the memory of his failure when the squad halted as they climbed a small slope. The outline of the farmhouse was visible through the trees ahead. Mason gestured them back down the hillside for cover and concealment. As Stratton worked his way back to the middle of the squad, Mason’s mind raced about how to secure the house.

Stratton grinned. “Told you.”

Mason motioned for Higgs to come forward and whispered. “Good job. Now let’s secure it.”

Higgs came forward. “What’s the plan?”

Mason pointed at her. “Your team stays here. I’ll go with Stratton’s team to circle the house and then go inside.” He looked at Stratton. “You know stacking and breaching better than I do. You lead the assault team and we’ll secure the house.”

Stratton beamed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

The band started playing some traditional German march long before Sutton and his dragoons closed the distance to the parade ground. His mount, a white gelding named Jack, shook his head as the brass section of the band brayed to life.

“Easy, Jack,” Sutton laughed. “I hate that shit, too, old friend.”

Turning the corner onto Queen Street, his dragoons trailing behind in parade line, Sutton saw that Rall’s command had turned out entirely, including the alert forces, for the morning muster. Sutton motioned for his men to form up and take their position to the extreme right of the formation. He rode into position, saluted, and glanced over his shoulder to ensure his dragoons stood ready. The march came to an agonizing, off-tune end and Rall began to bark in his Hessian-inflected German. Sutton caught a few words here and there. Things about duty and fear and winning. Something about foolish Washington came through, and there were a few muffled comments from Knyphausen’s brigade nearest to Sutton. It sounded like one of the soldiers, maybe more than one, laughed openly at the commander and his fears.

They don’t believe Washington is coming, either. He snorted and felt a cold grin cross his features. There was no better time to pursue Washington himself. He would increase the distance his dragoons would travel on their daily patrols by two or three times. They needed the additional time in the saddle to perfect their abilities. Intelligence was everything.

But there will be challenges. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. The Hunterdon men, the shadows of New Jersey, were out there, too. Defending Washington’s spies and the trails the old weasel had carefully constructed to hide his movements and cover his transgressions. They would not matter in the end. He could hunt them down just as easily.

Rall abruptly ended the formation and walked away from his post. The confused soldiers stirred until their immediate commanders started barking orders. Patrols left hastily, alert forces rushed to their posts, and the garrison soldiers, the ones charged with supplies and logistics, stood mute in their formation. Sturm, the young lieutenant, looked at Sutton with a bemused smile and released his troops before walking to Sutton’s side.

“Good morning, Captain,” Sturm said.

“Good morning,” Sutton replied without looking down from his mount at the young lieutenant. The scrambling Hessians made good theater. “Tell me, are you still short three men?”

Sturm nodded. “Yes, sir. They have not returned.”

“Then I suppose it’s time my men and I find them.”

“Colonel Rall’s instructions were to leave them out there to their fate. That we have to defend this town against Washington’s imminent attack. He believes that Washington will attack any day.” Sutton felt a grin form on his face as Sturm’s face screwed in concentration. “You don’t believe Washington is coming?”

Sutton looked down and smiled with pity on the young lieutenant. “No, I do not. You and I, however, are going to find Washington and bring the wrath of the British army in New York down upon him. Mayhap by the new year.”

“Pardon my question, sir, but how do you intend to do that?”

Sutton leaned down over the pommel of his saddle. “My dragoons will patrol the perimeter roads from the river east to Maidenhead. You will arrange several vantage points with three-man patrols and place them where I tell you based upon what my men find. Using our eyes and ears are the key to finding Washington. If we cannot pinpoint his location, we can at least learn where he would cross given the best opportunity. When he does, the entire British army would be waiting and not just the paltry forces left in New Jersey.”

“Colonel Von Donop has marched south to defend Bordentown against militias numbering a thousand men. Are those not Washington’s men?”

Sutton shrugged. “You mean acting because of Washington’s orders? I think not. But, given the direction of their attacks, it would be wise to assume, for example, that Washington lies farther south than we believed.”

“But we don’t know that for sure.”

“Precisely,” Sutton grinned. “That’s why we’re going to leverage our ability to observe and report, Lieutenant. We can find Washington and defeat those who’re trying to cover his movements in one fell swoop. There are men supporting him on this side of the river. We will find them.”

Sturm stepped closer. Interested. “I can provide a platoon’s strength, sir, but no more lest Colonel Rall suspect something.”

“Let our dear colonel suspect what he wants.” Sutton laughed. “Though I’m posted here, General Grant is my commander, and yours. He would appreciate our efforts as would General Cornwallis and even Lord General Howe. Washington lies across the Delaware, that much we know. But his plan to attack or defend Philadelphia? We’ll find out for certain. Once we do, General Grant will certainly want to know.”

Truthfully, Grant wouldn’t do anything. The fat bastard was too far removed from his troops to see anything other than opportunities for his own promotions and rewards. Even if Sutton were to write for approval, Grant wouldn’t bother to respond. Asking forgiveness in the pursuit of an advantage was always more desirable than requesting permission from the uninterested. Finding Washington, though, would raise the notice of Lord General Howe. That would be something spectacular.

Sutton looked at Sturm for a moment. The young lieutenant’s interest to do more was intriguing. How far the Hessian would go could tell Sutton just how frustrated these mercenaries were with their abhorrent commander. “Have your men ready to leave by noon. I will have a route for them to patrol and see about finding more rebels.”

“Where exactly, sir?”

“I’m not sure yet. This morning I’m riding out to the gunsmith’s home to check on rifle repairs. There may be someplace out there that bears watching. Your patrol disappeared in that area, so it is a good place to start.”

Sturm shook his head. “We’re not sure the patrol went to the gunsmith’s home, sir. It was a mile farther than their planned route.”

“Stranger things have happened, Lieutenant. There are many places out there for a three-man patrol to be captured or even killed,” Sutton said, motioning for his troops to prepare for movement. “Be ready when I return and we’ll set our plan in motion. We’ll find your men or someone who’ll talk.”

Sturm saluted in the British manner, which filled Sutton with an almost perverse pride. Surprising himself, Sutton returned the salute smartly. He spun his horse toward his men.

“First section. You will patrol the Princeton Road and west to the river from Trenton to Maidenhead. Second section, you will patrol the Bordentown Road and west to the river. Return to Trenton by noon. Third and Fourth sections will remain here and you’ll take over the patrol routes in the afternoon. First and Second sections, move out.”

The five-man sections wheeled about and trotted away, half to the stables and the others to their routes. Watching them move with determination and precision, compared to the barking scrambling Hessians, made Sutton appreciate his position. Purchasing his commission, in a time of war, had been an excruciating exercise in determination in its own right. Rising to the rank of captain without a nobility or privileged upbringing was highly unlikely. Rising as fast as he had to a captain of the dragoons was unheard of. Still, success didn’t matter to those above him. He was unlike them, a commoner with a commission, and as such he would remain outside the circles that would take him places.

Unless he did something that no one else seemed prepared or motivated to do. In the dead of the coming winter, with his superiors having sought warmer places to shelter away from any possible battle, he could change the outcome of the war. The very idea seemed to vibrate his soul. He could end the war and even earn a cherished title from His Majesty. Washington was no more than twenty miles away, maybe much less, and on the other side of a river the rebels navigated freely. If he could find the rebels, Admiral Lord Howe would send his own forces up the river to secure it and give passage to His Majesty’s army and this farce of a rebellion would be quelled.

Sutton shook off the imagined pleasure and took a long, deep breath of the cold air to clear his mind. One thing at a time, he told himself. The first order of business was to reclaim the rifles he’d sent for repairs to the local gunsmith. The man’s daughter was as pretty as she was sympathetic to their cause. She would be a fine guest for the Christmas festivities with Colonel Rall. His stomach gurgled and he thought of breakfast instead of an immediate patrol.

Sutton adjusted his hat and nudged Jack back toward his quarters. At the crossroads of King and Queen Streets, he turned east. After a good meal, he would ride past the outer defensive line manned by cold, huddled Hessians. With their rifles repaired by a skilled craftsman and better intelligence of the local area, Washington would soon be his. Moreover, he would get what he wanted and none of the silver-mouthed bastards above him would take his success away.


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