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CHAPTER TWELVE

No sooner had he reached the outer pickets of Trenton, with the Hessian regulars stamping their feet in the cold around tiny fires, when Sutton decided that a simple increase in patrols around the Daniels homestead would not do. Patrol frequency he could manipulate without consulting the Hessian commander. Constant surveillance would undoubtedly rile Colonel Rall, but it was necessary for Sutton to gain the upper hand he craved. By the looks on the haggard Hessian faces, Rall had them on constant alert for yet another day. Inside the friendly area, Sutton was no less concerned with his security. His eyes swept the terrain in front of him constantly. Washington was, if anything, a gentleman and he would attack like a gentleman. The roads and wide spaces around Trenton were covered with Hessian patrols and guard posts. His personal intensity burned regardless. He found himself staring down the Pennington Road as he crossed it as if willing the Continental Army to come dressed for battle.

Sutton grinned at the thought and his mind went through a common exercise, asking himself what he would do if in command. How would he defend Trenton? The city itself was indefensible, even with the redoubts the Hessian engineers wanted to emplace. No, the keys to Trenton were the avenues of approach. The roads and the river itself.

The cold, gray water looked impassive in the afternoon sunlight. Maybe Washington waited for the river to freeze—to cross it in the night like his minions had done—

“Hauptmann Sutton,” a familiar voice snapped him away from his thoughts. Sturm, red-faced and breathing hard from running, slid to a stop next to Sutton’s horse. “Colonel Rall would see you, presently.”

Would he?

Sutton looked again at the river, decided that Washington wouldn’t risk his troops to thin, moving sheets of ice, and turned slowly back to Sturm. “And the nature of the colonel’s request would be what, Lieutenant?”

“The colonel demands that you see him at once. Your patrols are too short and do nothing to uncover the whereabouts of the enemy.”

He wanted to laugh, but kept his face calm. “Return to the good colonel and tell him that I’ll be there shortly, once my horse and men are taken care of. The enemy is on the far side of the river. What we face here is nothing more than…” He let the words slip away. General Grant would undoubtedly agree that the Hessian commander was incompetent. There was no reason to blatantly call Colonel Rall or any of his subordinate commanders idiots to their faces just yet. There would be a time in the very near future, and he would restrain himself until that moment.

“Tell your colonel I will be there after my horse and my men are prepared for tomorrow. Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

Sturm saluted and trotted away. Let Rall stew and fumble in his anxiety. The man knows nothing of war. Washington and his men are not coming. There, he’d thought it. The citizens in revolt to their south were, rightly, upset with the conduct of the Hessian troops over the previous months. The Hessian occupation was more pillaging than peaceful interaction with the colonists. Whether they were loyal to the Crown or not was of little concern to the Hessians as they stole, raped, and burned their way to the Delaware. The rise in violence from insurgents was to be expected. Von Donop would put them down handily, and quickly. Until then, Rall commanded Trenton unchecked and unbalanced. The thought soured his stomach.

And here they are, the mess I’ve been left to tend.

His orders, tucked gently inside his tunic, were signed by Lord General Howe himself and had been given by hand through General Cornwallis with explicit instructions to support Rall’s operations but report extensively to the British garrison under the command of General Grant. His platoon of twenty dragoons were the closest British unit to the likely position of Washington’s forces. From here, he could develop the situation and see if the presentation of a softer target lured the old fox out of the hole he’d prepared on the far side of the Delaware.

Sutton made his way lazily down Queen Street and turned for the dragoon’s stables and his men’s quarters when Sturm again came running behind him in the mud. The Hessian lieutenant fell noisily in the slop a good thirty yards behind Sutton, but the sound was as if the young man dove into the muck beside Sutton’s mount.

“Captain Sutton!” Sturm called from the mud, slinging it off his hands in a disgusted gesture. “Colonel Rall demands to see you. Immediately.”

“I gave you direction, Lieutenant. Did you misunderstand my intent?”

“Colonel Rall is my commander, sir. His rank and authority outweigh yours in the present events.” Sturm stood in the muck with his shoulders erect and square. The mousy little lieutenant wanted to hide behind the orders of his commander. Fine.

“Very well.” Sutton gestured to Sturm. “You will take my mount to the stable and—”

Sturm sputtered in German and then in his accented English, “S-sir! My orders are—”

“I don’t care what your orders are!” Sutton roared and jumped from the saddle in one smooth move. With his mount’s reins in hand, he stomped back to Sturm and slapped the younger man in the chest with them. “Do what I say, Lieutenant! I am a captain of His Majesty’s army and you will damned sure follow my orders to the letter. Is that clear?”

The nearly deserted street was silent around them, Sutton knew everyone that was there watched them intently. Aware of his flushed face, Sutton forced himself to take a breath and he leaned closer to Sturm. “Get out of my sight, Sturm. Do not bother me again unless Washington crosses the river. I’ll take whatever orders I am to receive from Colonel Rall himself.”

“But, you’ll need a translator.” Sturm’s voice was a whisper.

Sutton laughed. “A translator? You misunderstand your precious commander and a trained officer like myself, Sturm! War is very simple. I put my troops here, he puts his troops there.”

“But Washington—”

“Damn that man!” Sutton roared, not caring who heard him. “If I were in command we would have already crossed the goddamned river and ended this bloody war. Do you understand?”

Sturm’s widened eyes were not on his face. Sutton grabbed his ruffled collar and yanked the younger man closer. The stench of cabbage came with it. “Colonel Rall. He is approaching.”

Rage was not a common emotion. Only once had he struck another officer and that had been for cowardice in the face of the enemy. With the portly colonel stomping up the muddy street and cursing in his guttural tongue, Sutton knew the source of his rage was not young Sturm, nor Washington as he’d initially believed.

Sutton turned and saluted with his inner cheek firmly clenched between his teeth. “Good afternoon, Herr Colonel.”

Rall glanced at Sturm and gave a curt nod. His portly frame and red cheeks reminded Sutton of something from his childhood, but he couldn’t place it. He raised the thick finger at Sutton’s face and began to sputter in a deep, thick accent that sounded like he was trying to cough out his lungs every third or fourth syllable.

Sturm finally began the translation. “Colonel Rall wants to know where your men are. Specifically, the two patrols he requested on the Princeton and Pennington Roads. Reports are rampant of musket fire and armed incursions to the north.”

Sutton wanted to laugh and covered the smile threatening to crease his face by clearing his throat. “There is nothing going on to the north. I was on the Pennington Road myself this morning, alone. Our concerns should be south, with Colonel Von Donop, sir.” He waited as Sturm translated and fresh red color crept upward from Rall’s ornate collar into his face with every word. Was that a hint of alcohol on the colonel’s breath?

Rall erupted with a harsh sentence that Sutton understood only through repetition. “Washington is coming.”

Every day. He raised a hand to keep Sturm from blabbering. “The only thing out there are disgruntled farmers who think they can help Washington by harassing us at every turn. I will take care of them by Christmas Day.”

Rall hardly waited for Sturm to finish the translation before launching into his reply. Sturm translated, “He says you don’t understand the situation. Your headquarters does not support us. General Grant refuses to even accept correspondence from anyone but Colonel Von Donop.”

“Does Von Donop agree with the assessment that Washington’s arrival is imminent?”

A troubled look passed over Rall’s face. “What Colonel Von Donop believes is irrelevant. General Grant is prepared to sacrifice our forces.”

No great loss.

Sutton cleared his throat again. “I don’t think that’s the case—”

“You are ordered to increase patrol frequency, day and night until the situation quiets. Your men will follow Colonel Rall’s regimental duty schedule to the letter,” Sturm said, his eyes nowhere close to Sutton’s.

“Respectfully, Colonel,” Sutton nodded solemnly, “I don’t take my orders from you.”

Rall barked a short laugh and withdrew a paper from his jacket. The familiar red wax of General Grant’s seal said otherwise. Sutton knew what it said before Rall began to read. His Majesty’s army would not be bullied or coerced into supporting the Hessians or anyone else.

They are placating him by assigning my men to his fruitless and perpetual alerts.

“You do now,” Sturm said and translated the order. “Captain Sutton, His Majesty’s dragoons, is to put his men at the colonel’s every service until this situation has quieted. Within a week, at most, we’ll expect Captain Sutton in Princeton to make his full report.”

Sutton took a long breath through his nose. The air bit and smelled of venison. “Very well,” he said, trying not to sound amused by the whole spectacle in his utter and complete rage. The wobbly colonel now away from his precious band and standing in a muddy street to pass his orders to His Majesty’s dragoons was almost laughable. “Tell the colonel we will patrol along the river and the main roads to Trenton. You may also tell him that I expect to find nothing of consequence and would recommend, respectfully, that your attention be diverted to the south and what Colonel Von Donop faces. Unless the river freezes tonight, Washington will not dare to cross it.”

“You really believe that, sir?” Sturm stared wide-eyed at him.

“I do. My commanders in Princeton understand the situation far better and their guidance is much clearer, Lieutenant. His Majesty’s army is in winter garrison and has asked your commander to secure this frontier. Colonel Von Donop understands that and has decided to take action rather than wait for a coward without the fortitude or the soldiers to attack this position until spring. If ever.”

Sturm relayed his words and Rall turned on a heel and stomped away in the mud. Sturm followed a few seconds later and Sutton watched them gingerly work through the mud of Queen Street as they headed for Rall’s headquarters and the shelter of good alcohol and a game of cards. The young captain of the dragoons clutched his stomach and barely contained the laughter threatening to erupt from his mouth as he watched the Hessian commander retreat into his constant fear. All the man needed was the band playing to make it a perfectly abysmal scene.

December 23, 1776



They’d waited out a long, full day at the Simmons farmhouse. Without a large fire, the day had been cold, but they’d been able to rest and stay inside their sleeping bags to rest. At fifty percent security, Mason encouraged them to sleep as much as possible before moving through the night. McKonkey’s Ferry, where Colonel Glover would be in position with his fleet of Durham boats, was a little over two and a half miles from their objective rally point position on an azimuth of three hundred ten degrees. They’d start moving an hour after sunset. At the ferry, they’d wait for a boat to cross the river carrying Daniels. His wagon would have one lantern lit if the passage was off. If two lanterns were lit, the squad would leave their position in the wood line above the ferry and board the boat across the Delaware.

As the sun set to the west, Mason rousted everyone who’d been able to sleep their last shift. Pre-combat checks and inspections would be the second item after making sure everyone had eaten and replenished their water supplies. Higgs had found a spring a few hundred meters away and they’d filled their canteens a few times over relishing the sweet, pure water. As they ate in relative silence, Murphy looked up at Mason with his eyes wide and bright.

“Holy shit, man.” Murphy chuckled.

“What is it, Murphy?”

The sophomore laughed. “If we pull this movement off, we’re going to do something every kid in America has wanted to do since they started school.”

“Meet George Washington,” Martinez said around a mouthful of pasta. “See if he cannot tell a lie.”

Murphy chuckled and shook his head. “Ask him if he really chopped down a cherry tree.”

“You won’t even be able to speak, much less make a comment like that.” Koch crumpled up an envelope that had held crackers and threw it across their loose circle as the group laughed nervously. “You’ll just be grinning like little kids when we meet him. Guaranteed.”

“Doesn’t seem real,” Dunaway said. Her voice was quiet, but firmer than Mason could remember. The shell appeared to crack a little more every day.

“Yeah,” Booker snorted. “We should have tried to go back today.”

“We tried yesterday, Booker.” Mason met his friend’s eyes with a hard stare. “It didn’t work.”

“And it might’ve worked today, Mason.”

Mason shook his head. “We’ve been through this, man. We tried. It’s a done deal.”

Koch cleared his throat. “Unless it only works on that day? Or when the planet’s in the same position?”

“Wait a year?” Booker asked.

“If we make it through this, we’ll come back here in a year, Booker. You have my word.”

“But a year might go by back home.”

“Or it might be ten seconds, man.” Mason gestured with his hands wide. “None of us understand what happened. We have no idea what might work, okay?”

Booker looked down into his MRE for a long moment before he dabbed at his nose and looked up again. “You promise?”

“A year,” Mason nodded.

“Deal.”

Good, Mason thought. He took a deep breath. “Murphy? You want to tell us what’s going on right now?”

“Not much,” Murphy said. “Colonel Von Donop, the senior Hessian commander, engaged a large group of rebel sympathizers, not the army, south of Trenton this afternoon. He’ll decide to stay there a couple of days. His troops get blind drunk tonight and the good colonel finds comfort in the arms of a beautiful widow, so the story goes.”

Mason smiled. Fresh research and a photographic memory would serve Murphy well. All Mason had to do was keep him alive. Shit, all of them. He blinked away the thought. “What about Washington?”

“If I remember right, Washington received a message yesterday from his adjutant down at Bristol. I can’t remember his name but he sees a clear advantage and begs Washington to attack. They’re basically laying out the plan today and preparing to do the shaping activities. They’ll decide to launch an attack tonight but keep the operation a secret from the men until the last possible moment.”

“And tomorrow?”

Murphy shrugged. “Pretty sure that Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are mainly spent preparing. Christmas Day is fairly quiet, except a group of Hunterdon men engage Rall’s outer security. Rall thinks that’s Washington’s long-overdue attack. As soon as it’s over, Rall believes Washington retreated in fear and he gets overconfident.”

“That opens the way for Washington’s attack,” Stratton said.

Murphy grinned. “Somewhat. Washington is committed, and the decision to hit Trenton on the twenty-sixth gives his army enough time to prepare and get any last-minute intelligence. The weather is a huge factor, too.”

“Like this? Clear and cold?” Higgs asked.

“No,” Murphy grinned. “A huge nor’easter rolls in while Washington is on the march. I mean it gets really shitty and fast. Like wicked bad. They come out of the snow and surprise the Hessians.”

Mason sat upright. “What don’t we know? What doesn’t Washington know?”

Murphy leaned forward and pointed at the floor. He quickly scratched a long Y shape in the dirt. “Washington is here and Trenton is here. His attack plan has three prongs. General Ewing, the same guy whose been fucking with the Hessians for a week, is supposed to cross at the Trenton ferry. Further south, a prong under General Cadwalader is supposed to attack near Mount Holly to keep Hessian forces there from responding. Neither Ewing nor Cadwalader get across the river because of the ice that stacks up on the night of the attack.”

“There was no effect on Washington’s crossing though, right? I mean the weather and surprise worked to Washington’s favor and the Hessians didn’t put up much of a fight being drunk and all.” Stratton grinned.

Murphy wagged a finger at Stratton. “What you learned in school is all wrong, man. The Hessians aren’t drunk at all. Most of them are exhausted, but they’re not drunk. That’s a myth. And the Hessians don’t immediately strike their colors and surrender. They try to counterattack. A couple of times. That’s when Colonel Rall is killed.”

“No shit?” Mason said. “That doesn’t match anything I learned in school.”

“I know, right?” Murphy said. “So, Washington is facing a good enemy force that is simply tired and without good communication in poor weather conditions, surprise takes the field. The Hessians capitulate fairly easily and with minimal casualties to the friendlies.”

Koch spoke up. “What about the British? The dragoons?”

“It’s a platoon or so. Roughly twenty men, I think. Since they have horses, they escape over the Assunpink Creek bridge before Washington’s forces can get to them.” Murphy took a bite of crackers and peanut butter. As he chewed, he said, “Presumably, they notify the British garrison at Princeton. The Brits counterattack on January 2.”

Mason took a deep breath and looked at his watch. “We’ve got to get going. Look, I’m gonna be honest with you, this isn’t going to be easy. Yes, the terrain is okay and we only have a couple of miles to go, but we’ve got to be silent and slow. There’s no telling what’s out there.”

Stratton tapped the musket leaning against his rucksack. Daniels supplied them with ten rounds of ammunition a piece. “Good thing we have these and know how to fire them.”

Mason took a breath but didn’t answer. They all had one round loaded, and in the dark, under fire, there was no way in hell they’d be able to get off a second shot. “Let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

For a moment, all of them looked at him and he knew it was time to say something memorable. Or something that, at the very least, would assuage their fears. Nothing came to mind. After a moment, he spread his palms to them.

“Let’s just do everything like our lives depend on it tonight. Once we get across that river, to Washington, things will be a little better. We’ll be on friendly ground and can figure out our next move. We’re a few miles and a boat ride from there. Daniels is supposed to cross at midnight, if all goes well. Let’s make sure we’re there to meet him.”

Higgs closed her MRE and stood in the growing darkness. “Bravo team, finish up. Break down your M16s and stuff them into your rucks. Make sure everything is strapped down tight and silent. I’ve got some tape if you need it.”

“Alpha team”—Stratton stood—“same thing. We’re leaving here in fifteen minutes. Murphy, you’re on point. Koch, you’ve got the compass. I’ll take pace count.”

Mason watched his friends, his fellow cadets, get to their feet without a word. They were solemn and serious. Were they ready for combat? He didn’t know, nor did he want to think about it.

Miles to go before I sleep, he thought and mentally winced. His mother loved Robert Frost’s poetry. I can’t think about you right now, Mom. Just not right now. But the thoughts didn’t immediately fade.

Do you even know that I’m gone?

Mason shook off the thoughts by packing his gear and getting ready to move. There would be time enough for confronting his demons after Trenton, if he lived that long. If not, the least he could do was make a difference in this new republic. The thought cheered him almost immediately. Not many others would ever have the chance he would. He reached into his pocket and felt the bicentennial quarter there. Putting it into George Washington’s hands would rival anything he would have ever done in his own time, that was for certain.


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