CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tucked down inside his sleeping bag system, Mason rolled over so his nose stuck out of the almost closed hole. Cold bit into his exposed skin and snapped him awake. He lay there quietly, not wanting to move for a moment before giving in to the urge to check his watch. He opened his eyes and blinked against the low light of the cloudy sunrise.
0700. Watch ain’t till 0800.
He closed his eyes for another minute and tried to relax. The warm fuzz of sleep reached out for him again. Mason relaxed and tried to give in. A cannon boomed from the Trenton side of the hill. Mason snatched at the zipper and shot out of his sleeping bag in an almost instantaneous jump and run. Scrambling up the rocks at the center of their patrol base, he saw two sets of boots and then two heads alertly watching the town. Their calm made him slow down and check his momentum. Mason knelt behind them.
Stratton turned and smiled. “Nice wake-up call, huh?” he whispered and shook his head as Mason crawled into position between him and Koch.
“What’s going on?” Mason yawned and rested on his elbows.
Koch had a small set of binoculars. “Some kind of formation. They’ve got a damned band and everything.”
“Can I borrow those?” Mason asked. He tried to remember what Higgs had inventoried from the squad but didn’t remember seeing binoculars on the list. “Good thing you have them.”
Koch handed them over. “Been laying here for the last two hours wondering what kept stabbing me in the ribs. Forgot I had them in an ammo pocket. Went hunting two weeks ago with my cousin.”
Mason nodded and smiled. “Well, thanks for forgetting them.” He watched the milling troops in their strange uniforms and found his eyes drawn to the British cavalry on the northern end of the formation as they left in two groups. There were nineteen in their formation. “How many are there?”
Stratton shrugged. “We tried to count them. Thinking nine hundred, maybe a thousand.”
Washington has the numerical advantage and surprise in his favor. Not bad.
“We wrote down some questions to ask Murphy this morning,” Koch said. “That’s one of them.”
Mason traced a line down the main street. “Shit, I wish we had a map.”
Stratton pointed at the long north-south street where the formation had been. “That’s Queen Street. The one to the left of it is King Street. The Hessian headquarters is there. Murphy was working on a map from memory last night—he’ll make up a sand table once everyone’s up and around.”
Mason nodded. “The cannon woke everyone up, at least.”
Stratton chuckled. “We’ve got another half hour up here. Who’s relieving us?”
“Martinez and Dunaway,” Koch said.
“I’ll get them up here early,” Mason said. “Good work, guys.”
“No worries,” Koch said.
Mason backed out of the position slowly, crawling on his knees and elbows until his boots hit the exposed rocks at the top of the outcropping. From there, he turned and looked down on their makeshift patrol base. Koch and Stratton’s position was by far the most important, having more than one hundred eighty degrees of vision from the top of the knoll. Below, the central sleeping area had been watched by two guards through the night, one to the east and west. Mason made sure that he’d rotated the watch positions as well. Amazingly, he’d been able to get almost six hours of sleep and actually felt rested for a change. They’d really lucked out with their choice of fighting position in the dark. Mason crawled down the rocks and found Higgs huddled over an MRE tucked into its water-activated heating bag.
“Morning,” he said.
Higgs looked up at him. “I figured it was just reveille or something like that. No other cannons or gunfire.”
“A formation.” Mason grinned. “Probably set off the cannon to celebrate Christmas. Glad to know that nothing changed for more than two hundred and thirty years.”
“I bet they had first sergeants telling them to form up thirty minutes before the actual formation, too. Maybe an endless safety brief, too?”
Mason laughed. “We’ll have to ask Stratton when they come down in a bit.” He glanced over and saw that Martinez and Dunaway were both packing their sleeping systems into their nylon “stuff sacks” and pulling out MREs of their own. They’d be ready to assume their watch without his having to say a thing. Murphy sat a few feet away on his rucksack with a small notebook in one hand and a package of MRE crackers in the other. Deep in thought, Mason decided. Having someone who’d just written a paper on the battle of Trenton was a godsend, but Murphy looked too serious.
He’s trying to remember every little detail.
Mason snorted and shook his head. Every little detail could save a life .
Mason went through the routine of stuffing his sleep system away and getting ready for the day. Satisfied that his gear was set for the day and ready to move on a moment’s notice, Mason dug into the side pocket of his rucksack for an MRE and grimaced when he pulled out the vegetarian cheese pasta. Still, it was better than the breakfast omelet and he could save the spaghetti with meat sauce for that night to be prepared for the battle itself. It was a good trade-off. He removed a canteen from his load-bearing vest and drank the remainder of the good, fluorinated water he’d had from Fort Dix a few days before. The other canteen was from the natural supply at the Daniels home and they’d have to get more sooner rather than later. Mason looked at the snow and realized that a considerable amount lay on the hillside across from their position. Building a fire was not something he wanted to do and it would take an impressive amount of snow to fill their canteens with water.
Higgs stepped into his view. “You thinking about water supplies?”
“Yeah.”
Higgs pointed down at the creek. “We can refill them tonight.”
What? Mason shook his head. “That’s too dangerous. We can melt snow or—”
“That will take forever, Mason. We should all have at least one canteen plus the extras from Kennedy and Porter that Booker is carrying. We can make it until sundown.” Higgs tilted her head in the direction of Trenton. “There may be a spring nearby, too. We’ll have to look around a bit today.”
“We should stay put—keep watch.” Mason reached to his belt and removed a multi-tool. He flicked out the knife blade and sliced open his MRE pouch. “We don’t need to attract attention.”
“I’m talking in this little valley, Mason. Not marching into Trenton. We can stay out of sight and see what’s around. If there’s anything we can use. And, we can gather snow to melt if we have to. I have a pot Emily sent along with me for that reason, okay?”
Mason blinked. “When were you going to tell me about that?”
“We have the priorities of work together, Mason. Your job is getting us in position and doing what General Washington ordered you to do. Stratton and I can take care of the rest, okay?”
Mason sighed and tore open his spoon and then the entree packet. The pasta was cold, but edible. He pushed down the taste as much as he could. Calories would be important, almost as important as water. A tiny bottle of hot sauce thumped into the ground between his feet. He looked up at Higgs and realized that she was exactly right. All he had to do was get his shit together, starting right then and there. “Thanks. Let’s go ahead and get the water going. Get your pot and let’s start melting snow. Build a small fire up by the rocks—nothing huge, like a few inches high at most. The wind is moving it away from Trenton. We should be okay.”
Higgs stepped over to her rucksack and withdrew a small pewter pot. She tapped Booker on the shoulder and they moved quickly across the ten-meter-wide valley to the snow on the far side and began to scoop. They returned in a moment with the pot and handfuls of twigs. Booker set to work on the fire as Higgs urged Martinez and Dunaway to finish so they could relieve Koch and Stratton on the top of their position. She moved to Mason and sat down.
“I think there’s a spring farther up the draw. See that dark spot in the snow?”
Mason looked where she pointed. He couldn’t make out anything other than snow and mud in the small, narrow valley. “Yeah?”
“Just looks like a spring I remember seeing one time. We’ll check it out as soon as Stratton and Koch come down. If we can get water replenished, then we’re good to spend the day here,” Higgs said. “Gives us time to plan.”
“There’s not much to plan,” Mason said around a mouthful of food. “There’s a bridge down there. We’re supposed to hold it.”
“You know what I mean, Mason.”
Do I? Mason shook his head at the thought. “A plan never survives first contact, right?”
“We’ll have to ask Murphy. He’s trying to remember if the Continental Army crosses the bridge to envelop the Hessians after they try to counterattack.”
Mason squinted. “They counterattack? I always thought it was a complete rout.”
“It was,” Murphy said from behind them. “You’re talking about me like I can’t hear you, Mason. I am trying to remember everything I read, okay? I can tell you Washington’s attack was late, and the surprise was perfect. But the Hessians attempted to get their shit together and counterattack. Twice. Remember we talked about this the other day?”
“I forgot, man. A lot of stuff going on.” Mason pointed with his spoon over his shoulder toward Trenton. “And the bridge?”
“I think the army crossed it to take away the escape route. But it was after the Hessians tried to counterattack the first time. That’s when some of them tried to get away. The British dragoons do get away. They realize pretty quick that the Hessians are going to lose.” Murphy covered a yawn with a gloved hand.
Mason nodded. “How many?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t get that detailed, man,” Murphy said.
“It’s good, Murphy,” Mason said. “You’re going to make a sand table?”
“Soon as I finish my chow, yeah. Give me an hour?”
“That’s good,” Mason said. As soon as Murphy briefed them, the kid was going to sleep. Mason glanced at Higgs and could tell that she was thinking the same thing. Curiosity overwhelmed him for a moment. He hadn’t really been thinking about the rest of them. He looked over his shoulder and saw Booker bent over a small fire blowing gently on the flame. Mason watched him for a long moment as his friend nurtured the flame into a small, warming fire.
Mason understood that he and his squad were plugging a hole. What they were really about to do was not much different than Booker bringing a fire to life from kindling and a heat source. Once they defended the Assunpink Bridge and rendezvoused with Washington in Trenton, all bets were off. The American Revolution would come down to what he and his friends knew and how the founding fathers would listen and implement their recommendations.
Higgs handed him a piece of paper. “Rest plan.”
He looked it over. They’d go down to one person on security from midday to seventeen hundred hours. With a howling storm on the horizon, Mason believed they should try to rest as much as possible before the battle. Knowing the outcome wouldn’t change his plan, but he believed it helped to make his squad more prepared. Knowledge really would be power. Mason smiled to himself. His parents would be proud that he’d recognized that fact even if it took an unexplainable trip back in time to do so. For now, they’d walk through the battle of Trenton on Murphy’s sand table and get some rest. Once the storm would start later, Mason doubted any of them would be able to rest.
* * *
The lunch of chicken and potatoes sat untouched on Washington’s plate as he looked over the hand-drawn maps of Princeton. As promised by Mason and his cadets, the winds had turned with enough force that his experienced fishermen in the ranks were whispering about a brewing storm. As much as he wanted to trust them, their news that Ewing and Cadwalader would be unable to cross the Delaware where they were needed unsettled him. His army set to muster, Washington glanced at the uneaten food and scowled. He knew nourishment would be his friend on the long, cold night ahead and he reached for the plate and ate silently, contemplating the plan for the hundredth time in the last two days. The timeline was critical, even as Cadet Murphy had sketched his plan in the Pennsylvania dirt and told him repeatedly that time would not be his friend, but the weather would be.
His watch lay open on the table. Forty-two minutes remained until the first regiments would form up and march the five miles to McKonkey’s Ferry. Sunset would be 4:41 p.m. and given the rising storm, darkness would come earlier and give them more time.
Would Ewing, or Cadwalader, be able to cross if they moved out now?
Washington chewed on a piece of chicken, plucked a thin, sharp bone from his teeth and set it aside on the pewter plate. No. I must accept that they will not be able to assist. Get the army across and take advantage of the weather to conceal our approach.
There was a soft knock at the door. “General?”
“Yes, Mister Lee?”
“Messenger coming,” Lee said without a hint of emotion. “Should I hold him?”
Washington took a bite of the barely warm potatoes. Time had certainly not been his personal friend that morning. “From our forces to the south, yes. I will deal with them after I eat. From the Congress, let them pass.”
He finished the potatoes and chicken, wiped his hands on a towel, and poured himself a cup of water just as the door opened. Lee stood there with a bemused smile on his face. “The messenger? Sir? He comes from General Gates.”
“I will meet him outside. Prepare my horse as well.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lee stepped to one side as Washington stepped outside into the cold, blustery day. His horse waited, fully saddled and ready for the muster to start. They were alone in the side yard as Major Wilkinson rode up.
“General Washington?”
Washington turned to the man. His uniform was disheveled and filthy from long days of riding and little food. His eyes met Washington’s for a moment. “Sir, Major Wilkinson reporting with a message from General Gates.”
“What a time this is to hand me a letter, Major.”
Wilkinson blanched. “Sir, I am acting on orders from General Gates himself.”
Gates. Washington felt the scowl deepening on his face. Is he now too sick to pester the Congress so he has to message me? Or has he finally decided to tell me of his treason against me to the Congress themselves?
Horatio Gates was a solid commander, but over the past two months and the retreat from New York, he’d vocally opposed Washington’s plans. Speaking to other generals gave Gates no foothold in his own plans to lead the army, so the man had the gall to approach Congress directly, circumventing Washington’s command of the army. Asked by Washington to command a regiment just days before, Gates had begged off to Philadelphia on account of poor health. Washington agreed, then asked Gates to check on Cadwalader to the south but Gates refused and took his leave to recover.
“General Gates! Where is he?”
Wilkinson stammered. “I-I left him in Philadelphia this morning, sir.”
Heat rose along Washington’s collar. “And what was he doing there?”
“He said he was on his way to Congress.”
“On his way to Congress,” Washington repeated. He took the letter and heard Wilkinson make some quiet form of communication, but stood his ground. Washington tore open the note and read quietly. He realized he’d held his breath for the latter half of the note as he saw red infringing on the edges of his vision. He stood and whirled toward Major Wilkinson. “What is the meaning of this? To usurp my command? Inform the Congress I sit here doing nothing while the British make plans to capture Philadelphia from their warm winter garrisons?”
“Sir?” Wilkinson gaped like a child.
Washington forced himself to take a breath and closed his eyes for a moment. Wilkinson would not be the target of his anger. Gates intended to force Congress to remove Washington based on irrational, boundless claims. Gates had been too sick to check on Cadwalader, but was well enough to ride a hundred miles to find a warm bed in Philadelphia?
“You are dismissed, Major,” Washington said and turned away. He looked out the window into the roiling gray clouds and felt his anger turning dangerously toward pride.
I’ll show Gates and the rest of them if we have no plan, no chance to succeed against the British. Washington flew past his silent staff and back into his quarters. He consulted the maps once more, tracing the nine miles from McKonkey’s Ferry to the outskirts of Trenton with his finger. Mason had been right and he must attack with every man he could.
“Lieutenant Tilghman!” Washington called. The young man burst through the door a moment later. Washington looked at his watch. It would only be thirty minutes earlier than the original plan, and he decided to risk it. “Order the muster and have the first regiments move as soon as they are ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Tilghman said. “Are you quite all right, sir?”
Washington smiled. “I am. Tonight, we take this fight to the British and let them know they cannot defeat us. Send for General Greene, my compliments of course, and have him report here before his regiment departs for the ferry.”
It would be good to see his friend and let Greene’s quiet competence quell the emotion in his chest. Seldom did Washington let his emotions get the better of his bearing, but given Horatio Gates and his meddling in affairs that were not his to challenge, anger would prove necessary at some point. That place needed to be at Washington’s choosing, that was clear.
“Anything else, sir?” Tilghman asked.
Washington looked up with a smile. “Bring my horse to the porch, please. I would ride out to confer with General Knox before he starts the crossing.”
Tilghman departed, leaving Washington to his thoughts and preparations to go out into the rapidly cooling afternoon. He pulled on his coat and reached for his tricorne hat. An arc of silver on the table, under the street maps of Trenton, caught his eye. He moved the edge of the paper and recognized the coin from Mason’s pocket. The impossible dates and imagery suggesting a long-preserved victory.
A victory that starts tonight, he thought. He studied the coin and flipped it again to the side with his profile.
Was I ever that young?
He snorted and placed the coin into the pocket of his coat without a thought and strode out of his private office and quarters into the outer room. His staff looked at him expectantly. They wanted a final word. Something meant only for them in the midst of their preparations.
“Be prepared to strike the headquarters at first light. I believe we may push back into New Jersey to stay with victory tomorrow.” Washington nodded at them. “Know that we are prepared because of your hard work and diligence to this great cause. Let’s see this attack off appropriately, gentlemen.”
By the time he’d reached the door, his staff applauded him. He turned, wanting to quiet them, but saw the exultant joy in their eyes. Something he’d not seen since they’d fled New York with the British army nipping at their heels. Their passion was a weapon. Mason’s promise that victory steeled the Continentals into joining Washington’s army and pushing the redcoats from their lands made sense in that brief moment. Washington set his hat upon his head and walked onto the porch. The first regiments were formed just down the road from his headquarters at the Merrick home. He took the reins from Mister Lee, swung his lanky frame onto the horse, and made his way past the soldiers. They, too, cheered, and Washington smiled at them warmly and tipped his cap to them. A great cheer erupted as he moved down the road to Knox’s staging point.
His adjutant rode behind him, far enough back to give him privacy and security. The icy breeze worked under his collar, chilling him. Such weather would be hard on the men, he knew. He thought of those with rags for shoes, and those without even rags, waiting to march to the river and John Glover’s sturdy boats. Their sense of patriotism and duty made him proud.
Henry Knox stood in the middle of the road with a pair of his colonels. From a distance, Washington could hear the general speaking in his bombastic, clear voice. If there were any voice he’d choose to have lead a crossing in a storm, it would be Knox.
Knox looked up and met Washington’s eyes at a hundred yards. He sent the colonels running and strode confidently down the muddy road and closed the distance quickly. He saluted with precision and Washington nodded in response.
“Henry.”
“Sir,” Knox said. “Colonel Glover is prepared to move. I am to understand you want the crossing to commence as early as I dare? There must be something you know that I do not.”
Washington met the man’s smile with one of his own. “Time will be of the essence, General. With the storm approaching, I believe we’ll be dealing with ice on the river and along the banks. The more men we can get across at the outset of the storm will have us across and on time to attack at daybreak.”
Knox looked up into the clouds. “It certainly looks like a storm. Will it stop us from crossing?”
Washington shook his head. “Nothing is going to stop us, Henry. You will keep the men moving with purpose, I am sure. We will cross safely with your guidance and leadership.”
For a moment, Washington thought he saw a slight bit of color in Knox’s cheeks at the compliment. Knox cleared his throat and nodded solemnly. “It is an honor to have this command, sir.”
Washington looked down the road. The ferry lay beyond a curve. “Glover’s men are a godsend.”
“That man is an incredible sailor, sir. Given river or ocean, I trust him with every man or woman in our territories,” Knox said.
Washington kept his gaze down the road for a long minute as to memorize the road so he could find his way in the coming darkness. Any degree of familiarity would be welcome in the stormy night. He looked back to Knox and gave a friendly nod. “The first regiments are on their way, Henry. Get them across at your discretion. I trust you’ll make the right decision.”
Knox smiled. “Begging your pardon, sir, but once we push off we have no other choice. This attack is everything.”
Washington nodded. Mason had said something along those lines when they’d parted the previous night. For a brief moment, Washington tried to visualize Mason and his fellow cadets tucked into the high ground south of the Assunpink Creek. Nothing from General Ewing’s men suggested their capture and Colonel Glover’s swift and silent delivery was far better than Washington could have hoped. How the young ones would perform was anyone’s guess, but Washington remembered Mason’s words and the conviction of his voice.
Washington set his hand on Knox’s shoulder. “For this operation, we will use a password. Spread it to your men and I’ll spread it to the others. All officers will carry a piece of white paper in their hats. At the request of ‘who goes there’ they will respond with ‘Victory or Death.’ Is that clear?”
Knox smiled. “Any other response brings engagement, sir.”
“Indeed, Henry.” Washington allowed a grim smile to cross his face. “Victory or Death.”