CHAPTER THIRTEEN
November 2008
Fort Dix, New Jersey
Sam Graves stood silently next to the commanding general of Fort Dix, Major General James Cuthbert, as the general briefed the families of his missing cadets. Two days had passed since their last radio transmission. Ground and aerial searches had revealed nothing but a ragged oblong of dry, empty forest surrounded by the deep snow of the last twenty-four hours. There was extensive tree damage on all sides of the area as well, but no one wanted to talk about it openly. A variety of three-letter agencies were on the ground studying the area, but it was abundantly clear that the cadets were nowhere to be found.
“It’s been two days, General.” Vivian Mason leaned forward in her theater chair and pointed at him. “Fort Dix isn’t that large and you can’t find them? There has to be some explanation!”
Cuthbert took a deep breath, removed his glasses, and rubbed the inside corners of his eyes. “No, Colonel Mason, there’s not. We’ll continue looking for your son and the rest of the cadets at first light. We’ve exhausted the training area where they were last seen, and we’re working out from there in waves. I have soldiers walking shoulder to shoulder through those training ranges right now. The local authorities outside the installation are also looking for your children.” The use of Mrs. Mason’s retired rank should have been respectful, but Graves thought it sounded insincere from the general. Obviously, colonel-retired Mason wasn’t going to be satisfied with his answer, and rightly so.
“What about their cellphones? Have you had any pings from them?”
Cuthbert shook his head. “No. None of the phones with the cadets are activating when called.”
Colonel-retired Mason looked at Graves. “You’ve been calling them?”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ve tried every single one of them more than a dozen times. There’s been no response,” Graves said. “We’ll keep trying and—”
“We’ll find them. Thank you for your patience,” Cuthbert interrupted. With a curt nod at his provost marshal, Cuthbert walked out of the auditorium. After a moment of awkward silence, the families all watching him and speechless for the first time as a field-grade officer, Graves followed the general and met him in the foyer. Outside were a growing collection of media that he obviously did not want to engage. He looked at Sam. “Get the families to lodging and be at the 0600 update brief, Colonel.”
“Sir, what aren’t you telling them?”
Cuthbert frowned. “You have your orders, Colonel. Do I make myself clear?”
Graves nodded. “At 0600, what are you going to tell them, sir?”
“Don’t make this more difficult on yourself, Graves. I’d suggest you find your cadets before I do.” Cuthbert waggled a finger in front of his face and walked through the doors and into the media circus. In the incessant flashes of camera and the stark brightness of the television cameras, Graves understood. They weren’t going to find the cadets and he was going to take the fall. Left with his orders, he moved back to the families and got them moving through the back door of the theater to their waiting transportation.
Moving the families to the dedicated vans was easier than he’d imagined, but once they were on board, he moved to his rental car to follow them to the Marriott in nearby Trenton. As he turned the ignition, the satellite radio news channel was talking about the strange disappearance and relating it to a terrorist incident. Graves snapped the radio knob to off and left the base in silence.
This doesn’t make any fucking sense.
His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. Porter, especially, would never do anything of the sort. The rest of them were good, young kids. Any idea for all of them to suddenly go AWOL for more than two days made no sense at all. The possibility that maybe they were captured by someone grew stronger, save for the fact that this was New Jersey and—
Just outside the main gate, his cell phone rang from the interior of the center console. He’d left it in the car all day. The number was from Minnesota, and not familiar. Probably more press. He pushed the talk button. “Lieutenant Colonel Graves. I have no comment on the situation.”
“That’s a shame,” a man laughed. His British accent was smooth and friendly. “Colonel, my name is Doctor Malcolm O’Connell. I’d like to have a word with you, if you have time tonight.”
“I really have no comment, sir.” Graves made the turn onto the I-95. The man’s name was familiar. From graduate school?
“You’re staying in the Marriott downtown, correct?”
Graves nearly froze. The location of the families was a closely guarded secret, at least until the press eventually caught wind of it. “I am, how did you know that?”
“It’s a long story. The VIP lounge on the concierge floor. I’ll be the guy at the bar who looks like a college professor.”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the situation, Doctor O’Connell.”
“You’re not going to find them, but I think I know where they are. I’ll be in the bar in ten minutes.” The line clicked off and Graves fingered the keypad for a moment and considered calling the commanding general, or even 911, but hesitated. The name Malcolm O’Connell triggered a response from his memory, finally. If Graves was right, Malcolm O’Connell was a theoretical mathematician, and a fairly distinguished one at that. During Graves’ graduate work at Michigan, he’d read a paper written by O’Connell on time manipulation. Most of it hadn’t made immediate sense to Graves, but the concepts stayed with him enough to read several books on time and logic in what spare time he had.
How did he get my number?
Shit, what do I do now?
As Graves put the phone down he made up his mind to meet the man. He wasn’t going to get answers from General Cuthbert and whoever came to the disappearance site. Graves finished the drive to the hotel debating whether or not to check in with his wife. After deciding not to—the kids would be starting bedtime routines—he parked and boarded the elevator. He and the rest of the families were on the concierge floor where armed soldiers guarded the elevator. The two buck sergeants snapped to attention as he exited the elevator.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Evening.”
“There’s a gentleman in the bar asking for you,” a young female soldier whose name tag read Johnson said. “He’s cleared. We’ve swept the bar, as well.”
What the hell?
“Is anyone else in the bar right now?”
“Just the bartender, sir. We’ll ask him to step out.”
Graves squinted. “You said he’s cleared. Cleared by whom?”
“Our company commander has the order, sir, but the guy is cleared by the SECDEF.”
Holy shit. If the secretary of defense was involved, there was no telling how bad things were going to get. For a split second, he wondered about calling General Cuthbert but decided against it. Something stunk, and like he’d seen more and more in the later years of his career, it appeared to be the Army.
“Thanks,” Graves said and walked down to the private bar. Sure enough, a guy with salt-and-pepper hair, a corduroy jacket with elbow patches, and a thick beard sat at the bar.
“Joey? Get the colonel whatever he’d like on my tab and then would you excuse us for a second?”
Graves looked at the clean-cut young man and decided he was probably in on whatever this was, too. He had that look. Piercing blue eyes, and friendly, benign smile, but he clearly was military and probably special operations. “Bourbon, water back. Please.”
“Sam? Malcom O’Connell.”
The drink came immediately, with a small glass of water on the side. Graves slid onto the stool next to O’Connell and shook the man’s outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, Doctor O’Connell.”
“Malcolm, please. It’s nice to meet you, Sam.”
“You, too. What’s going on? How did you get my number?”
O’Connell smiled. “One thing at a time, deal?”
Graves snorted. “Sure.”
“Brian Lance gave me your number. He said you were a better than average student at Michigan. That’s pretty much the highest praise he gives.”
Graves smiled. Lance’s courses were the toughest of his graduate studies in mathematics. “Getting a B from that guy was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
O’Connell smiled. “He’s a bastard. You can say that—I won’t tell him.”
“He’s a solid-gold bastard.” Graves smiled. “Now, what’s going on?”
O’Connell glanced around the bar quickly. His voice was low, but clear. “Grantville, West Virginia and Alexander Correctional Facility in Illinois. Do you know what they have in common?”
“Terrorist incidents.” Graves narrowed his eyes.
O’Connell shook his head. “That’s the usual official account, Sam, although if you look closely it’s always hedged with qualifiers. There’s much more to the story.”
“I don’t do conspiracy theories—”
O’Connell laughed and raised a hand in a supplicating gesture. “Nothing like that at all. The public, though, wouldn’t understand, hence the subterfuge. Blaming the unknown on terrorism does a few things. The public stops asking questions and the military industrial complex keeps rolling forward faster than the caissons. Of course, the conspiracy theorists have latched onto these events, too. They’re closer than you might think to the actual events.”
Graves blinked. “So what happened? Where are my cadets?”
O’Connell sipped from his own whiskey. “I asked your thesis advisor about you before I came here. He gave you high praise and I figured that you’re a better than average mathematician. When I discovered that we had a mutual acquaintance, I knew I wanted to speak with you. You have the head for what I’m about to tell you.”
Graves looked around. “Does what you’re going to tell me exceed the security classification of this bar? I assume it does.”
“I’ve taken care of that, Sam.” O’Connell shook his head. “Where your cadets are? I’ve got a pretty good idea. The question is when.”
“What did you say?” Graves realized his mouth hung open and he closed it with a snap.
“The Reader’s Digest condensed version is simple. After Grantville, scientists around the world noticed some strange readings on equipment designed to detect neutrinos. A bunch of us came together and started what we call The Project. We’re headquartered in a lab deep underground in Minnesota. It’s in the middle of an iron mine and was built to study proton decay in the 1980s. We took the data from Grantville and started studying it. We started unraveling it. Grantville disappeared in what we’re calling a chronoletic event. There was an instantaneous exchange of mass between two time periods. Given what we found in its place, and what we determined through our data, we think the entire town of Grantville reappeared in central Europe some time in the 1600s. Probably in the first half of that century.”
Holy shit.
Graves took a stiff swallow of bourbon as his mind started to process the concept. “On purpose or coincidental?”
“Data supports coincidence, though Alexander was something unlike anything we’ve observed. Instead of one transfer, there were several at different points in history. Alexander Correctional Facility ended up in the past somewhere between seventy and about a hundred and thirty million years ago, along with anything in the area in four different time periods. Those things were mixed in that new existence and other mass from those time periods found their way to our present.”
“You have proof of this? Physical proof?”
O’Connell smiled. “We have proof, Sam. The kind of proof that will blow your mind and make Steven Spielberg jealous.”
Graves nodded absently, his mind working through the possibilities and accepting the offered proof without dissent. “If this was a time event, and it went both ways like you’re saying, why hasn’t there been an effect to our history? You’re saying that the event has created a parallel universe, then.”
“Precisely.”
“Grantville is in Europe during the 1600s. A geographical switch, too? What about Alexander Correctional Facility? Do you think it is in the same place?”
“No,” O’Connell said. “With that one we think it’s fairly close to its original position, just moved backward in time.”
“Jesus Christ,” Graves said. “That’s impossible to believe.”
“I can show you the data, once you retire and come to work with us. Consider that the only job offer you’ll get from me.” O’Connell smiled. “Your cadets are much more recent, but they’re in trouble most likely. The data suggests they’re not that far from here geographically, but they’re somewhere in the Revolutionary War. I’m guessing 1776 to 1777.”
Graves blinked. “Behind enemy lines?”
“Most likely.” O’Connell took a drink. “Your cadets that were nearby, what did they see? Hear?”
“A bright flash of light, a quick tremor, and a really loud clap of thunder. That was it.”
“Was there anything out of place where the missing cadets were?”
“Snow,” Graves said. “There was a spot of no snow. The surrounding forest was five to six inches deep by the end of the day. That oblong piece, maybe a hundred meters by fifty meters, was completely clear.”
O’Connell nodded. “There was considerable snow outside Trenton in 1776, especially between December 1776 and February of 1777, save for the warmest parts right before Christmas. Based on your observation of bare ground, I think that’s when they are, and likely behind enemy lines.”
Graves shook his head and looked at their faces in his memory. “They’re good kids. Young and dumb, but they’re good. General Cuthbert asked me that. Do you think he knows where what’s happened?”
O’Connell shook his head. “I think they have some ideas, especially with the idiots in the Special Investigations Branch feeding different theories around. They’re not as close to the data as we are. There are a lot of scientists working this, Sam.”
“Outside the knowledge of the federal government.”
“We’re officially a private organization, Sam, although we now have very close relations with several government agencies. We started as a bunch of antiestablishment folks who didn’t believe the bullshit our government was putting out initially. We’ve come a long way.”
“Once the exchange happened, they could have all dropped into the Delaware River or the middle of a British camp, right?”
“Anything is possible. I am statistically certain that the actual time exchange didn’t kill them, Sam. They are back in 1776. What happened after they got there, I cannot say.”
“If they’re together, they have a chance.”
O’Connell nodded. “I hope you’re right. The most likely scenario for them would be seeking out General Washington and trying to find a place in his army. I suspect they’ll end the war much faster and set their new America on a very different path.”
Graves took another drink and tried to wrap his mind around the idea of Kyle Porter, Ashley Higgs, Jameel Mason, and Mike Martinez, among others, making their way in colonial America. He swallowed and the thought crystallized. “They’ll be fine. Assuming they live through the war.”
“And if they make it?”
“They’ll change that world.”
O’Connell grinned. “Doctor Lance told me you were the right man to help me with what I call my Elrond math. How soon do you retire?”
“My plan is a year and a half from now,” Graves said. “Does this sort of thing happen a lot?”
“No,” O’Connell said. “But they’re happening more frequently. I think Grantville was just the start, Sam. If we’re right, we can get to almost predicting these things. And if we can manage it, one day we’ll be able to replicate the effect and go there ourselves.”
Graves sat back and steadied himself on the bar. “You’re talking time travel? And you want me to come work for you? Is this a DoD contracted thing?”
“No. Again, we’re a private corporation, like I said, but this is something that won’t get a lot of press until we make some leaps forward,” O’Connell said.
“Why keep publicizing these things as terrorist events?”
O’Connell shrugged and ran a hand along his beard. “We’re desensitized to terror, Sam. This is a different situation, though. We have a smaller group of people to satisfy. They’ll take the news eventually. I’m sure my colleagues in the Beltway will find a way to package it. But, I wanted you to know what happened and that I want you to work with us starting immediately as you finish your retirement.”
“I’m still the Professor of Military Science. The Battalion Commander—”
“Cadet Command is going to relieve you,” O’Connell said. “They’ll call it an early transition, but a relief for cause OER is in your future. It’s part of the storyline. You know that I’m right. For what it’s worth, we’ll pay you a lot more than you’d make as a retired full-bird colonel and you’ll have a lot more fun. That active duty retirement can be your extra savings account or something.”
Graves fingered the glass of bourbon with a whirlwind raging in his mind. “The families can’t know, but you wanted me to know so I’d be okay with it. Be vested in what you’re trying to do?”
“Yes,” O’Connell said. “General Cuthbert and his team aren’t going to fare very well in the aftermath of something like this. He’s got all the three-letter agencies spun up about this and they don’t have a clue what’s really going on. I do. Our project could use a guy with your credentials, Sam. Personally, I think you deserve better than what the Army intends to give you.”
Me too.
Graves raised his glass and held it out to O’Connell in a toast. “Then, I accept your offer. How do we get started?”
* * *
The bulk of Washington’s room was the large table he’d overtaken with correspondence, maps, and intelligence of all sorts. The fading light of the day reminded him that he should eat and try to rest a bit. Working later than normal on the final adjustments to the attack plan required him to be sharp even long after his army bedded down for the night. Leaning against the table, Washington met the eye of Nathanael Greene with a tired smile.
“It’s a good plan, General. I do believe that Colonel Glover is correct that Trenton is the right place to attack with the full might of our army,” Greene said. His features were sharp but his smile was warm. There was no other general Washington trusted so fiercely. Since the arrest of Charles Lee, the army’s dissension with Washington’s policies and plans dwindled to nothing. Yet, Washington knew their trust in him was simply from a position of singularity. He was their leader and despite his most able general’s assurances, Washington was anything but pleased.
“There’s so much riding on Ewing and Cadwalader.” Washington sighed. “I fear Cadwalader will decide against crossing for fear of engagement and I fear Ewing will attack without us.”
Greene rubbed a hand across his chin. “Ewing will wait. Cadwalader would be facing the bulk of the Hessian garrison, provided Von Donop doesn’t march to Trenton tomorrow.”
Washington nodded. “I’ve sent Reed to Cadwalader tonight. Tomorrow, he’ll present an exchange opportunity to the ranking officer in Mount Holly. At that point, we’ll know if Von Donop has returned his regiment to Trenton or not.”
“Wise plan.” Greene smiled. “Very crafty.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, smiling, before chuckling together. Washington gestured to a small bottle of brandy. “Join me?”
“Of course, sir.”
Washington poured a small amount into the two pewter cups at the table side and handed one to Greene. “I’ve asked you to stay for good reason, my friend. A gentleman in our employ is coming with information that he insisted was to be delivered personally.”
Greene’s eyebrows rose. He gestured to Washington with the cup of brandy. “If not tomorrow, then today. And a job well done.”
“Indeed.” Washington sipped at the brandy and pushed away a clear vision of his servants carefully distilling it every summer. The last of the past summer’s batch had to be savored. “I’m intrigued as to this visit. Especially so close to our attack.”
“Has this man misled you?”
“Never.” Washington shook his head. “If anything, his reports are more sporadic, but just as detailed as Mister Culper up north.”
“Then, you’re worried he’s bringing word of a British march or something similar?” Greene’s eyebrows rose.
Washington shrugged. “Possibly. It’s hard to say.”
“What’s your fear, sir?” Greene sipped again. “If this gentleman provides good information, what could he report that would change the plan?”
Washington shook his head. At this point, there was nothing short of a complete British army recall from garrison and order to march on Trenton that would change his plan. “Nothing, I suppose.” He looked up at Greene and smiled with one corner of his mouth. “Thank you, Nathanael.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
A firm knock came from the closed door. Greene stepped over and opened the door. Washington’s companion Mister Lee stood there with a portly, bearded man.
Lee nodded. “General. This is Mister Daniels. He’d like to have a word with the general.”
“He’s been checked for weapons?” asked Greene.
Lee cocked his head to one side but said nothing else. Washington covered a smile with a sip of brandy. As good as Greene was, he never gave anyone the benefit of the doubt. Besides his natural leadership ability and affable nature, Nathanael Greene was a bulldog in the highest sense of the word.
“Mister Daniels, do come in,” Washington said. He stood and closed the distance to the shorter man and extended a hand. “Now, what’s this news you have for me?”
Daniels took a breath and put his hand into his pocket. “General, I’ve seen many things in my time. From the time we served against the French until now, I’ve done my best to keep my ear to the ground. Nothing has really surprised me until now. Two days ago, sir.”
Washington sat on one side of the table and gestured Daniels to sit. Greene sidled up to the side opposite Washington, his eyes intent on Daniels. “You served together? In the British army?”
“A long time ago,” Daniels said.
Washington nodded. “I’ve known this man for more than twenty years, Nathanael. He is a friend and fellow patriot. And, one of the finest gunsmiths in the colonies.”
Greene visibly relaxed. “Really? Then, I believe we’re all ears, Mister Daniels.”
Daniels bobbed his head, licked his lips, and spoke. “Three days ago, just before sunset, a patrol of Hessian regulars burst into our home bloodied and carrying some gear I’d never seen before. They gave me this mark on my head and held me down while one of them tried to rape my daughter, Emily.” He looked at Greene. “She’s seventeen. Her mother died of fever a few years back.”
“What happened?”
Daniels swallowed. “I thought they were going to kill us right then and there. But, the door burst open and four young men came in. The Hessians killed one of them, but they beat two of the Hessians to death. The third grabbed . . . a rifle . . . and escaped. Emily hit him with a musket round, but we couldn’t find him. The Hessians had come upon these young men in the woods and killed one by surprise. They fled to our house and thankfully the boys came after them.”
Washington nodded. The rest of the story was coming, of that he was sure. “Who were these boys?”
“There’s eight of them now, sir. Six young men and two women. They’re soldiers.”
“Women?” Greene squinted at Washington. “And soldiers? Of whose army?”
Daniels looked at Washington. “This is where it gets a little difficult, sir. They appear to be from the future.”
“What?” Washington gaped and immediately caught himself. “What do you mean, ‘future’?”
Daniels shrugged. “They look and talk differently, General. They’re wearing flags on their shoulders like colonial ones, but very different. They’re dressed in incredible uniforms. Like nothing I’ve ever seen. And the one in charge is a colored man—which the others don’t seem to find unusual.”
“What else?” Greene asked, frowning. “If they come from a year in the future, what do they know about this war?”
“Everything, General.” Daniels sighed. “They know what you’re planning and how it turns out.”
Washington felt a ripple of paralyzing fear run down his spine. “They know? Only a dozen men know, Vernon. Did they tell you?”
“They did, sir.”
Greene clapped a hand over his mouth. “We have a spy, General.”
Daniels shook his head. “That’s not what I said. These young soldiers are from the future.” He brought out his hand and unfolded the curled fingers. A single silver coin rested in his palm. “They gave me this.”
Washington turned the ribbed edge of the coin in his fingers. One side was clearly his profile and the other showed a minuteman. “The bicentennial of the United States of America. 1776 to 1976.”
“May I see that?” Greene asked.
Washington handed over the coin. “It’s convincing, Vernon. But, I’m not quite sure I believe it. I’ll need to talk to them, but I don’t really have the time—”
“They’re on their way here now. I’ll meet them at McKonkey’s Ferry at midnight. With your permission, I’ll have them brought across with all of their gear,” Daniels said. “They say the attack is successful, General. That it changes the course of the war and makes people believe we can win. You are planning to attack, aren’t you?”
“Vernon, I . . . ” He trailed off. This man had been a great ally and fellow soldier. “Yes, Vernon. We plan to attack.”
Daniels nodded. “Then talk to them, sir. They’ll be here ’round midnight.”
Washington looked at Greene for a long moment. There were no words between them and Washington felt there shouldn’t have been. “We win,” Washington held out his hand for the coin.
“It would appear so,” Greene said. “Mister Daniels is right, sir. They should have an audience with you. They should be escorted from the Ferry, though. With someone we trust implicitly but whose absence from their unit area wouldn’t be suspicious to the men. Nothing travels faster than rumor amongst the infantry. I believe your cousin fits the bill, sir.”
Washington thought for a moment and realized that Greene was correct. “Have him mustered with a group of twenty to march in an hour. I want them in position when these young soldiers cross the river. I will accept no risks, Vernon.”
“You’ll have none, sir,” Daniels said. “What they know could change the war, sir. But there’s something else that’s troubling. Wherever they came from, they brought rifles like nothing I’ve ever seen come from an armory even like His Majesty’s.”
“Rifles? Better than our muskets?”
Daniels nodded. “Incredibly different, sir. Capable of things I’ve never seen.”
“That could be good,” Greene said.
“It could be, sir.” Daniels licked his lips again. “Except that the Hessian who escaped has one of these future rifles. Sergeant Mason and his squad, that’s what they call themselves, believe if the English get their hands on it that the war will end differently than from their history. Our history. That’s why they’re on their way here, sir. To convince you to attack Trenton and get back that rifle.”
“But we would have their rifles,” Greene said. “We could keep pace with any advance in technology.”
Washington nodded. “But, what if we had the clear advantage? Going forward, we could not only win this war but protect ourselves from attack from sheer deterrence.”
He let the thought trail off. His army numbered maybe three thousand with all of Cadwalader’s and Ewing’s forces counted as his formation. The Continental Congress had fled to Baltimore, leaving the capital of Philadelphia in Washington’s defense. The British outnumbered him and even from their winter quarters, he could sense their strength. He needed a master stroke. The planned attack at Trenton would be the first step, but this Sergeant Mason and his squad could turn the whole course of the war. What things they would know as their history.
He looked at Daniels. “Bring them to me, Vernon. Speak nothing of this to anyone but Colonel Glover. Nathanael? Brief my cousin and his men. Arrange a meeting point far from the camp. I will meet them there and we’ll see what they know. I pray it’s a fast end to this war and our success, gentlemen. Otherwise, I do not know how long we can fight.”