* * *
The shifting of thousands of men did not go unnoticed. Will and Sergeant Barley lay in the grass and watched as large numbers of Redcoats moved hither and yon. They were behind the British, having had little difficulty sneaking through the enemy pickets. Either they were incompetent or they were indifferent as to what the rebels might find out. Will depressingly thought it was the latter.
“What the devil are they up to?” Barley muttered. Will smiled. Finding the answer to that question was why they were there.
“I rather think it has something to do with the coming attack, don’t you?”
Barley grunted and spat on the ground. “Not that I don’t like you, Major, but I’d much rather they’d sent Owen instead of you. He’s a much better tracker.”
Will had wondered the why of that as well. Tallmadge had explained it simply. Will was more of a professional soldier than Owen and would be better able to interpret what the movements all meant. And, for some unexplained reason, Owen was not to be used. Tallmadge kept his intelligence efforts compartmentalized, which meant that Owen was involved in something important and the possibility of his capture could not be allowed to jeopardize it.
Unfortunately, this meant that Will’s capture could indeed be risked. He was out of what little he had that passed for a uniform and he’d be hanged if caught. Fortunately, the only Englishman who might recognize him was his counterpart, Fitzroy, and they’d only met twice. While he was fairly certain he’d recognize the Brit, he wondered if the reverse were true. Probably, he admitted sadly, even though he was unshaven, dirty, dressed in a frontiersman’s buckskins and carrying a long rifle. The rifle was a difficult weapon, but he was confident in his abilities. He also hoped it would help his disguise as a member of an irregular unit.
“Enough,” Will said and stood up. With forced casualness, he stepped boldly out onto a trail and walked to where a number of British officers were examining stakes that had been driven into the ground. They barely noticed him as he watched their deliberations. To them he was just another colonial bumpkin with a long rifle in the crook of his arm and doubtless one of the handful of loyalist militia that had been arriving in very small numbers.
However, a small, trim Hessian officer in an impeccably clean powder blue uniform with gold facing stood apart and Will nodded politely to him. The officer turned and walked toward him. Will gave the Hessian the casual salute that a colonial might give and it was returned.
“And who might you be?” the Hessian enquired.
“Captain John Smith of the newly formed Loyal Connecticut Rangers, sir,” he answered, hoping that the German didn’t recognize such an obvious alias. Foolishly, he hadn’t thought anyone would ask him his name. “And who might you be?”
The German was momentarily surprised that anyone might question him in return. “I am Colonel Erich von Bamberg of Hess.”
Will immediately recognized the name of the man who had hanged innocent people on the suspicion of their being deserters. If von Bamberg was annoyed at Will’s posing a question to him, he didn’t seem overly concerned. Obviously he’d grown somewhat used to the ways of the colonies.
“Are you with Girty’s people, then?” von Bamberg asked.
Will allowed his distaste to show. “Hardly, sir. I am a soldier. They are animals.”
Von Bamberg chuckled. “Good for you. And when did you arrive?”
“Just yesterday along with some more messages for General Burgoyne. I’ll be going back to Detroit shortly.”
“Well, that explains why I never saw you before or ever heard of your Loyal Connecticut Rangers.”
Will decided it was time for a change in the conversation. “Colonel, may I ask what all this activity means?”
Von Bamberg smiled happily. “Why, captain, we are trying to prepare for the grand assault which will take place either tomorrow or the next day. Surely you’ve heard that the good and wise General Burgoyne has ordered a massive frontal assault on the rebel works and that the attack is designed to destroy them?”
“I have, sir.”
“Indeed. Approximately ten thousand men will line up in ranks about a hundred across and a hundred deep. They will charge the rebels and be an irresistible force. The wooden stakes are here so the men will know exactly where to line up. It is quite a project and may require a rehearsal, which, since Burgoyne loves theater, he might appreciate. Of course, Burgoyne is telling the rebels exactly where the attack will fall because he certainly cannot shift this mass of soldiers around like chess pieces. There will be no surprise at all, I fear.”
Will nodded. “I sense you do not feel total approval, Colonel.”
“I’m just a guest here, Captain, but perhaps you could tell me what problems such an attack might cause?”
Will pondered. He wasn’t certain if he was being condescended to or if the Hessian genuinely wanted his opinion. “I can think of a couple. To begin with, only the very first rank or two would be able to fire on the enemy. The rest would be useless, although they could certainly use the strength of their push, plus their bayonets, when they closed on the rebels.”
The Hessian was visibly impressed. “Very good. Now what else?”
“By concentrating his forces on such a narrow front, General Burgoyne is forfeiting much of his numerical advantage. We outnumber them, so he might have launched a strong attack at several places and stretched the rebels too thin to withstand all the attacks. If only just one of several attacks succeeded, the rebels would have to retreat. Also, such a narrow front attack means the rebels can concentrate their numbers as well.”
“Excellent. What did you do before joining the Rangers?”
“I was a farmer, but I read a lot.”
“Then you might have heard of the ancient battle of Thermopylae, where a Spartan named Leonidas and three hundred men held off a large Persian host because the Spartans held a narrow front.”
“Indeed, and I also know that the Spartans were ultimately overwhelmed and destroyed. Do you fear that this attack might be another Thermopylae?”
“Not quite,” said von Bamberg. “I do fear that a great loss of life will occur, however, and, by the way, the Spartans were not overwhelmed. They were betrayed.”
Will smiled. “I’d forgotten.”
Von Bamberg nodded and smiled grimly. “Enjoy your observations, Captain, and have a safe trip back to Detroit. Or are you going to stay for the fight?”
“I plan on leaving as soon as possible.”
Von Bamberg turned and walked towards where a pair of his Hessian soldiers were resting. They were about a hundred yards away and snapped to attention as they saw von Bamberg. When he reached them, Von Bamberg turned and began to yell and point to Will.
“Spy! Spy! Grab him, he’s a spy?”
* * *
Will ran as hard and fast as he could. The cluster of trees that had hidden him and Barley was almost a quarter mile away. He looked over his shoulder. Von Bamberg and the two soldiers were pursuing, but all his yells had attracted little other attention, although a couple of unarmed Redcoats were looking at them, slack-jawed with confusion.
What the hell had gone wrong, Will wondered as he ran. Did the damned German know there was no such unit as the Loyal Connecticut Rangers? Perhaps Will had just been too inquisitive for an ignorant colonial. It didn’t matter. If he didn’t reach the trees and Barley, he’d be caught and hanged.
To his astonishment, von Bamberg seemed to be gaining. Of course the Hessian wasn’t trying to run while holding a long rifle. Will thought about turning and firing, but, if he missed, the Hessians would be almost on him. No, he would try for the woods before defending himself.