1.
New Jersey. Bradford wrinkled his nose – he was ready to put this colony behind him. Dismounting, he made his way through the camp to the war council tent, where General Lee was explaining the strategic placements for the next engagement to the other officers. The general looked up when Bradford entered.
"Have they arrived yet?"
William shook his head. "No, sir. Scouts haven't seen them either."
Lee slapped a hand on the table. "I told Scott I needed that unit." The general huffed as he bent to readjust the pieces on the maps. "He probably sent them to Washington instead," he groused as he threw the offending piece – obviously representing Scott's dragoons – to the ground.
Bradford considered picking the token up; after all, the unit could just be delayed, but Lee's comment intrigued him. "He'd trust his men to Washington? Even after he lost us New York?" Bradford certainly wouldn't.
Lee snorted and smoothed down his wig. Bradford longed to tell him to dispense with the rather ugly thing, but that was not something he could tell his superior officer. William admired many things about his general – his military experience, his intellect, wit, and his frankness that sometimes bordered on rudeness – but his vanity was not one of them. Well, even generals had to have one flaw, he supposed.
"You don't know Scott," Lee answered him. "He's a jealous, cantankerous, and sniping fool, but," Lee held up a hand for emphasis, "he lives for rules and traditions. As long as Congress says Washington is commander-in-chief then Scott will follow that man blindly."
But not Lee, Bradford knew. Lee's methods and strategies, which he knew some considered to be too cautious, at least wouldn't get men killed, like Washington's bold and foolhardy plans. And Bradford was in this for the victory not the glory.
The clatter of hooves announced the messenger's presence before the tent flap was pushed aside and the rider handed off his letter. A sorrowful frown crossed Lee's features as he scanned the missive.
"It seems Scott did send us his dragoon unit. But they unfortunately ran into the Queen's Rangers." There was a murmur around the tent. Lee handed the letter to his aide. "Send my condolences to the general."
Bradford sighed in frustration at the setback. He bent over the maps, trying to determine the best way to adjust their plans at this information.
Lee moved off to the side to pour himself a drink. "I may disagree with Scott, but to have an entire unit wiped out by nothing more than bad luck. Not even in a real battle…" he shook his head.
The aide had continued reading the letter. "It looks like one of them survived, sir." Lee turned back around in surprise. The aide continued on, "The captain was able to escape and returned to camp."
"He survived Robert Rogers?" one of the lieutenants asked, his voice filled with wonder.
Survived Rogers? Not likely. Bradford set him straight. "More likely he turned and ran at the first shot."
"Indeed," Lee snorted as he left the tent. Bradford wondered at the rather abrupt departure.
The aide made a sound of protest. Bradford walked over, and the man showed him the contents. Bradford read. General Scott had written a quietly glowing report of his man's escape.
Bradford shrugged. "This Captain Tallmadge can certainly weave a tale."