A sudden rapping on the door mercifully broke Major Bordon's reverie and brought him back to the present- not that it was any brighter than the near past. He crossed the small room and opened the door, quickly sizing up the young private he found standing sharply on the other side.
"Major Bordon, sir? General O'Hara has asked to see you." The young man stirred uneasily, unsure of what to do or say next. The crisp newness of his uniform and his boyish features clearly gave him away as a fresh recruit.
Bordon nodded. He'd been expecting the summons as soon as the General was well enough to see him.
Two days earlier the army had taken to the field near the Guilford courthouse. Much to his dismay Bordon had been unable to join them, his wounds not healed sufficiently to allow riding. So instead he'd stayed in camp and met with the army's chief quartermaster on acquiring the supplies O'Hara's divisions would require upon their return. The General himself had been cheerful that morning, obviously quite enthusiastic at the prospect of gaining a little vengeance for the disaster at the Cowpens two months earlier. O'Hara expressed his sincere regrets that Bordon would not be able to accompany the rest of his staff at his side on the battlefield. The Major himself had been visibly disappointed, but wished the General well. His new role as a staff officer was definitely going to take some getting used to, but until his physical state improved more he wouldn't even be able to fulfill that completely.
"Thank you, Private. You're dismissed."
The young man bobbed his head in acknowledgement and turned smartly on his heel before walking off swiftly down the hall. Bordon's gaze followed him until he disappeared around the corner.
Was I ever that young? Certainly that enthusiastic- and look where it's gotten me.
He shrugged on his uniform jacket and adjusted its fit on his shoulders. Since the disbanding of his dragoon unit and his subsequent transfer to the staff corps, he'd been forced to trade his green-trimmed jacket for one of a longer cut with blue facings. That uniform, with its stiff crimson fabric, polished buttons and Major's stripes, served as a constant reminder of everything that had come to pass, the times that would never return, all the people he'd never see or speak with again.
I'm a walking curse- everyone who gets near me ends up dead! Andre, Wilkins, Tavington.. and now this! General O'Hara was kind to me, and look where it's gotten him.. My God, why? Damn this war!
Following the initial British advance, the Continentals had managed to regroup enough to attack a portion of the line. Seeing this, the General rallied the Guards and a regiment of Hessians to counterattack and succeeded in pushing the Americans back, but O'Hara himself was seriously wounded in the process.
After the battle, the army regrouped quickly and re-established itself before moving on to Cross Creek, a small town on the banks of the Cape Fear river. They'd expected to find supplies waiting for them but there were none, prompting extensive foraging and for Bordon, a second meeting with the quartermaster. He'd tried to get in to see the General, who'd been whisked off by several of the top medical officers, but they'd refused to admit him. Now finally O'Hara had asked to see him.
Bordon quickly checked his appearance in the mirror, barely recognizing the pale, ghost of a man who stared back at him. His eyes were sunken and lined with dark circles above hollow cheeks, all results of his weeks in bed and the meager amounts of food he'd been able to keep down during his recovery. Breathing was still difficult, but the wheezing sound his injured lung produced with each breath had quieted somewhat, so that at least the noise no longer kept him awake at night.
Still, the sound was noticeable and frequently earned him strange looks from the people he passed as he carried out his duties around camp. He was almost grateful for it though, as the reaction it caused in others tended to keep them at a distance and away from the aura of bad luck that Bordon believed to follow him around.
As he left his room, the Major made a point of locking the door behind him. With supplies being a rarity, many of the enlisted men had taken to bouts of rampant looting. Most of the town's population had fled with what they could carry of their personal belongings, leaving the British troops to their own devices and hoping the army would move on again soon. Many of the officers chose to take rooms in the abandoned houses lining the town's main street, while the rest of the army made temporary camp in tents that dotted every clear patch of ground in town.
The house Bordon chose was in relatively good shape compared to some of the others in town. As he left through the front door and stepped quickly down from the front landing he cast weary glances at the buildings around him, many of which had windows knocked out in acts of random vandalism.
Spring in North Carolina was warm. Small puffs of gray dust swirled in the mid-morning sunshine as Major Bordon walked down the street, his boots crunching lightly in the gravel. He wound his way between the tents and wagons lining the street, headed toward the second largest house in town- where General O'Hara had take residence as his injuries were tended to.
As soon as he arrived at his destination, Bordon paused for a few moments on the large house's porch, leaning heavily on the railing as he fought to catch his breath. Closing his eyes against the sparks that danced across his vision, he forced himself to breathe slowly as his head swam. Gradually the wave of faintness passed and Bordon regained his composure. He straightened himself and gave his body a moment to find its balance again before knocking firmly on the house's heavy front door. After a few seconds a young medical assistant answered and opened the door wide to admit him.
"Good of you to come so quickly, Major. The General is expecting you. Go ahead up, it's the first room on the left."
Bordon thanked him and proceeded up the wide staircase that led from the entryway to the second floor of the big house. When he reached the top of the landing he turned in the direction the assistant had indicated and found the door there open. He tapped on the frame politely to announce his presence before peaking in.
The room was a large study well lit by a pair of wide glass windows, the walls lined by tall oak bookcases packed with a variety of leather-bound volumes. General O'Hara rested on a broad, comfortable looking bed that had apparently been moved into the study for his convenience, his back propped up on a number of pillows as he sat leafing through a stack of written reports.
At the sound of Bordon's knock, the General looked up.
"Ah, Major! Thank you for coming. I wanted to send for you sooner, but the physicians here have been hovering over me like a flock of starved buzzards, determined not to let me get any work done!"
Bordon smiled at his superior's candor. O'Hara was pale but surprisingly well composed given the serious nature of his injuries. Bordon suspected the General had taken a great deal of care in making himself presentable before asking to see anyone, not wanting to look weak or undignified in the presence of his subordinates. He'd donned a fine white shirt and his uniform vest in an effort to cover the bulky bandages wound about his waist, secured over the deep wound in his right side where the rebel ball had torn clear through.
"I asked to see you as soon as I heard of your misfortune, but they turned me away, sir. How are you feeling?"
"Oh, as well as to be expected, though I must say I'm quite eager to get out of this bed. I've been stuck here for less than two full days and already I'm going stir crazy. I have no idea how you managed to handle such imprisonment for as many weeks as you did, Major! But enough about that, come-come, have a seat." O'Hara gestured quickly to a finely upholstered chair nearby, which Bordon gratefully accepted.
"I've been looking through our casualty reports from the last engagement…. Bloody hell, some of these numbers, Bordon!" O'Hara shook his head and continued leafing through the papers on his lap as he spoke, "We took the field, but the cost of it! By God.. fifty-five officers alone. Colonel Stuart.. Colonel Webster.. we couldn't spare those two.. One quarter of the entire army, Bordon." O'Hara sighed heavily and sank back against his pillows. Bordon sat silently, absorbing the heavy tally of losses.
"What would you have me do, sir? I've spoken to Major McDonnelly twice now about resupplying Bose and the Guard, but he's got nothing to give us.."
"Yes, I spoke to Lord Cornwallis about that last evening. We've no idea what happened to the supplies General Leslie supposedly sent. They were supposed to be here when we arrived. It's clear we can't stay in this area long. We'll have to break camp again and keep heading down river. The sooner we get to Wilmington, the better."
Bordon nodded. Unless they were resupplied soon, morale would plummet and the troops would begin to get even more restless than they already were.
O'Hara looked around the room distractedly for a moment, his eyes finally settling on the wide desk across the room. The General pointed in the direction of a fine crystal brandy snifter sitting on the desk top, a furtive grin forming on his face. "If you wouldn't mind, Major, can you pour me a glass of that? I'm afraid paperwork isn't the only thing those medical harpies have been denying me here."
Bordon rose from his seat and crossed to the desk, searching a few nearby cabinets for a glass, which he then filled and handed to the General. O'Hara tried not to seem over-eager as he sipped the drink, retrieving another of the reports from a table by the bed and scanning through it.
He took a large swallow of the brandy and set the glass down. "Since supplies seem to be a lost cause at the moment, I've got another assignment for you. I see that Colonel Verhältnisse of the Jägers was killed as well.. You probably don't know this, but he was a blood relation to the King of Brunswick. A cousin, I believe. At any rate, whenever you've the time I'd like you to prepare a short report on his death for our primary Hessian liaison, Colonel Revensbruk. Not the sort of thing we'd usually bother with, but since he technically WAS a royal relation, it's better safe than sorry in the case that anyone over there might wonder what happened to him."
O'Hara handed Bordon the paper, a complete list of the Jägers' casualties for the battle, with Verhältnisse's name at the top.
"Being as you didn't see the man fall, you'll have to speak with some of his regiment-mates for some kind of account on the specific circumstances. Don't worry about going into too much detail." O'Hara stretched slightly and flinched at the stab of pain that ran through his injured side.
"I'll get right on it, sir, and bring you the report as soon as it's done."
"Thank you, Major."
Noting O'Hara's fatigue, Bordon politely excused himself of the General and left the house, paper in hand. A death report.. It hardly seemed the most interesting of assignments, but anything was better than more pointless bantering with the quartermaster on acquiring non-existent rations and ammunition.
As he walked he looked down at the casualty report again, trying to decide where to begin. The primary rule for any investigation.. when possible, always start at the source. His eyes flew to the end of the document, to where its creator had signed off on it.
The name written there in a bold and confident hand was that of one Major F.W. Ehrgeiz...
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A few notes:
1) General Charles O'Hara was indeed wounded at the battle of Guilford Courthouse, but I couldnt find any reference to the exact nature of his injuries, so I had to improvise.
2) O'Hara's command consisted primarily of the Brigade of the Guards (an elite infantry unit), the German Regiment Bose, several groups of Jägers and a small detachment of dragoons.
3) The casualties O'Hara lists for the battle are all accurate (accept for Verhältnisse, who's original). The British lost 515 out of 2000 regulars, 27 officers and 28 non-commisioned officers. Stuart and Webster were also real casualties.