I used to read all these posts about how hard college was and laugh because nothing could be that bad…right? For real I'm this close to setting my professor on fire. In between the lack of sleep and caffeine pills, this came out. Hope you enjoy.
-Hawkfrost
Present Day
Early Winter
1778
Astrid stood on the balcony and gawked in horror at the grisly scene that was unfolding before her. The embers from the inferno were mixing with the snow in the air creating a fiery image. It was all so overwhelming. She could hear the sounds of sorrow carrying over the wind and through her ears. She placed her hands on the railing to steady herself from the sudden wave of nausea that swept over her. She closed her eyes and counted silently in her head. One, two, three, four, five. On the five count, she exhaled slowly and opened her eyes. The carnage hadn't abated but she wasn't feeling like her heart was trying to escape her ribcage anymore. She looked down to see Henry issuing orders to his men, all of them standing in perfect formation despite the chaos behind them. Or was it because of the chaos that ensued? Perhaps the events had shocked them so greatly they were operating mechanically, purely on training. She saw Henry then, straight-backed, shoulders squared, feet evenly spaced apart. The world seemed as if it was ending, but you never would have guessed by looking at him. She didn't know why, she didn't want to know why, not at that moment, for she knew the answer would be too troubling, but she felt pride at seeing him. Seeing him take charge of the situation and run headlong into danger without thinking about his own well being, not because he was reckless or unconcerned, but because for him it was simple. People were in need and he could help, therefore he would help.
He finished giving the orders and they began to move out, but not before he turned and looked up at her, a knowing smile on his face. He gave her a bow and proceed off. She smiled at him then, a real one, a real smile not many people had ever seen her have. As she did though, a sense of dread lanced through her heart, almost a physical sensation. This could be the last time you see him. The voice whispered the words into her head and instantly exploded, sending its treacherous fragments into every nook and cranny of her brain. She shook her head to dispel the horrifying image and stepped back into the house. She took a few stabilizing breaths and regained her composure. She wasn't some simpering farm girl reduced to tears over every damn fool thing. Blame it on her state of emotional upheaval or shock from the explosion, but it took a moment to realize she heard movement coming from the other room. Danger!
It was her belief, and that of all people who routinely put themselves in harm's way, that each person has a voice buried deep in the recesses of the mind. A leftover genetic defense mechanism from when man was a hunter-gatherer fending off beast by firelight. This voice whispers warnings to look behind you, to take cover, to run. This voice is what kept man alive in his early primitive state of being, what allowed him to thrive and repopulate. An unfortunate consequence of this was civilization. As man progressed and became more advanced he became softer, corpulent. Society's greatest failure was reducing fear to a minor annoyance. Man stopped listening to this voice, this voice that warned of impending danger. As a result, man died, in quantities like never before. While most of mankind had long since stopped listening to this voice, some still did. Some recognized this voice was an early indicator of harm that had yet to be detected by the brain.
So when she heard that voice, telling her not to make noise, telling her to move slowly, she listened. She crept up to the door as did the lion a gazelle. Her bare feet making hardly a sound on the padded carpet of the room. Danger! She froze in her tracks without really knowing why. It took her a moment to realize that the noise had stopped for some reason. She didn't hear the sound of a door closing or footsteps receding, not that she had the first time, but still. After a few more tense seconds in which her heart was trying, with varying levels of success, to escape out of her chest, she heard the noise resume. She was close enough now to identify it as paper rustling and objects being moved with cautious haste. He's looking for something. The thought came to her in a flash. That explains the pause, whatever he's looking for he hasn't found it yet and wants to make sure he's not interrupted. She approached the door and ease it opened gently, no more than a slight crack. She could make out through the flickering candlelight a man-sized shadow on the far wall, the shadow was hooded and bent over Henry's desk, ruffling through his items. She watched for several seconds trying to figure what was going on. It made no sense, how did this man get past security, better yet how did he know Henry wouldn't be home? And during all this chaos his first instinct is to come here? Why would you risk it? Unless- move!
The man, the shadow, straightened abruptly and whirled around. Astrid held her breath as the sound of his footsteps came closer and closer to the door. She could see through the slit at the bottom the shadow of his shoes as they came to a stop a few inches from where she was standing. She didn't move, didn't make any noise to alert him to her presence. Her best advantage at this point was surprise and she wasn't ready to give it up yet. The silence dragged on as if fighting through quicksand and an eternity passed before the footsteps receded and the sounds of rustling resumed in earnest. He's making more noise, he must be getting nervous. She catwalked over to the balcony and looked out below. The streets were bustling with activity, there were soldiers prowling the streets, muskets ready, horses and carriages were flowing up and down, some carrying soldiers to hotspots others bringing back wounded. The sounds of musket shots had picked up greatly and she could see the more impactful flash of what looked like grenades. Why is he here? Despite all that was going on she was primarily an intelligence officer, questions are what she's supposed to ask and answers are what she's supposed to find.
What possible reasons could he have for coming here at this moment? That's easy, it's no secret who's house this is. Anyone with half a brain might want a peek inside the spymaster's temple, but who would have the audacity to do so? The Rebels. The thought materialized in her mind with startling clarity. Why did I think that? Better yet, why did I think Rebels and not Patriots? The voice was silent, it gave her no answer. She dismissed the thought for later reflection, there were more important tasks at hand. If the man in the other room was a Reb- Patriot operative, how did he get here? Not just here in the manor, but in the city as well? There was no way he could've made it past the checkpoints and blockade. Her thoughts were racing now and a sense of dread was building. How did he know to be here at this moment in time, how did he know an explosion would go off drawing most military personnel away from their defensive positions? How could he have known the sudden influx in wounded and panicked civilians would overwhelm the few guards that remained? The cold sensation that had started when the first thought came to her solidified into a ball of ice in her stomach. How did he know the guards, already exhausted from a nights sentry duty, terrified by the sudden violence, and panicked by the surge of people seeking safety would provide him a stellar opportunity to enter the most secure of buildings? He couldn't, not unless he knew it was going to happen in advance, not unless months before he had embedded himself in the civilian populace. Watching, waiting for the day to come. Not unless he also had friends, compatriots, to start small scale engagements in order to keep the military focused and away from the manor. This wasn't an accident, this was a deliberate plan. Oh my God! Anger and revulsion warred within her for dominance. She heard the sound of a door clicking shut and she crept quickly over to the door and peeked out the crack again. The shadow was gone and she was alone. She waited a few seconds to be sure, the entered the room and walked over to the table where he had been standing. Whoever had been here had gone to great lengths to conceal his presence. Nothing apparent was out of place unless you had a good memory and paid attention to small things. Like how the map was now slightly crooked and a few of the ink holders were know slightly off center. She looked down at the map and realized what had occurred. Whoever had been here had been looking for the injection site that Henry planned on using to disseminate the counterfeit money, they took a couple of the fake ones as a reference and no doubt copied down the address of where the fake money was being minted. I did this, I killed all those people. Guilt like a wave crashed over her and threatened to suffocate her.
00000
Henry's breathing was ragged and his vision was reduced to pinpricks of light. The sounds of battle were overwhelmingly loud. His unit had damn near been massacred and they had escaped with their lives just barely. They had managed to link up with other beleaguered soldiers in order to form something akin to a defensive formation, a defensive formation they were now fiercely holding. He'd been focusing so much on the oncoming enemy he had neglected to watch his flank, that damn grenadier had come out of nowhere. He had managed to get out of the lethal radius before it went off, but the impact of it still flung him to the ground. The ground on which he now lay, exhausted, breathless, and feeling very much like he was at death's door. He felt arms dragging him up and propping him against the stonework of a building, his ears were still ringing from the blast and he tasted blood whenever he tried to swallow. Upon spitting he confirmed his suspicions. There, in front of him, the dark blob congealed, mixing with the dirt and musket shot residue. Someone was standing in front of him and his lips were moving, he seemed to be frantically trying to communicate something to him but it was to no avail. His hearing was still shot and it was too dark to read the man's lips. Henry slowly turned his head around the corner to see some men jump over the turned wagon, they weren't redcoats that was eminently obvious. One them, using his hatchet cracked open the skull of a soldier who had the misfortune of paying less attention than he should have been. The blade sunk in with disturbing ease and even through the flickering shadows of the fire lit dark, Henry could see the skull break and shards of bone flake off.
The soldier in front of Henry grabbed his musket and thrust it through and out the back of the…the rebel? God his brain still wasn't working. The rebel tensed up as the blade lanced through him before sagging onto the ground, dead, his blood and that of the soldier he'd killed mixing together. It was almost poetic really. The soldier came back and again yelled at him, this time, his hearing returned.
"Sir! What do we do now!"
Henry stared looked at this man, boy really, he couldn't have been more than 18 years of age and wondered what twist of fate had resulted in him being here, thousands of miles away from home. Shaking his head Henry grabbed the soldiers arm.
"Help me up. Tighten the defense line, we hold here or we die here."
The young man nodded and took off. With a groan, Henry dragged himself up and sagged against the wall. He looked around the battlefield and was struck by how many had died, it was appalling. After that damn bloody ambush, he had found as many soldiers he could and formed a defensive line that stretched several blocks. They dug their heels in and allowed the enemy to make several hit and run probes. Henry then ordered the middle section to fall back in an organized retreat, luring the enemy into following them and into an over-reach. The goal was to lure them down into a controlled set of alleyways that led into a chokepoint. Henry liked the symmetry of using their own idea against them. With the enemies hot on their heels, they jumped over the barrier. A barrier that hid behind it four cannons and fifteen muskets. The only word for what followed next was a slaughter. The enemy offensive withered and died before their eyes. After that, they had steadily pushed them back further and further until the only thing behind them was the harbor and the water. They fought like the animals they were, but it was to no avail.
Now that they had time to gather their forces and form an organized unit, the Rebels stood no chance. They splintered under the steady and relentless fire of His Majesty's soldiers. No one could stand up to the British Army, not for long. They weren't considered the most powerful and professional army for nothing. Soon, the sounds of musket shots died down and the few rebels that remained were on their knees, hands above their head. His men made quick work of disarming them. After it was safe, Henry came forward to stand in front of these most dishonorable of men. His soldiers were standing in half circle behind him, fully alert.
He gazed down at them, he wanted to know, he wanted to know what the eyes of a man who could kill so many looked like. He was saddened to see that they looked no different than the murderers and thieves he'd seen so many of. So little separates beast that pretend to be men? He stopped in front of a particular one, this one wasn't cowering. He looked at Henry and the disdain was clear on his face.
"And who might you be?"
The man spat in the sand in front of him. One of the soldiers came forward and slammed the butt of his musket into his nose, breaking it. The rebel crumpled into the ground, cradling his broken face.
"Get him back up." What the soldier had done was a technical violation of the rules, but Henry was beyond caring.
These men, these animals, had spilled the blood of hundreds of people he was sworn to protect and they would be made to pay for their sins.
**Note** Grenadiers were in existence in the 18th century. They were used by both the French and the British. These were soldiers armed with small explosives balls that resembled large musket shot but smaller cannon balls. They would throw them at fortified positions. So it all comes together, the bombing, Astrid's arranged relationship with our beloved major. So, what happens next?