A/N: Just a brief comment on historical accuracy: IRL Edward Stevens had likely left for England to study to become a doctor. In this 'verse he stayed to study in King's College's Medical school to stay close to Alexander and observe Calliope.

R&R!

'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'

In late August 1776, it became obvious to everyone that the Patriots had some unconventional help, when Calliope overturned the boats that were ferrying soldiers and horses while the navy covered them for attacks from land. Thirteen thousand Loyalists drowned, amongst them General William Howe. The other nine thousand were fished out of the water and taken prisoner and the Patriots won the battle of Long Island that never was. Instead the battleground became Staten Island, when the following morning Washington led an attack against the remaining ten thousand British soldiers. The Navy, seeing it had little chance of doing more than bombing the settlements, tried to retreat. Fifty-six of the 130 strong fleet were sunk before the rest surrendered. Seventy-four of the formerly British ships fell into the Patriots' hands, leaving the British only with their merchant fleet and supplying the ill-equipped Patriots with ammunition, gunpowder, rations, clothes, pepper guns and some much needed gold. Hamilton sprung into fame immediately as a consequence, because suddenly the Patriots had a navy. Their army was still less well equipped than their British enemies, but they had gotten a significant boost, and the only thing they still really needed was discipline and military conduit installed in them, which was something Hamilton had been vocal about during his Militia training.

It was a decisive victory for the Patriots, and the only large congregation of British in the Colonies was in Canada. It was not a victory to boast about, as it was won in an underhanded way, without giving the British the chance to surrender, but it proved to the British and the World that these Americans mean business. For the longest time no one outside the Army knew of Calliope Hamilton, and the rumors in Europe was that the Americans had someone who could bend the elements to their will, and there was a collective sigh of relief, when it was revealed to be only a water dragon, even if they were supposedly a myth from the East. What they didn't realize at the time, was that with Calliope Hamilton, the States had a way to sink any ship that they didn't like as long as they knew where the ship was. Sending out fleets against her would be a waste of resources, which was a lesson that would take losing a second fleet for the British to learn.

'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'

August 27th, 1776

The roar only Alexander expected echoed over the battlefield. There was a cheer from the British, assuming it to be the herald or fore flyer of the aerial corps finally come from Halifax. Their elation soon turned to horror, when Calliope spat streams of river water at them with the precision of a sharp shooter and the power of a cannon, flipping boats and ruining vital supplies. Once she'd exhausted her water supply, Calliope dove into the midst of the boats, continuing flipping them over further and further from the shore.

When it became clear that the dragon was on the Patriots' side, the British tried to, unsuccessfully, turn their cannons on her, but as her long, serpentine body was completely different from the typically bulky French and Spanish dragons that they were taught to fight, they missed more often than not. The Patriots, on the other hand, rallied, and continued fighting the men that had already made berth.

It didn't take long the British ships to start retreating, and Alexander, as artillery Captain, was one of those who had no place in the chase. He ordered his men to secure their supplies before going to help the wounded or securing prisoners. He, on the other hand, went to report to Colonel Fleming.

A few hours later Calliope rose from the bay and walked, still dripping wet, over to where Alexander was recording everything in his journal.

"Alexander, you are not hurt, are you?" asked Calliope, nosing Alexander to determine whether he smelt of his own blood or if the blood on him was someone else's.

Alexander abandoned his journal to wrap his arms around her snout, to the shock of those around them. Captain Hamilton wasn't known for showing tender feelings unless one was a wealthy young lady. Calliope being the recipient of the affection might have had something to do with the staring too. "I am perfectly fine, my sweet. The blood belongs to Colonel Knowlton, who has been hit by a stray shot. I was the one who found him, well behind our fortifications. He is with a surgeon now." He drew back just enough to see more of her. He frowned. "You are the one bleeding," he said and ran a hand up to Calliope's forehead, where a gash was still bleeding sluggishly. "Are you well enough to fly to Ned's?"

"Yes, I only counted one glancing cannon ball, two musket bullets and the rest came from sharp debris, nothing Ned can't sew up," Calliope reassured Alexander. "Will you stay safe until I return?"

"Of course, my sweet. I will see you later this evening when you return," he said with a smile.

"I'll see you later," Calliope nodded her goodbye and took off flying to Manhattan.

Alexander watched her flight for a short while, imagining the freedom of flight, until one of the soldiers gathered his wits enough to break hi from his musings.

"That's your dragon?" he asked, and hastily added, "Captain Hamilton, sir."

Alexander turned slightly towards the speaker. "I think it is more accurate to say she has me, or that we have each other," he replied, his tone deceptively mild. "Back to work, I expect the General will want a full account of our supplies."

One of the men cleaning up the debris dropped what he was carrying and ran off, towards the command tent. A small smile played on Alexander's face as he watched the man disappear.

Soon, he expected, he would be summoned to meet the General. Maybe not immediately, but before sundown certainly.

He finished writing down the details of the battle, before he joined the men in hauling debris. The bodies not in water had already been cleared away.

As he had predicted, the summons came after Calliope had returned. The young messenger stared at Calliope with interest as he relayed his message to Alexander, and had he been staring at anyone other than Calliope, Alexander would have been insulted for being nearly ignored.

Squaring his shoulders, Alexander marched through the camp, Calliope behind him. The messenger led him to the very middle of the camp and pointed him to the largest tent.

Inside were three men, one obviously a slave. One was Colonel Fleming, his immediate superior officer. The last one was a towering man in a general's uniform.

"Sir," Alexander saluted Fleming first, before repeating it with General Washington. "General Washington." Behind him Calliope poked her head in the tent.

"Captain Hamilton and…?" Fleming asked, looking at Alexander to make the introduction.

"Calliope Hamilton, sir," Calliope introduced herself, as Alexander had known she would. Alexander arched a challenging eyebrow at the Colonel. Calliope was a person as much as he was, she would be part of the conversation. "It's an honor to meet you, Alexander speaks highly of you."

"How did this arrangement come to be?" asked General Washington, apparently not beating around the bush any more.

"After the hurricane of '72, I found Calliope's egg washed ashore on St. Croix," Alexander answered crisply. "I brought the egg with me to New York and she hatched on the 18th of April, 1773. My friend Edward Stevens was with us, and deduced that she is half sea serpent, hence gills. She lives in the Hudson, sir, eating fish instead of beef or mutton."

"And you didn't report finding a dragon egg to anyone in authority? The British would have paid handsomely for a rare dragon egg," challenged Washington.

"That may be, but as I had just enough money to get by, I felt no temptation for more. I'd rather be Calliope's Captain, sir, than the richest man on Earth without her," Alexander challenged back. He'd rather be remembered for something he was than for something he did.

Washington's face gave nothing away, but the air in the tent shifted, and Alexander felt like he'd passed some sort of test.

"How fast can she fly?" General Washington asked.

"From here to Elizabethtown in optimal conditions, if we push it, three minutes, but she would be slightly out of breath. Five minutes and there is no averse reaction. Eight minutes if we have strong wind behind us and we only glide. We can hold the five minute pace for six hours straight, but then Calliope needs to eat. We once flew to Boston in four hours and forty minutes, sir."

"That's two hours to Philadelphia," murmured Washington thoughtfully. "Sixteen hours to Charleston, eighteen to Savannah."

"Only in the best conditions, sir," Alexander cautioned. "Against the wind, it very well might take four, five days."

"It is still ten times faster than by horse," Washington said practically. "The British couriers manage twelve hours to Savannah at best." He then turned to look at Calliope. "What were your reasons today? In the massacre?"

Calliope cocked her head. "They were going to hurt my Alexander," she said, like it explained everything.

And, from her point of view, it did, Alexander knew. And deducing from his sigh, so did Washington.

"I don't think I like fighting," Calliope continued. "But Alexander has explained why he has to, and therefore why I have to, and upping the boats was the easiest way to protect him."

Washington gave a wry smile. "I suppose it was."