Letters Home: Assassins

by: Shadow Chaser

Summary:

Spanning Episode 3 and 4 of Season 3 of TURN – the AC twist on things from Ben's POV and also a slight fix-it fic for Ben's idiocy and stupidity for breaking cover just because Sarah Livingston asked him. Come on Ben, you're smarter than this!

Story:

Part 1

The plan went, in Caleb's whaling words, pear-shaped the moment he had let his anger fuel his indignant rage at hearing Reverend Worthington speak his damning words. He had not realized the extent of how much intelligence the Reverend had been feeding to Andre from confessions and the like until he had heard him give the precise location of Washington's camp moving to nearby Middlebrook. He had not known how much his rage could fuel his inherent desire to see the man dead until he had pulled the trigger to Worthington's taunt about Washington being a fool. They had both stared mutely at his futile attempts to stem the blood flowing from his fatal shot before the Reverend had fallen to the ground, dead with the last rattle of his traitorous breath.

And that was when Ben realized the folly of his mistake.

Make it look like an accident, Washington had cautioned when they had initially discussed the plan and Ben had spent some time planning it before stalking the Reverend out of the camp the next day. His plan had initially been to let the Reverend go to the drop point to leave his missive and he would ambush him there, shooting him in the back

to pretend that brigands had gotten the drop on him. There was the option to shoot him from the front, but Ben had discarded it. He had only considered it again as he realized how far off the path they had gone and the lack of leaf and tree cover would not allow him to approach the Reverend from behind.

And so he had confronted the Reverend, but he had not meant to get that close until he wanted to hear what the Reverend had gotten from his latest confessions. It had been damning and it had filled him with rage. They were from the commanders who knew where they were going next to settle camp.

Ben grimaced, holstering his pistol as he stared at Worthington's body. There was still a way to salvage it as he glanced around him. He could smell the distant body of water, more than likely a river of sorts. Worthington could be buried in there and no one would be any wiser. The only issue was the blood on the leaves on the ground, but Ben could easily hide that once he disposed of the body. He took a few steps closer and knelt down next to the man's body.

"May God find you forgiveness in heaven for your deeds," he murmured quietly as he reached out and drew the man's eyes closed. He vaguely remembered his father mentioning to pay due to the dead when they killed, but also remembered that his father had said that he rarely did it only because of his sharpshooting skills. It was only Assassins who killed up close and personal with their blades or with a musket ball that prayed or said words to the dead and treated them with respect. Ben could only wish that he had heeded his father's words and killed the Reverend from afar, but what was done was done.

Pushing himself up from the ground, he gathered the Reverend's body with his own and started to drag him towards the body of water he knew was nearby.

Ben was beginning to realize why Assassins left their bodies in the open, or at least immediately disappeared when a kill was publicly executed. Dragging Reverend Worthington's body towards the water was hard work. It also did not help that the Reverend was a lot heftier than he first appeared and that compounded Ben's efforts to quickly dispose of the body. It was hardly his first kill, but as Ben maneuvered the body towards the water, he realized that it was his first assassination. He supposed that as far as first assassinations went, it was not that bad. If he had killed Worthington on the road instead of at his drop point, it would have been much easier for him to just leave the body like it had been ambushed by brigands. He would have to re-think his plan next time something like this happened.

He was only lucky that there was a body of water to dispose the Reverend's body near, otherwise, he knew his task would have been much harder. As he flipped and pushed the Reverend's body away from him, he absently put his hand in his pocket where he kept the Reverend's cross. It would be proof to Washington that he had killed him and also, Ben could feel his father's words weighing down on him. It was not the words of an Assassin, but rather his father's words as a fellow man of the cloth. He knew he would have to write his father to absolve himself of the slight guilt he had for this deed, and probably ask him how he coped with it all these years. The irony of the situation was not lost on Ben as he realized why his father had become rather distant with him and Samuel when they had been growing up. If this is what it meant to be an Assassin...Ben shuddered a little.

"That's no way to treat a man of God, Tallmadge."

Ben whirled halfway in the water and froze as he came face to face with the very man who had killed Sackett, and was now pointing a pistol at him. He felt his insides grow cold at the ruthless smile on the man's face and cursed inwardly at his inattention for his surroundings. It had been one of the first lessons he had been taught! And he had been caught woolgathering like a school boy when he should have known better. He shot a look at his pistol, lying aimlessly on the banks and cursed himself for not even having a throwing knife about him.

"No need to move, you're fine there," Gamble gave him a thin smile and Ben raised his hands up, trying to think of any way he could get to his pistol or something in his surroundings to throw at the man before he could shoot him. He could not see any small pebble or feel any from the cold waters and muck that his feet had sunk into.

"Gamble," he stated quietly as he saw the man's sinister smile grow a little wider.

"So you do know my name," the assassin nodded, "spares me the introduction. Tell me Major, what did your lot do with that fool, Shanks? Hang 'im? Enlist him?"

"You're the Reverend's contact," Ben ignored his question about Shanks as he realized that Gamble must have picked up on the trail of blood left at the drop site, "so he was working for Andre..."

"We were supposed to meet today actually," Gamble sounded as amicable as the day he had walked into the camp, a snake in the long fields of grass, "looks like you spared me that introduction as well."

Ben could not help the wash of fear that pulsed through him at how calm Gamble sounded, as if he was just talking about the weather or was even not looking forward to have met Worthington. He swallowed, his throat dry as the assassin raised his pistol up and gestured towards him.

"Move to shore," Gamble ordered and Ben hesitated.

"Move," the assassin ordered again and Ben reluctantly complied, digging his feet out of the slit that had sucked his legs towards the marshy ground and moved towards the shore. He hoped that Gamble would let him move closer to his weapons- That thought was immediately broken as he saw the other man move from his high ground towards him at the same time. His options were quickly becoming very limited and he knew time was running out. If only he had not been so lost in his thoughts – the whole mission was a failure at this point, having been detected by the enemy when he had been disposing of a body. He was such an idiot!

"That's close enough," Gamble said and Ben stopped, feeling the chilling dampness of his water-soaked breeches and stockings, his mind wondering if it would be just as cold soon when the bullet entered his heart or his head. "Turn around."

Ben dry swallowed again, as he slowly turned.

"Kneel down."

Gamble's words sounded like they were coming from a long tunnel as he grimaced and forced himself to kneel. Ben could feel himself shaking from the cold and from the fear that had gripped him. If only he had gone with his first plan, if only he had not shot Worthington out of anger for his slight against Washington. It felt like what had happened in Wethersfield, but a hundred times worse. This was the very man that had slit Sackett's throat and Ben wanted nothing more than to disarm him, and kill him, but he could not. He had been caught so flat-footed, so off guard that it was humiliating and it ate at him.

If this is to be my last act on this good green Earth, then at least it was for the good of the Continental Army and for Washington's sake, he thought as he stared out at the banks of the river. I am so sorry father, I have failed your teachings. I go now to meet Samuel in Heaven. "I," he started, feeling his voice shake in fear, "am an officer in the Continental Army. Protocol dictates-"

Ben suddenly felt the flash of pain before blackness claimed him.