Part Three: Order of a Different Kind
The next day left Haytham with a terrible headache, a runny nose, and the utter inability to breathe. Cursed snow. Still, he was not about to show weakness to the seeming pillar of strength known as Diio, and so he procured horses and supplies after a quick meeting with William, explaining the situation, and leading the animals out of the fort to see Diio there, wrapped in a blanket and carrying little else. He offered her the more docile mare, uncertain how adept she was at riding, but Ziio surprised him again by speaking a few words of her native tongue to the animal before hopping up and situating herself. She looked at him and his saddlebags.
"You carry too much," she said.
Haytham blinked. "I'm traveling light," he assured her, "But I do plan on eating."
She said nothing, merely kicking her animal into an easy cantor and leaving Haytham to follow. They rode for several hours in silence, Diio uninterested in starting anything resembling a conversation and Haytham content to let her have her space. Trust needed to be attained first before he could press about the Grand Temple's location, and he had no intention of damaging it any more than he already had with chasing her through the snow or butchering her unpronounceable name. They paused midday for meal, Haytham with his simple rations and Diio disappearing out into the hills before coming back with a rabbit to cook. Travel light indeed, apparently she intended to live off the land literally. Hunting was a man's sport, and he respected her even more for being adept at it.
"We'll continue riding south," he said, feeling enough time had passed to try again. "Once we reach New York, we can charter a ship."
"I don't trust you," she answered, tone slightly sharp.
"I know," Haytham replied, not about to debate the obvious.
She frowned at him, her gaze locked on his features. "Yet you remain."
Haytham glanced down for effect, smiling and maintaining a confident tone of voice. "That I might prove you wrong," he said simply.
"It will not happen," she countered.
"So you say," he said, with just a hint of patronization.
"So I know," she insisted, her eyes fiery. Perfect.
All he said in response was: "Yet I remain."
She glared at him, unable to work around the statement he had just made, and he smiled, putting in honesty and sincerity along with confidence and charm. She would be a difficult conquest, but not his first and he rather enjoyed the challenge of it. Garnering trust from men like Thomas and Benjamin was easy; earning it from a woman like her, like Diio, now, that would be an experience. He looked forward to it.
It took ten days to move south to New York. Two bouts of freezing rain made the travel miserable and the roads treacherous. Both had to guide their horses through icy roads to avoid laming them and once Diio was refused a room from a tavern owner. Haytham protected her honor by brutalizing the man – perhaps a hasty decision at the time, since it caused a much larger brawl and ended with a bitterly painful cut on his chin. Diio catered to him, rubbing alcohol on the wound in the first display of anything other than stoicism or suspicion he had ever seen. He took advantage of the situation to continue connecting to her, but she remained silent on her life and character. Though she did, he saw with some delight, look at him more as they rode. Using that as his measuring stick, he decided that by the time they reached the city she at least tolerated him.
While she was at home in the wilds of the frontier, she was most decidedly not when on the ship; and Haytham took his turn to care for her as he explained seasickness and offered her tea spiced with ginger to settle her stomach – or emptied a bucket when the need called for it.
Virginia was noticeably warmer than the north, the late March air easier to breathe and full of the scent of fresh turned earth. There were also noticeably more slaves as they disembarked; farms and plantations growing tobacco and cotton were everywhere, and the spades worked the land with strength and determination, singing songs in apparent happiness of their trade. Diio's stoic look had returned, she refused to turn her gaze to the farms they passed, and Haytham wondered what it was she considered wrong with them. Then he saw an overseer whipping a boy no more than thirteen over something or other, and Haytham realized the problem: the owners did not adhere to their duty to take care of those under them. Haytham knew better, the Order new better, and he wondered what he could do to correct the situation. Reginald had mentioned that there was a grandmaster further to the south, in the French colonies; Louis-something-or-other. Perhaps he should contact him and learn what there was to be done to teach plantation owners what their moral responsibility was.
Another goal was added to his list. If this kept up he would never have time to resume his search for Jenny. He hoped Holden was doing well in his absence. He also had an eerie realization as he watched the overseer drag the boy over a hill: how were slaves bought and sold? By family? He had always feared Jenny sold off into slavery, but now he had a better understanding of just what that meant, and he was repulsed by the very idea.
Diio must have seen his face, for she placed a hand on his arm briefly before pushing her horse ahead.
It was the middle of April when they arrived at Hampton. Haytham sent out inquires to see where Charles was as they rented rooms in a tavern. Sitting in a dim corner, Diio kept her back to the crowds, uninterested in their words and conversations, and focused entirely on her meal. Haytham, by contrast, was soaking up all the information he could as he saw soldiers and men in some other kind of uniform flit in and out.
Braddock was getting an expedition underway, heading northwest to attack French forts that were encroaching upon British territory. He was also to get the remaining Indians that were claiming neutrality to ally with the British. Virginia militia were offered from the Virginian governor, as well as a local surveyor who had been in the area the previous year during the disaster at Fort Necessity and was responsible for the road that they would most likely be using at least part way.
Based on the information of loose tongues, Haytham was able to start talking to the rough and tumble frontiersman who had come in to either be hired as guides or to sell off skins and whatever whatnot they accumulated out in the vast expansive wilderness.
Diio didn't understand what all the random questions were about as she narrowed her eyes and observed his interactions with the various people he talked to.
"Fort Duquesne." Haytham smiled. "That is where Braddock will head."
"And why did you not ask directly?" Diio asked, frowning. "Why ask thirty people when asking one soldier would have been faster?"
Haytham smiled. "So that Braddock does not know that we are asking. So that we are not remembered."
"You expend more effort than is necessary." Her face remained stoic. "Your people will never do anything simply."
Her preference of the direct approach was refreshing if, to Haytham's mind, naive. "People lie. By going around like this, we avoid being lied to."
She muttered something he didn't understand. "I will go and speak to the tribes. We can set an ambush. The Monongahela would be the best point."
Haytham let out a low chuckle. "I'm so pleased you know where to fight, but I certainly don't."
"Useless," she muttered, before crouching down to the mud to start outlining the land – no, the river – of which she spoke.
Diio left to the untamed wilds to gather the Indians, and Haytham remained near Braddock. He sent letters to William, Benjamin, and Thomas to come join him so that they could trail the expedition and be ready for the ambush. John and Charles were among Braddock's men, and he was far more cautious in his approach of them. Braddock seemed to have accepted Charles's stories of leaving Haytham, but still kept Charles close. John was far more contemptuous of, and after John had left his unit briefly to meet with Haytham, thereby not being at Braddock's beck and call, was dismissed to punitive services under a different command. That was good for Haytham, as he merely collected John to work with, but John would have to return to regular service eventually.
"For now," he told his subordinates once they were all with him, "we need to focus on slowing Braddock down for as long as possible. Our native girl will need time to gather tribes and whatever diplomacy they do. So we shall provide it."
So for the remainder of April and well into May, Haytham directed an annoyance campaign of sorts. Every time Braddock wanted to start his expedition, something delayed him, much to his consternation, and Haytham would laugh gleefully in the confines of his mind as Braddock's abusive shouts of frustrations echoed over the camp.
The finest moment, that Haytham didn't have a hand in, was when the Virginian surveyor that Braddock needed came down with dysentery, and needed to stay behind.
Finally, on May 29, Braddock refused to accept any more delays or postponements, and marched out of Fort Cumberland in Maryland, with almost two thousand troops. Haytham and his men stayed behind them by about a day until they left the fertile farmlands and entered the vast wilderness of the frontier.
Braddock made steady progress northwest, steadily climbing the mountains which, according to locals, spread up into Canada and well southwest into Georgia and beyond. Haytham and his men made sure to stay at least two days behind the soldiers as a further precaution. They always made a cold camp to avoid detection, and the arduous task of climbing the mountains in summer soon made itself known. Even Haytham, who had traveled extensively in Europe, had to admit that it was hotter than he expected. Only southern Spain seemed to be hotter than inland America at this time of year. And this was at a higher elevation. Haytham dreaded to be back in the lowlands to see how hot that was. To make matters worse was the dampness of the air. Haytham knew he was much farther inland, and up in the mountains, but the dampness remained. It made clothes stick, sweat dribbled down his face, and if by some miracle the sweat dried anywhere, it itched. It made for an incredibly uncomfortable journey, but Haytham knew that discomfort was only temporary. Once this mission was done, he'd be back in more temperate climate by the ocean, where there was at least a breeze.
It was soon clear that Braddock was making a road a priority, and that his road didn't follow the natural curves and valleys of the mountains, but climbed and hopped from ridge to ridge, making more work for his men as trees were cut and land was leveled. He was spurning, it seemed, the road that the Virginian surveyor had cut the previous year, which even Haytham could see from his own scouting of the area, followed an easy path and, from what the locals had said before they left, would end with easy access to the Monongahela River.
Braddock truly was an arrogant fool.
They were riding below the ridgeline, the canopy of the forest providing a good screen, and riding parallel with Braddock's men.
"Where's your boy Lee?" Benjamin asked, panting on his horse in the damp air.
"Returned to finish out his service under Braddock."
Benjamin gave an ironic smile. "I imagine the Bulldog's none too pleased after the stunt we pulled."
"Lee's to spin a tale of my incompetence and beg for forgiveness," Haytham replied, smiling. "He's a way with words. Especially when it comes to flattery. He has already been welcomed back with open arms."
"Which would give us a man inside," Benjamin nodded, and then reached for his canteen again.
"Precisely."
"Unless you've underestimated General Braddock," John interjected, wiping sweat from his forehead. "He's a decent intimidator, and the noose is his only friend."
Haytham shrugged, swatting away another mosquito. "If I have, Charles will sense it first and make his escape. He's more clever than you think." Especially with the way he hung on every single one of Haytham's lessons.
John let out an explosive sigh. "First the winter was too cold, now it's too god-damned hot! And humid too! It's a right swamp, this land, I tell you."
William was swatting insects. "To say nothing of the mosquitoes."
Benjamin, the born colonist, scoffed. "It's the same with any of you Londoners," he replied. "One winter and one summer here in America, and you all lament the comforts of home. This heat isn't anything like the dog days of summer. It's only July; wait until August."
"Warm weather and bugs are soon to be the least of our worries," Haytham said, interrupting Benjamin's clear lack of sympathy.
"Wot?" Thomas asked from his horse, where he had adjusted to the warm weather by stripping off as many layers as he could. He was down to a simple cotton shirt and he had again tilted his hat back. "Ya mean the Bulldog? Please," he chuckled. "We'll be in that one's beef soon enough and onto the next. When this is done I'm taking a week in New York. It's high time I went 'n' saw the sights, wot now with havin' the pounds an' everyfing."
Haytham chuckled. "Of empty whiskey bottles and women's breeches, no doubt."
Thomas laughed, his smile unrepentant. "What other kinds of sights is worth seein'?"
All the men shared a good laugh.
Along the way, Haytham always made sure to search Braddock's various campsites. Charles was indeed clever, and had made sure to leave a letter at each campsite, under a rock with a crude scratching of the sign of their order. In it, he detailed everything he learned to provide as much information for Haytham as he could, in his usual enthusiastic manner.
Braddock, though it was hard to tell with his harsh methods, had favorites, and one was the Virginian surveyor that was an aide-de-camp. It seemed Braddock didn't care one bit for one of his favorites to have been struck with dysentery. Charles never admitted it openly, but it was clear in his writing that he was vaguely jealous of this Virginian. The Virginian militia lacked the class of the British, though their chief of scouts was proving competent, particularly with the Indians. The Mingo Indians knew the area very well, and were apparently an off-shot of the Iroquois. However, the Virginian scout and the Mingo did nothing to convince the Indians they met along the way, the Delaware, to join the British against the French and Indians further west. Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Gage, a stout British commander with ambitions was head of the canon in the vanguard, well back from Braddock's main forces that were building the road and inching along bit by bit every day. Horatio Gates, another strong British officer, though still young, showed promise for the more administrative details.
Braddock was showing his cruelty, Charles noted. A Virginian teamster by the name of Daniel Morgan was given four hundred and ninety nine lashes for striking a superior officer. Such a whipping would normally be a death sentence, but Morgan had survived and was with Gage in the rear, healing from the ordeal. A fellow teamster, Daniel Boone, was said to be helping him heal and staying with the vanguard to keep the fiery Morgan from any more outbursts.
Haytham made sure to keep his men out of sight of Braddock, and the cold camps without fire became quite wearisome. Dried fruit and meat were hearty, and stopping at any of the creeks and streams kept a fresh supply of water, but the month of such fare were starting to wear on his men. He knew that Diio and her allies were setting an ambush, but he didn't know where or how to find her. He was starting to despair, wondering if she had somehow been caught or killed. He had no way to find her, no allies with the Indians to contact. William was close with the Iroquois, but they would not be facing Iroquois. While his Irish companion was fluent in Iroquois and Algonquian, the numerous dialects were too many for any one man to know. William had tried to explain that sign language, using hands to convey words was the best method for avoiding dialect errors, but Haytham failed to see how twitching a finger could convey what a human voice could.
But he never let his worry show. He was the leader of the Colonial Rite, he could not let his worry over anything show. He needed to remain calm and confident. So Haytham sweltered in the humid heat, scolded Thomas and his nudity of only wearing a cotton shirt, and chatted with John, William, and Benjamin.
June turned into July, with the heat continually increasing, and by the end of every day, Haytham was grateful to make camp and at least pretend to wash up. Rain had just passed a few days before, slowing Braddock down yet again as the British had barely made two miles distance, leaving Haytham attempting to keep his men from idle boredom. Scouting ahead himself, he came across a small cave that was well hidden from the ridge line, and decided a properly warm meal and fire might be in order.
Thomas produced some sort of liquor he'd been keeping with him for celebrating a proper victory, and William was able to bring in some squirrels and rabbits from snares he'd set to have properly fresh food. With a protected fire, meat, and alcohol, the evening turned very jolly in deed.
"...on the cold, cold ground!" Thomas was belting out, staggering from having drunk most of the bottle himself, and Benjamin gave a slightly tipsy "Hear, hear!" when a hand ghosted along Haytham's shoulders and a husky alto whispered in his ear.
"Hard at work, I see."
Haytham whirled, surprised. No one snuck up on him, he did the sneaking. But there was Diio, kneeling down with an amused quirk to one corner of her mouth and a soft chuckle. "How did you..." No one snuck up on him!
"It is time," Diio ignored his question. "We have camp to the north." She gave a satisfied smile. "Come."
The others seemed to notice her, and looked to Haytham. While he didn't care for the embarrassment of being caught unawares, the fact that she could was intriguing. Fascinating that she was so well versed in silence and stealth. But those were thoughts for a different time.
"Gentlemen!" Haytham stood, dumping his water on the fire. "Let us away."
Her camp was two days north, and was filled almost entirely with natives. Haytham spied a few French, but Diio kept him away from them.
"I see you've been busy," he understated.
Diio nodded. "All the men are from many different tribes, united in their desire to see Braddock sent away. The Abenaki, the Lenape, the Shawnee."
"Really," William stepped forward, surprised. "I thought the Lenape, that the Delaware, claimed neutrality."
Haytham turned with a questioning glance.
"The Delaware are the Lenape," William answered quietly.
Diio smiled. "They do. The Lenape will not choose between the British or the French. But against Braddock, they stand."
"But the Abenaki are from New England. The Lenape from back east, towards the Atlantic, and the Shawnee... aren't they west of the mountains?" William ran a hand through his hair. "Just how far has Braddock been pushing people away? He hasn't been everywhere."
Diio narrowed her eyes. "Perhaps not all tribes have faced the Bulldog's bite, but can not one tribe understand another's plight? Can not a group unite against one who would harm all?" She shook her head. "With us are also the Odawa, Ojibwe, and Potawatomi."
William nodded. "Now that sounds like French allies."
Diio kept talking, ignoring the interruption. "The Canadian commander, Beaujeu, is in charge, but he knows not of us. Only that I brought other allies."
Haytham nodded, absorbing all the gibberish names that Diio could pronounce so precisely. "And you?" he asked quietly, looking to her sparking eyes. "Who do you stand for?"
"Myself," she replied, looking away.
Haytham said nothing, only looked at her with kindness. There was a story there, one he was curious of, but would not pry.
"Very well," he said. "What would you have me do?"
"We will prepare an ambush." Diio took Haytham and his men further into to Indian camps. "We are sending a small delegation to the British, requesting that they halt their advance so that a negotiation of a peaceful withdrawal of Fort Duquesne might be arranged. It will delay so that we might better prepare at the Monogahela River."
Haytham nodded. "Very clever. I will sneak in with the delegation and join the British so that I might keep a better eye on Braddock and kill him when the time is right. I would recommend my men stay with you to help prepare."
Diio considered for a moment. "Warraghiyagey will go with you. If anything goes wrong, he may return with word." William nodded at his native name being used.
Haytham nodded again and gave one of his more charming smiles. "As you wish, my lady."
She raised a brow, unimpressed, but did give the barest of smiles.
Haytham was once more in his British uniform, joining the column seamlessly. The Virginian surveyor, who had finally caught up after his bout of dysentery (which wasn't that hard given how slowly Braddock had been going), and the chief of scouts were walking to the fire of the camp the British had made.
"Tell me you've good news," the chief of scouts said.
The Virginian held himself stiff and formal, his lips in a thin line. "General Braddock refused the offer," he said quietly. "There will be no truce."
"Dammit," the scout growled, aware of decorum in the camp. "Why, George? What reason did he give?"
The Virginian surveyor, George, continued to hold himself still, frustration radiating off of him, but he remained polite and courteous. "He said a diplomatic solution was no solution at all. That allowing the French to retreat would only delay the inevitable conflict, one in which they'd now have the upper hand."
Haytham let out a quiet sigh. That certainly sounded like Braddock.
"There's merit to those words," the chief of scouts said quietly, "as much as I hate to admit it. Still... can't he see this is unwise?"
George's jaw tightened. "It doesn't sit well with me either, John. We're far from home with our forces divided. Worse, I fear General Braddock's bloodlust makes him careless. It puts the men at risk." The large Virginian sighed. "I'd rather not be delivering grim news to mothers and widows because the Bulldog wanted to prove a point."
John muttered a curse. "Where's the General now?"
"Rallying the troops for crossing the river tomorrow."
Dammit.
"And then it's on to Fort Duquesne, I assume?" John shook his head. "Damnable London arrogant pride. It always gets us all killed."
Haytham had already slipped out to the dark, where William was waiting. This would give Diio and the French and Indians less time.
Any who questioned Haytham on who he was or why he was there, he simply said he'd come up from the supply caravan. He stayed away from officers the following day as they crossed the river and kept his head down, imitating the low brow Cockney accent when appropriate. The ninth of July proved to be just as hot and muggy as the previous day, but Haytham was working hard to not only handle the thick air, but also the knowledge that things were about to go wrong. Diio had less time to set up the ambush, and Braddock was charging ahead relentlessly like he always did. So Haytham double checked his musket and the pistol he had hidden away in his saddlebags, making sure everything was loaded, dry, and ready. Once across the Monongahela River, he edged his way closer to Braddock's command.
"Everything alright, sir?" the Virginian surveyor, George, asked.
"Just savoring the moment," Braddock smiled harshly, his face twisted. "No doubt many wonder why it is we've pushed so far west into these damned uncrossable Allegheny mountains. Why not leave the untamed and unsettled land to the French? But it shall not always be so." Braddock gestured to the dense forests. "In time, our holdings will no longer suffice. And that day is closer than you think. We must ensure that our people have ample room to grow and further prosper. Which means we need more land!"
Haytham shook his head. Imperialism at its finest. No one crown could hold all of that. But an Order might.
"The French understand this and endeavor to prevent such growth," Braddock spat.
More likely the French were just as damnably imperial as the British.
"They skirt around our territory, erecting forts and forging alliances, awaiting the day that they might strangle us with the noose they've built." Braddock was no longer smiling, but scowling as harshly as he did everything. "This must not come to pass! We must sever the cord and send the back! This is why we ride. To offer them once last chance. The French will leave Fort Duquesne and the rest of the Americas, or they will die!"
George said nothing in reply, merely kept looking straight ahead.
"Go check on your damn militia, Washington," Braddock finally growled. "It's the only thing you're good for."
It appeared that this Virginian surveyor was not always Braddock's favorite aide-de-camp.
From the front came a thunderous sound, stopping everyone in their tracks.
Being only ten miles from the fort, it was no surprise that the French had started an attack, but Haytham was uncertain if it was the ambush that Diio was setting up. He didn't know if William had enough time to reach her, and given that the diplomatic talk was supposed to take a few days in order for her to set up some sort of surprise, Haytham didn't know if she was improvising or if it was the French that had even started the attack. Braddock and his staff halted, waiting for a courier from the front. Lieutenant Colonel Gage was with the advance guard of three hundred grenadiers and some of the canon.
Everyone stood, waiting, and soon Gage's canon were firing. Riding swiftly back, a courier reported that the British had come upon the French and Indians, who were using the ravines to try and rush towards the river. Reports were sketchy, rumor had it that the French commander was already down.
But the musket fire from the front continued. Braddock wheeled around his troops, shouting orders left and right, and sending messages to not only Gage's men in the advance guard, but also the column in front of him, the men around him, and to his rear guard. With the demoralization of the French, it would be easy for the British to advance and conquer the fort.
Dammit all! Diio didn't have enough time!
Haytham squinted, trying to see as more rounds of fire exploded through the dense forest of spruce and fir. Within a few hours, however, the sounds of fire were much closer, and less organized. It seemed the French weren't demoralized, and were advancing along both flanks with unbelievable speed. Because Diio is leading them, not some Frenchman.
Soon word arrived Gage and his advance of grenadiers and his canon that were falling back. The road was too narrow and soon troops were on top the column ahead of Braddock, which was quickly advancing after hearing the commotion in front of them, per Braddock's orders. But the retreating British and advancing British crashed into each other, not knowing who was part of which regiment or unit, and more shots were approaching. Everything was dissolving into chaos and reports from the officer corps were becoming more disjointed as they tried to organize the grenadiers and regulars who had devolved into outright panic. And now, not only were the French sniping at their flanks, but they were advancing down the road as well.
Braddock was bellowing orders left and right, attempting to get reorganized and all of his officers followed suit. Gage attempted to use the canon again, but the road was too narrow, the forest of spruce and fir too thick, and the situation to confused. The advance column of grenadiers, the other advanced column, all had collapsed in the span of a few hours and were coalescing around Braddock's main force and still running. The Virginian militia men were assumed to be French and fired upon as the chaos continued to build and build.
Braddock's anger echoed across the field. "I'll not tolerate any doubt or cowardice among those I command! No sympathy for the enemy! I have no time for such insubordination! When we win this war it will be because men like you listened to men like me! And did so without hesitation! We must have order amongst our ranks and a clear chain of command! Leaders and followers. Without structure there is no victory! Now get into your regiments and form up!"
Navigating the chaos had been difficult, his horse almost tripping over all the fleeing men who were enshrouded in the fog of fear and running for their lives. But Haytham was finally up behind Braddock, his pistol out. Hours of chaos and combat in the muggy heat were taking their toll, and Haytham took a moment to wipe sweat from his face as he leveled his pistol.
"Edward," he greeted in a shout over the musket fire. "Not so fun on the other end of the barrel, is it?"
"Such arrogance," Braddock spat. "I always knew it would be the end of you. Is the end of you."
Braddock reached for his pistol, but Haytham fired.
Braddock's side exploded, blood spurting from in front and behind as he fell from his horse.
"You're a hypocrite," Braddock growled, clutching at his side. "Why, Haytham?"
"Your death opens a door. It's nothing personal." Haytham's lips thinned. "Well, maybe it is a little personal." All Haytham's control, all his poise and veneer disappeared into nothingness as he let his true self free. "You've been a pain in my arse, after all."
"But we are brothers in arms," Braddock spat out, still clutching desperately at the hole in his side and unable to hold the matching whole in his back.
"Once, perhaps," Haytham conceded coldly. "No longer." Leaning forward in his saddle, Haytham hissed out his fury. "Do you think I've forgotten what you did? All those innocents slaughtered. And for what? It does not engender peace to cut your way to resolution. Those who rule protect those beneath them."
"Wrong!" Braddock growled, still twitching and unable to stop. "Were that we applied the sword more liberally and more often, the world would be a better place than it is today."
Ruling by fear. Machiavelli had his merits, after all. "In this instance," Haytham growled, "I concur. Farewell, Edward."
Haytham dropped his pistol and lifted his musket, but there was still battle engulfed around him. The chaos had caught up and a stray shot brought down his horse, pinning him.
"The general is down!" came an American call. "All forces! Gather up the general! We must retreat!"
An American creating order. Who'd have thought. Haytham scowled, trying to free his leg from the damnable horse lying atop it.
"General, help is on the way. We shall remove you to the rear."
Haytham twisted, watching the Virginian surveyor, George, gather a rag-tag squad to lift Braddock and start carrying him away. The Virginian kept shouting orders, calling on people by name and starting to get an organized retreat with the officers. Dammit all! He'd lost his chance. Granted, the musket wound would probably kill Braddock, it would simply take longer.
Realizing that, Haytham was somewhat glad that this Virginian was able to spirit Braddock away. A long and lingering death would likely still be too easy. All around him on the ground were British officers, the men who had tried to rally the regulars and been cut down for it. For the moment, Haytham stopped struggling, played injured or dead, and just took some time to rest after the hot and chaotic day.
Once darkness fell, Haytham worked more precisely in unburying his leg. His ankle was horribly twisted, and it was painful to walk, but using a fallen musket as a crutch, he hobbled to the meeting point. He managed to pull his boots off his swollen foot only by cutting it off and settled in to wait.
He had pulled hard cheese from his pack and was chewing when he was suddenly aware of a presence in the dark.
"You are injured."
Diio. Haytham smiled in the night. "Not terribly. I've survived far worse."
There was only silence in the night for a moment, before Diio helped him to his feet.
"It is done," Haytham lied softly. Diio was a far more pleasant crutch to use than a musket. "Now I've upheld my part of the bargain. I expect that you will honor yours?"
Diio said nothing, but stayed by his side in the dark until they were back with Haytham's men.
Benjamin cleaned the foot and wrapped it, telling Haytham to make sure he stayed off it, and kept the cool compresses on it. With Braddock dying somewhere, there was no need to keep them here, so Haytham told them that they could all head back to their lives and he'd get in touch. Alone with Diio, she took him through the forests of the frontier. She walked, guiding the horse, and hunting for food, and setting camp. Haytham had servants back in England, like his loyal friend and coachman Holden, and all the help that worked under Reginald as Haytham had been raised. Having others do his work for him was nothing new. But Diio wasn't a simple maid who was only capable of cooking and cleaning. She was self-reliant. She did everything that was needed not because he insisted or asked her to, but because it was simply what she did. She would come to camp with wild fruits or mushrooms, a fresh rabbit for the fire. She would check his ankle, discover some stream or creek he hadn't noticed, and dampen the compress on his ankle or refill their canteens.
Her constant practicality was appealing. A European woman didn't deal in what was needed, she dealt in what was fashionable, or gossip. And the quiet grace Diio exhibited in every move just endeared her further to Haytham. She would be a conquest indeed.
Haytham had lost track of the days, and no longer was sure if it was July, August, or perhaps even September with the slower, more measured pace they had taken up through the mountains. By then he had healed and was helping her with the hunting. Dogs would be more useful, and he would quietly explain how hunting worked in England, with dogs to scent out the prey, and scare it into an easy shot. Diio asked questions, seeking details, and seemed convinced that it was somehow cheating.
The fact that she was finally conversing was a pleasure, and her low, husky voice almost seemed to follow him into his dreams. She still said nothing about herself, or her people, but that didn't mean she didn't have anything to say.
When they at last arrived at their destination, Haytham was clueless on where he was and doubted he'd ever be able to find this place again. He'd need to make markings of some sort when he went to gather his men to start studying what was in this Grand Temple.
It was a dark cave, holy shit this looks familiar, and in the light of their torches, he could see crude, primitive drawings of some kind. Diio pulled out the strange ring and gave it to Haytham. He stepped forward, already seeing a strange blue-green glow from both the ring and the wall, proving their connections! This was it!
But the lights just faded.
"No... No!"
Haytham held back a sob of frustration. All that journeying, all that research, killing Braddock, twisted as he had become, yet still an old friend of times passed, all this for nothing.
"You seem disappointed," Diio said quietly, stepping forward.
He looked away, then up in an attempt to hold back his tears. "I thought that I held a key that would open something here..."
"This cave is all there is," she replied quietly.
"I expected... more," his voice was watery, and he turned his back to her, attempting to regain control of himself. He stared at the red paintings, the tall shadowed figures, the small approximations of man, and beast. He cleared his throat. "What do they mean?"
"It tells the story if Iottsitíson, who came into their world and shaped it for what life might come." Diio lay her torch on a stone and stepped forward, hovering her hand over the paintings, but not quite touching them. "She had a hard journey, fraught with great loss and and peril. But she believed in her children and what they might achieve." She turned, her eyes sparkling. "And though she is long gone from the physical world, her eyes still watch over us." She stepped forward, brushing a stray hair from his eyes. "Her ears still hear our words." The hair was brushed behind his ear. "Her hands still guide us."
And her hands brushed down his arms to hold his hands.
"And her love still gives us strength."
Haytham didn't want his conquest of this strong woman to be because he was being overly emotional. But she had been... wonderful. "You have shown me great kindness, Diio," he said softly, squeezing her hands. "Thank you."
"Ziio," she corrected. But she still smiled.
Neither moved.
"I... uh," Haytham stuttered as Diio stepped closer. "I should go."
But Diio had pulled him down into a kiss.
Haytham stayed with her for two weeks, simply enjoying their time together. But he needed to inform his Order of what they had found. She guided him for many days until they reached William's trading post. The others were summoned, and within a week, they were all sitting in William's study.
"Master Kenway," Charles started, after Haytham entered. "Did you find it, then?"
Haytham shook his head. "It was not the right place." He turned to the rest. Thomas still had his foot on the table, as he always did. William was at the head of the table, since this was his home, pouring out drinks as a good host. John was sitting straight, hands folded neatly, his military training evident even here, and Ben brushing off crumbs from the table. "Gentlemen," he greeted. "I fear our 'temple' was no more than a painted cave. Although it did contain precursor images and script, which means we are close."
Thomas scoffed. "Not close 'nuff it seems."
"We need to redouble our efforts," he glanced at Charles, "expand our Order, and establish a permanent base here. Although the site eludes us, I am confident we have other goals we can accomplish."
Getting rid of them for starters. That would be the first priority. And a war was always such a wonderful excuse to get rid of enemies.
"Truth!" John agreed.
"Furthermore, I believe it is time we welcomed Charles into our fold."
Charles gave a soft inaudible gasp.
"He has proven himself a loyal disciple, and served unerringly since the day he came to us. He should be able to share in our knowledge and reap all the benefits such a gift implies. Are any opposed?"
They were all smiling.
"Very well." Haytham turned, savoring the startled gape on the young man's face. "Charles, come, stand."
The boy quickly complied, his back rigid as if he were at inspection in the army.
"Do you swear to uphold the principles of our order and all for which we stand?"
"I do," he said quietly.
"And never to share our secrets nor divulge the true nature of our work?"
"I do."
"And to do so from now until death – whatever the cost?"
"I do."
Haytham smiled. "Then we welcome you into our fold, brother. Together we will usher in the dawn of a New World what? One defined by purpose and order. You are a Templar. May the Father of Understanding guide us."
Everyone stood. "May the Father of Understanding guide us."
Wait, what?! What the fuck?
Desmond slammed closed the partition that lead to that ancestor, slammed it with all his might. That philosophy, that belief in someone being better and ruling the idiots below, Desmond blocked that out and reinforced his partition. He already understood the basics of it, he didn't need to live and breathe it as an ancestor.
No.
Just no, he wasn't going there, he wouldn't go there again. Haytham Kenway had nothing he needed. He was shit with the hidden blade, no wonder, he was an expert fencer, but so was Ezio and Altair, he was a strategist, as was Altair, he understood nobility and connections, as did Ezio, there was no need for Desmond to visit Haytham, so Desmond locked that partition off, never to be accessed again.
Goddammit, what the fuck?
Desmond opened his eyes, looking up to the lacquered like rock above him shaded in the blue-green glow of Those Who Came Before. He sucked in a breath and rubbed at his forehead, the strain of closing off that ancestor making his head pound. Goddamnit.
"You all saw that, right?" he raggedly asked. God damn it!
"Wow," Rebecca turned from her monitor, voice low in awe.
"Wow indeed," Shaun echoed quietly.
Good; he wasn't going insane again. They'd seen that bullshit as well.
Desmond sat up, took a moment to collect himself after that punch-in-the-gut revelation. William was behind him, arms crossed and looking annoyed. Desmond frowned, rubbing at his headache again. Knowing his father, especially Clay's memories of just how goddamned driven he was, Desmond knew they wouldn't have time to discuss the mind-bending revelation that had just been dumped on him.
God damn it!
"The key must be the amulet Haytham took from London," Desmond said, rubbing his head again. The glow in the cave, it was sure as shit the key they needed.
"We might know what it looks like, but we're no closer to finding it," William stated. "Desmond, you need to keep going."
Anger flared brightly through Desmond and anger was so easy. He'd just been gut-punched by his own ancestry and locked it away to avoid thinking like a Templar again. And his father wanted him to just dive back in? And do what, watch Haytham honeymoon with Kaniehtí:io? No way, he'd seen enough of Ezio's exploits. And he wasn't going to subject himself to Templar logic. There was such a cold pragmatism, a harsh acceptance of humanity's idiocy, that Desmond would not subject himself to again.
"Hey," Desmond growled, standing up and turning to glare at his father. "He was your ancestor too. Why don't you hop in the Animus?"
Why should Desmond be the only one to risk his sanity? Why didn't his father risk something and maybe then he'd understand what it was like to be human.
"Really," William sneered, arms still crossed and radiating disappointment. "That's your response. It's like dealing with a six-year-old." William narrowed his eyes. "What is wrong with you, Desmond?"
Something in Desmond snapped. He straightened his spine, set his jaw, and glared. "You wanna know what's wrong?" He stalked forward. Of all the heartless questions to ask... "I'm sick of being treated like I'm not even here!" he shouted. "Desmond, do this! Desmond, do that!" Like when he'd been a child. "Desmond, you'd better figure things out because the sun is going to turn us all to ash; and I know I was really nice to you, but actually, I'm just another Templar plot-twist," because Lucy's betrayal still hurt thank you, and Desmond ignored Shaun look away and Rebecca tear up, "and yes, I would like very much for you to be controlled by a magic space wizard so that you can murder me!"
The aching wound of Lucy's death throbbed. Just because he'd learned that Lucy was a Templar didn't mean he still didn't care. It didn't mean he wasn't quietly grieving in his own way. He knew she hadn't wanted any harm to come to them, that she cared, but understanding and accepting were entirely different and both were so very difficult. Lucy had played him like a fiddle, but she hadn't realized that was what she was doing. But he had still been in Templar control, with Vidic and Lucy pulling the strings.
"So there's your answer!" he shouted, letting his words echo in the cavern. "I'm sick of being a goddamn pawn!"
A pawn for Templars, a pawn for Assassins. Was there truly any difference between the two? "I thought it might be different with you! I mean you're my father," Desmond glared coldly, his anger still building into a towering rage against everything his father had done. "But it turns out you're no better than the fucking Templars!"
Finally something in William snapped, and the next thing Desmond was aware of was once again being on his back looking up to the lacquered rock of the ceiling, his jaw aching.
"Don't you ever equate me with those bastards again!" William yelled. "You hear me? Everything I do, everything I have done, has been for you!" William's face was twisted in anger and rage, and Desmond felt cold satisfaction that he'd finally gotten something out of the robot that was his father. "Maybe I pushed a little too hard? Asked a little too much? Maybe you need to be coddled like a baby? But try and remember exactly what's at stake here. You need to get it together, kid! We're running out of time!"
Oh, his father was going to play that, the fact that they were on a deadline and didn't have time for piddly little things like emotions?
Desmond took a breath, but Shaun was suddenly between them, nervousness dripping as he stepped into what was clearly a private confrontation.
"Riiight. That was unusual," he said lightly breaking through Desmond's anger. "Well, I'm just going to pretend that this never happened and get back to bringing everyone up to speed on where we stand."
Desmond took a deep breath and let it go, trying to get that boiling rage and resentment back under control. This is exactly what had happened when he'd been sixteen. He'd pushed and pushed and pushed to get any sort of feeling or emotion from his father, only to have his father knock him flat on his back, and that had been the last straw. Desmond had run away.
Now, he had a responsibility as an Assassin. He couldn't just run away because his father would never give him what he needed. He had work to do, and he had to work with his bastard of a father. So Desmond pulled that rage and frustration back, listening to Shaun.
"The news isn't good," Shaun explained. "It appears this Temple is powered by a collection of um... well, I guess they're batteries."
"Yeah," Desmond nodded. "Like the one I found when we got here."
"Precisely," Shaun let out the tiniest sigh of relief that the pissing contest was over. "But there aren't any more around here. We've looked. At least... not down here."
Desmond nodded. "Any idea where we can find replacements?"
"Not yet," Shaun said, walking back to his computer. "So, I intend to tiptoe into the Abstergo database." He gave a wry grin. "Now, if I can cross reference these particular devices with their database, I might get lucky."
"See what you can do," William ordered.
Rage boiled up in Desmond, but he pushed it back down.
Shaun scowled fiercely, just as displeased as Desmond. "Obviously," he said dryly. Then Shaun turned to Desmond. "Anyway," he said, more softly, "you can either take a look around here or we can head into the Animus."
"I'd say a good meal first," Desmond replied. "And a proper night's sleep." If for no other reason than to get rid of his headache.
William scoffed and stalked away.
"Jackass," Desmond muttered. He turned to Shaun and Rebecca. "So do we have a camping set up down here like we did at Monteriggioni, or are we still setting that up?"
Both Shaun and Rebecca glanced at each other.
"Er, Desmond, mate," Shaun hesitated, then sighed. "Today is November fifth."
Desmond blinked. "The fifth."
"Yep."
"The fifth."
"I think I hear an echo."
"The fifth. So I've been in the Animus for six days."
"Don't worry!" Rebecca stepped forward with false cheer. She pulled him to her laptop and started pulling up windows. "I've been staying on top of your vitals. See? Not even a blip. The Animus is keeping you in a resting state, which is why you're not feeling fatigue since you woke up, and there's been some extensive micro-movement in your muscles, so no atrophy issues either. The memories must be getting more vivid for you." She gave a bright, false smile. "Still, we'll be bringing you out for breaks just to stay on the safe side."
"Once a week or so, I take it?" Desmond said bitterly. "What, did my dear old dad want me in there even longer?"
Rebecca's false smile started to crack.
Desmond sighed. "Sorry," he muttered. She didn't deserve his bad attitude, especially since Rebecca was probably taking Lucy's death and betrayal as bad as Desmond was. They had been in high school together, and Desmond remembered waking up one night in Monteriggioni to see Rebecca and Lucy talking about all the stress. "So I've noticed some changes in the Animus..."
Rebecca smiled more sincerely, grateful for the change in topic, and started to expound on her expansions and working on the operating system from the ground up with some help from other Assassin cells.
"And speaking of your 'fixes' and 'updates' and improvements'," Shaun groused, "one would think you would have the decency to include a British English dictionary in the spellchecker. Some of us prefer to use proper language when writing. The database keeps replacing 's' with 'zed' and it's declared war on the letter 'u' as well. Wrong, wrong, wrong!" Shaun crossed his arms in full acerbic sarcasm. "It's all rather ethnocentric if you ask me. Also quite against the principles of the Assassin Brotherhood, last I checked. And here I thought we were meant to be an all-inclusive bunch..."
Rebecca scowled at Shaun, but her lips were twitching against a smile. "You and I can have a long discussion about it later," she said lightly, and Shaun had the decency to gulp.
Desmond chuckled quietly, then turned back to Rebecca. "So what else have you been working on?"
"Lots of different stuff," she shrugged, heading to one of the boxes from the truck and digging through it. "Here. If you're going into the field for these batteries, we need a way to keep tabs on you and stay in touch. Hacking into local security systems won't cut it."
Desmond put the device I his ear. "Thanks," he said softly.
"For what?"
"I don't know... everything." Desmond refused to be like his father, he refused to not address the emotional needs of those around him. Rebecca was hurting and he needed to do something for her, even if it was as miniscule as expressing his gratitude. "You've sacrificed a lot for me. You and Shaun both," he said, glancing to the redheaded Brit. "You upgraded the Animus, helped train me, pulled me out of that coma... All that work in the database. Helped me solve Clay's puzzles." Desmond sighed, rubbing his temple again. "I know I haven't been the easiest person to work with with all my baggage. And I'm sorry for that. And I just want you to know that even if I'm shitty at showing it -" learned straight from his father, "I appreciate everything you've done."
Rebecca was looking particularly watery-eyed, but she just nodded, clearly not trusting her voice.
"Welcome back," Shaun said softly. "It's good to see you fully recovered. Can't imagine what it was like for you, trapped in the Animus... If you ever want to chat about it, you just let me know."
"Why Shaun," Desmond let light-hearted sarcasm drip from his voice, "one would almost think you cared."
Shaun scoffed dramatically. "Fine, fine! Be that way, you American lout. Just don't ask me for a tour of the facility."
"How about a tour of the facility?"
"You rat bastard."
Rebecca laughed.
"Seriously, though," Shaun dropped the light-hearted teasing, "Orders from William. No exploring without clearing it with him. We carry our headsets at all times." Shaun cleared his throat then did a fair impersonation of William. "We 'can't afford to lose anyone because of curiosity got the better of them. We're short-handed as it is'."
Desmond smirked. "Right. But I doubt a tour of where we cook, eat, sleep, and wash up is out of bounds."
"Quite so!"
Rebecca bowed out. "Still doing updates," she said. "Maybe I'll get around to adding an Australian English dictionary."
Most of the camp was far back from the massive gate, right at the entrance. Shaun and Rebecca were clearly still sharing a sleeping bag, and William had his own sleeping bag off to the side. There wasn't one set up for Desmond, but as far he was concerned, he'd steal his father's, so it wasn't an issue. Between the sleeping bags was the camping stove, and someone had clearly made a supply run during the time he was in the Animus. There was an organized cooking area, foods set aside in groups, pots and pans neatly stacked by spatulas and spoons. Desmond suddenly wanted to sit down and start cooking.
The wash area was actually outside the Temple, were there could be some privacy. But without running water or even a nearby reservoir, all the water was bottled. Shaun explained that the hike down to the nearest stream was too long and would likely be exposed to cell-phone surveillance.
"Damn, what I wouldn't give for a good shower."
"Don't go complaining to me about that," Shaun groused. "We have far more creepy things to worry about."
"What, is this place haunted?"
Shaun let out a humorless laugh. "Not Halloween any more, Desmond," he grunted. "But we do have a visitor down here. It's Juno."
Desmond stopped walking and stared. "What?" He thought he was the only one to hear or see her...
"She's been appearing every now and then," Shaun explained, not looking at Desmond, but aside, his face etched with... something. "Sort of flits through the air, reminds us to guard you well, find the key, blah blah blah, and then - poof! - disappears." Shaun shook his head. "At first we thought it was just another holographic recording like what we saw under the Colosseum. But then your father called her some rather choice words and she glared at him."
Desmond stared at Shaun incredulously.
"Honest! Swiveled those eyes in his direction and frowned." Shaun shuddered. "Creeped me out. I don' t know if she's reaching out to us from the past, if some part of her is actually still conscious somewhere in this temple, if maybe she's inside the Apple, like some evil genie. Whatever it is... gives me the creeps."
"I don't blame you," Desmond replied. They re-entered the Temple, and both Shaun and Desmond stared at the flickering orange presence of Juno, as if called on command, hovering by the Animus. William was stalking over, and Desmond decided it was best to leave the two be. Rebecca was already retreating towards them.
"Safety in numbers," was all she said as they sat around the camp stove.
"Well, what do we have? I'll cook," Desmond offered.
"Sounds great!"
After rummaging around the food stocks and running through recipes in his head, Desmond realized that they didn't have as much variety as Monteriggioni, given that there wasn't a nearby town to get supplies from regularly. Still, Desmond made do.
"Desmond, about your father," Shaun said quietly, stirring the pot while Desmond sliced some cheese.
He stiffened, but let Shaun continue.
"William's not the most diplomatic man, I'll give you that," he said softly. "But he cares about you very much. In a quiet way." Shaun rubbed at his red hair. "When you were under, during that whole bit with Sixteen, he never left your side. Even slept in the same room when we put down for the night."
Desmond didn't say anything.
"Anyway, don't mean to be a busybody. Just didn't want you to stay sore with him. Not too sore, anyway." Shaun rushed through. "That man means well, even if he's got an odd way of showing it."
Letting out a long, low sigh, Desmond sat back. "I know," he said quietly. He remembered Clay and what he'd seen of William. He saw the kindness, the care, buried under determination and dedication. But that had never been what a toddler or child needed. William may care, but he didn't know how to be a father. And when a child needed a father, that would never make for a good mix.
Conversation faded after that, and Desmond finished cooking and dished out their small meal.
Rebecca, looking strained, glanced around. "You really think we'll finally get some answers down here?"
Shaun shrugged, sipping his precious tea.
"Maybe," Desmond shrugged as well. "Talking to the First Civ has always been a pain in the ass though."
"Imagine what it must be like for them," William sat down with them, and dished out his own part of the meal.
Desmond felt irritation flare, but he only grunted.
"What do you mean?" Rebecca asked, eying Desmond warily. He gave her a wan smile, promising to behave.
"They've been separated from us by tens of thousands of years," William explained. "A completely different language and culture... possessed of an intelligence vastly superior to our own. We're lucky they've communicated as much as they have."
Desmond remembered Lucy, her eyes tearing as she realized that Desmond was about to kill her.
"Lucky isn't the word I'd use," Desmond muttered. "I don't know why they had to make this all so complicated. I mean if they need something from me, they should just come out and say it." Instead of using him like he was their slave or pawn.
"I've been wondering that myself," William nodded, then took a sip of his coffee. "I get the sense from what Rebecca and Shaun told me and what I've seen of Juno, that Juno and Minerva didn't exactly see eye to eye. I'm studying everything I can get my hands on... But maybe you'll find something down here that can shed light on the mystery. What happened between them and why?"
Desmond didn't reply. They'd been civil this far and he didn't want to ruin it. Because sure, why not add another thing on his long to-do list of saving the fucking world. But he kept civil by keeping quiet, and took another bite.
Rebecca hesitated, but turned back to Desmond. "What do you think is behind that door?"
"No idea."
"Do you think it can save us?"
Desmond shrugged. "The First Civ seemed to think so."
"What if it's dangerous?" she asked quietly.
"It's not like we have a lot of alternatives," Desmond set down his plate, suddenly not hungry.
"Well, we could... I don't know... warn President Obama?" Rebecca asked, strained.
"And what's he gonna do?" Desmond replied. "You've seen how the Tea Party blocks anything he tries to do, good or bad. And who's to say he's not in bed with Abstergo." Lucy flashed across his mind. "Seems everyone is these days."
"Well," Rebecca stared at her food, "what if we went to them? To Abstergo, I mean."
Desmond chuckled, glanced at his father, and shook his head. "Thought about it actually. Showing them what we've seen. Trying to work together..."
William frowned severely.
"They must know so much more than we do," Desmond trailed off. "But..."
"What is it?" Rebecca asked softly, putting a hand to his arm.
Desmond sighed. "It's possible that they know what's going to happen. That they want it to happen. For all we know they're hiding out in bunkers, right now, waiting for the rest of the world to end. And then when its all over, out they come, ready to take control."
Rebecca shuddered. "God, I hope you're wrong."
"So do I, Rebecca. So do I..."
Author's Notes: Whee, no more creeper Haytham, huzzah!
So. This chapter. There's kind of a lot going on here and - as will happen a lot with these beginning chapters - a lot of information to get across.
First: if you ever have time, google a map of native american peoples before the Colonies. There were zillions of them, and though Connor's story is limited to the tribes of New England, we want to at least touch the fact there are more native americans than there are European countries. Some studies estimate that before it was colonized upwards of 42-47 million people lived in North America, and nowadays we're lucky to have about 5 million. That's something like 11-12% of what they once were. Colonists and Western Expansion and Manifest Destiny annihilated almost ninety percent of Native American culture just 'cause - like Braddock - we wanted more land. And worse, nobody talks about it. America's one original sin as a country is that we were deeply racist buggers. Anyway, there are lots of tribes mentioned here, and none of them will be touched again because Connor isn't in the area all that much.
Second: there are a of of names over on the British side. The subtle intro of George Washington of course, but also some other names that - as a history buff - will make you drool. All of these names pop up again as major players in the Revolutionary war. Much like the Civil War had soldiers from the Spanish-American War, the Revolutionary War had soldiers from the French and Indian War - same players, even same battles in some cases, different side and different causes. Some of these names you won't see again later, but others you will. Keep that in mind in future chapters :P
Third: Haytham and Ziio. Sigh. We've done the best that we can to make the relationship seem believable, that Haytham can and did worm his way deliberately into Ziio's heart - a Conquest - and while doing so garnered enough respect and admiration that he might, if you stand on your head and look cross-eyed, picture him having feelings for her. Haytham as a character is too guarded, too closed off from people around him, too concerned about protecting himself from being hurt to really allow himself to attach to anyone. He confuses us as much as he confuses Ratonhnhake:ton (more on that in MUCH later chapters), but we tried to make it work.
Meanwhile, the Braddock Expedition we held to history again. The battle itself is interesting, not just on the technical level of two sides surprising each other, but also because of how it shaped George Washington. He survived the fight with something like six bullet holes in his coat, was the sole American to bring order to the scattered British forces, had presence of mind to hide Braddock's body from the French, etc etc. It's also a dark echo of what he did the previous year at Fort Necessity - which he was so deeply embarrassed by he almost never spoke of, perhaps because he kind of STARTED the French and Indian War.
Oh, and Desmond snuck in, too. Hi Desmond! Not much to say on that score, there's nothing really added. More on him and his Daddy issues in later chapters.
Next chapter: Ratonhnhake:ton.