Hello, I'm back for chapter 4~!
First off, an apology. I meant to post this yesterday, but I went to see the remastered Titanic in 3D for the 100th anniversary of the sinking. It was a great movie, but very long, and it was too late to do anything when I got home. So, sorry for my lateness, but I think you can forgive me, yes?
Thank you very much to ShippudenFlower, Maiya123, WeAllFlyHigh, and Divinehearts for your reviews!
Thank you as well to HonestLiar33, gemstarre, ScatteredSands, Animateia, and again to ShippudenFlower, Maiya123, and WeAllFlyHigh for your alerts and favorites!
Just as a note, for this chapter and the next the rating goes temporarily to T due to the language of certain people and blood, because hey, this is a war. I'm not going to bother to change the story rating as a whole, so this is your warning.
I disclaim, and own nothing.
The Army, Alfred soon found, wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
Sure, he had his fair share of skirmishes, when the smoke from the muskets and cannons was so thick you could barely breathe and the sound of a drum was the only thing you could rely on. The adrenaline rush he got from the simple thrill of being embroiled in battle was something amazing, and those around him all seemed just as excited.
But in between all that were exhausting marches through all manners of weather (honestly, he could now see why nobody ever tried fighting during the winter), filthy conditions and illness seeming to strike down more people than the battles did. As Alfred watched, the Army fluctuated between growth from new recruits and decline after battles as soldiers died, deserted, or went mad.
The front though, was where Alfred needed to be. He couldn't imagine doing what Rose had hoped he would, staying in Philadelphia and working in diplomacy, even if he still didn't feel his strongest.
No matter what he'd told Rose, his perpetual illness had followed him to the battlefield, resulting in coughing fits and stabs of pain that seemed to return often, especially when he was fighting, causing Alfred to wonder if he was really being any help to the cause at all.
Sitting alone in his tent, deep in his morose thoughts, he didn't even register that someone else had entered.
"Excuse me? Are you, er… Jones?"
Turning in surprise, Alfred met the nervous-looking face of another young man. He had slightly long, curly blond hair and brown eyes, and seemed rather young to be in the military.
Finding his voice, Alfred replied, "Oh, yeah. Yes, I'm Alfred Jones."
Relief spread over the boy's face. "Thank goodness! I thought I'd walked into the wrong tent for a moment, and how embarrassing would that have been, I mean on my first day here and everything, just getting off on the wrong foot with some random guy who probably would have kicked me out and then hated me forever because of one little mistake, and that would be so humiliating—"
"Hey."
The boy broke off. "Yes?"
"You're rambling," Alfred said evenly, causing the boy to flush a deep shade of red.
"Oh, I'm sorry! I mean, I just sort of do that when I get nervous I guess, my older sisters and my parents always told me it's a silly habit that I should break but I don't know how to stop—"
Alfred gave up and threw his boot at him, noting the satisfying thud it made upon contacting the other.
"Ow! That hurt!" the boy whined, hands clapped on his head.
"Then be quiet," Alfred said, trying to sound strict, but his words didn't have much of a bite. Sighing resignedly, he asked, "What's your name?"
The boy straightened on his knees and awkwardly saluted. "Zachariah Wetherby, sir!"
Alfred lifted an eyebrow. "Zachariah Wetherby?"
The other flushed and looked away. "It's a common English name, you know."
"It doesn't suit you at all."
"I know… I don't really like it… so you can call me Zach! Much less formal, don't you agree?" His grin was almost blinding in intensity, but definitely genuine. Alfred smiled back.
"It's nice to meet you, Zach."
_V~-~-~V_
Despite the rocky initial meeting, Alfred soon found that he liked Zach. He was energetic and almost perpetually happy, if somewhat of a worrywart. And he did worry about everything, from the serious things like battle to the silly things like whether his belongings were packed properly in his satchel. He seemed to alternate from being meticulous and hyper-observant to daydream-y and a bit of a klutz. In an endearing (if somewhat irritating at first) fashion, of course.
The boy (for with his childish face and attitude, Alfred couldn't help but think him anything but) had yet to be involved in any real battles because he'd had the misfortune of enlisting in late autumn, and their regiment hadn't been involved in any conflicts between then and winter, when all armies took a break and focused on surviving the bitter New England cold instead. He continued to share a tent with Alfred throughout their many marches, all the way until they reached Valley Forge.
Alfred decided that this was the craziest of his right places yet. It was bitterly cold, none of them had proper clothing or food, and the camp was disorganized at the best of times. It was also the first right place he hadn't needed to go out on his own to reach, and thankfully so, because deserting your regiment just to find another didn't fly in the Continental Army.
He and Zach stuck together, because sharing body heat was perhaps the only way to survive.
Unfortunately, just because it was cold didn't excuse them from performing military duties, and it was well-known that their commander, a man named Davis, had a strong dislike for, "that bumbling idiot," or Zach. It wasn't the boy's fault; the commander just made him extremely nervous. Even so, whenever it was time for some pointless task to get done, Davis called on Zach (and by association, Alfred) to do it.
"Wetherby! Jones! Get your lazy asses over here and peel these potatoes!"
Alfred grumbled under his breath, but Zach's hands started shaking. "Oh, Alfred, what if I screw up again?" he moaned. "Remember the last time he tried to get me to empty the rabbit trap and the little guy got away, and the time before that when I accidentally spilled water on the fire when they'd just got it going, and before that when I tripped into Harris's tent and accidentally broke one of the poles, and before that—"
"Just shut up and move, or we'll get yelled at worse," Alfred retorted, a bit harsher than he meant to. Zach looked at him with his patented kicked puppy eyes. Alfred gave. In a gentler tone, he said, "All you have to do is mimic me, and don't think about Davis. It's just peeling potatoes after all, not anything difficult."
However, it soon became clear that shaking, frozen hands didn't peel potatoes well, and as a result even Alfred did a poor job. Davis came over to sneer, picking up a skin from the barrel.
"You call this peeled? There's much more meat on here that you're wasting with your incompetence! You two just got put in charge of after-dinner cleanup by yourselves, is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Alfred muttered, and Zach managed a nod. Davis stalked off, leaving the two in peace with the remainder of the potatoes.
It was Zach that broke the silence. "Hey, Alfred?"
"Yes?"
"Potatoes don't have meat…" Alfred snorted.
"Of course they don't. They're potatoes, not deer."
"Then what exactly is all this?" Zach asked, holding up a handful of white potato. "I've never harvested any, because we grow mostly corn on our farm…"
Alfred contemplated the question for a moment, feeling like an idiot because he had harvested potatoes before. "You know… I have no idea."
_V~-~-~V_
The camp hadn't actually had a dining tent before the Prussian commander, von Steuben, had showed up. When it was just the American commanders, anything went in the camp. Thanks to the Prussian, organization was better and conditions were more sanitary. Zach even mentioned that the man had written a whole book describing correct army camp setup, and he was a Baron, so Alfred assumed the guy must know what he was talking about. Plus, he swore loudly in German and French, and hired some guy to translate his cursing into English, which the Americans found rather intimidating. It was whipping the soldiers into shape, and the whole camp was looking a lot better.
However, the same couldn't be said for the weather. As they got further into winter, the temperature had a tendency to drop abruptly after the sun went down at Valley Forge, even if there were clouds in the sky all day long. As a result, the cleaning of the dining tent had to take place very quickly after sundown, or the water would freeze in the buckets and on the rags.
"Cheer up, Alfred!" Zach said with a grin as he carried the water pails towards the tent. The other soldiers had all cleared out already, and the pair had gotten their fair share of sympathetic glances from the rest of their company, who would definitely not want to share their predicament.
"It's only cleaning! We'll have it done soon enough!" Zach continued, his cheery demeanor an abrupt turnaround from his earlier nervousness.
"If that idiotic Davis doesn't show up," Alfred muttered, "and if our hands don't fall off from frostbite."
"Don't be like that," Zach chided. "We'll finish before any of that happens!" Still, his cheer didn't really do much to boost Alfred's mood.
The closer they got to the dining tent, the more Alfred noticed a pair of voices. Both spoke English with different accents, so it took longer than usual for him to get a grasp on their conversation.
"—silly Americains and zeir people do not know how to do anything correctly. Zeir food here is also awful, almost as bad as Angleterre's. And zere are no pretty ladies in zese camps, not like during my wars."
"And there's not enough beer. What kind of army doesn't have enough beer?"
"Zere is not enough beer in ze world for ze likes of you, chèr Gilbert."
Their conversation devolved into a fit of arguing as Alfred and Zach entered the tent. The pair was sitting at a far table, wearing two different uniforms, but both had so many decorations Alfred was certain they were officers of some kind. Motioning for Zach to be quiet, they began their cleaning on the farthest table from the pair, trying to be unobtrusive. Who knew, they might report them for being disruptive or something, despite the fact they were the only ones left in an empty tent.
Out of the corner of his eye, Alfred studied the two further. The one facing him, with the harsher-sounding accent, had strangely pale skin and silver hair, and from where Alfred stood it looked like he had red eyes, but he wrote it off as a trick of the dim lighting in the tent. He couldn't see the face of the other (the one who replaced all his th's with z's), but he saw blond hair pulled into a ponytail beneath his large hat, one that reminded him very much of Arthur's from the British delegation in Boston.
As they cleaned, Alfred noticed Zach was stealing glances at the strange duo as well. "Who do you think they are?" the other boy whispered.
"Dunno, but they look pretty important. I wonder how they know each other, being from different armies and all," Alfred replied, also in hushed tones. The two continued to watch, and Alfred nearly dropped his pail of water when a tiny yellow bird came flying through the tent flaps. He was even more shocked when the little bird, who appeared to be carrying a paper, went right over to the silver-haired one and landed on his shoulder, causing the man to grin.
"Gilbird! You're back, little buddy! Have you got my reply from Fritz?"
The little bird cheeped in what Alfred would swear was an answer, causing the man to stroke his head with a finger.
"What do you think of the awesome me's message system, Francis? Pretty cool, huh? Kesesesese…!"
The Frenchman laughed as well and said, "Writing to ton roi beux? Ze pair of you has quite ze unique relationship, non?"
"He's the king of the awesome me, so of course!" the silver-haired man said, and Alfred winced at the innuendo that seemed to have gone right over his head while the Frenchman chuckled.
"What are you doing here anyway, Gilbert? Surely you are not here to teach zat petit Angleterre a lesson as well?"
"Nah, I'm just here because my people are. Fritz told me I should get out of the country for a bit anyway, it's not like we're doing much there." This caused the Frenchman to chuckle again in that strange fashion of his.
While the officers had been talking, Zach and Alfred had made their way through every other table in the dining tent, but the pair didn't seem to pay them any mind until they walked up to the head of theirs.
"Excuse me," Alfred spoke up, "but we need to clean here, if it's not too much of a bother."
Both turned to look at him, allowing Alfred to see the Frenchman's face for the first time. He was surprisingly young, just a bit older than the silver-haired man, with blue eyes and barely present stubble on his chin. He also noticed that the other man's eyes were indeed a deep shade of crimson. Alfred repressed a shudder (because, puffy little bird or no, the eyes definitely were unnerving).
The Frenchman smiled cheerfully. "Mais non, it is no bother at all. We were just about to leave, is that not right, Gilbert?"
The other just grunted and stood. "Whatever. I'm gonna go to my tent and read my letter from my awesome king."
"Mind if I follow you?" the Frenchman asked smoothly.
"Yes, I mind. You're a bloody pervert," the other replied, shooting his friend a glare, to which he responded with an obviously false display of injury.
"Ah, mon amour has been denied yet again! Tragic, how few truly understand!" The pair walked past Alfred and Zach, the Frenchman muttering something in Zach's ear that left the boy blushing bright red.
Alfred watched them go, wondering exactly who they were. They reminded him very much of Arthur, and he decided it was something more than just the Frenchman's hat. Turning back to the table, he said, "C'mon, let's finish up. Then we can turn in too."
_V~-~-~V_
On days when the snow was too thick to perform drills or light fires, Alfred and Zach were left confined to their tent, passing the time with card games and swapping stories of their lives. Alfred told Zach of working for Ben Franklin and of Rose, and his farming years before Boston and Philadelphia.
"I'm the youngest son," Zach said. "I've got three older brothers and two older sisters, plus a younger sister. The oldest two brothers are set to carry on the farm for father and the other is studying to be a lawyer, so they were all pressuring me to do something with my life."
"So you joined the Army," Alfred supplied, giving his boots another wipe. They'd been clean long ago, but he felt like he needed to do something or he'd freeze.
"Yeah," Zach said quietly. "My older sisters and mother didn't like that, they're a bit protective, but father was all for it. Said the Army would whip me into shape good, and then maybe I'd actually be useful."
He paused, looking very depressed, but perked up and asked Alfred, "So why'd you join? Was it your folks too?"
"Nah, I lost touch with them a couple years ago, when I went to Boston. I just felt like, once the Revolution started, the army was where I needed to be." Abruptly, Thomas Mather's words came back to him, replaying in his distinctive accent, "You just watch, son, it'll come soon enough. Heck, you're young, you'll probably fight in it! Fight for American freedom, that's what you'll do!"
Fighting for American freedom, Alfred mused. He supposed that was what he was doing, but it didn't feel like anything all that grand.
"I don't really know… but someone who can protect people, or make people happy. I think I'd like that."
"I think you would do a smashing good job."
Alfred smiled as his own words to Arthur also came back. If that was his life goal, he supposed he was doing a good job of fulfilling it, just as Arthur had said he would. He wondered where Arthur was at that moment. Probably still sitting in stuffy politician meetings, where maybe, by now, he'd actually look like he was supposed to be.
Zach interrupted Alfred's thoughts with a loud sigh as he leaned back onto his bedroll. "I wish I could make it on my own, but I'm definitely not brave enough."
"You're brave enough to join the Army," Alfred replied, "I bet you could do it." Zach gave him a wan smile.
"Thanks, but all my money's getting sent to my family anyway to buy seed for this year's planting and to pay for Paul's law school. It'll also probably get used for Sally's dowry…" he laughed ruefully, "so I won't see a cent."
"Just get yourself a job once we get done with this war. I'm sure there'll be plenty to do once we're an official country."
"You think I could do that?"
Alfred gave his most encouraging smile. In the last few months they'd spent together, Zach was undeniably the best friend he'd ever had, and even if he was a bit too timid for his own good, he definitely was one of the kindest people he'd ever met. He'd surely get a good job once they were done with this Revolution. He answered without hesitation.
"Absolutely."
_V~-~-~V_
Alfred thought spring would never come to their frozen encampment at Valley Forge, but the snow slowly yet surely melted until the trees started to show the little green buds that signaled new life.
It wasn't all that surprising when, one morning, Davis's voice sounded through their company's camp. "Up and at 'em, you sorry excuses for men, we're moving out today!" After all, Alfred figured that the British would want to get moving as soon as possible to put down the unruly rebels and return to England.
Both Alfred and Zach were fully awake very quickly at the sound of Davis's barking voice, knowing that if they were anywhere near the last person, they'd get their hides handed to them by the commander. Bedrolls were tied, their few belongings stuffed into satchels, uniforms donned, and tent dismantled at lightning speeds, with the only discussion being a confirmation that it was Alfred's turn to carry the tent poles.
Moving as fast as they could without running, the two filed into place in the line, thankfully noting that they were among the early ones. That didn't stop Davis from shooting them a glare, but it seemed to be his general use one for all the men, so Zach's shivers stayed manageable.
"Where are we going, sir?" one of the other soldiers had the bravery to ask.
Davis kept his eyes focused on the troops filing into place, but answered, "The higher-ups want us moving to New Jersey. Washington seems to think the Reds are vulnerable while they're concentrating on some baggage train." He glanced at the line of men. "I hope for your sakes that von Steuben's training worked, or you'll be nothing but inexperienced American dust under the filthy boots of those lobsterback regulars."
After that, the troops remained silent while the rest arrived. As was typical, Davis gave the last man a verbal thrashing before he gave the order to march.
It was an unusual march because they weren't alone as they had been before, but joining a bulk of the Continental Army exiting Valley Forge. This would be their first major battle, and Alfred could practically taste the tension in the air.
_V~-~-~V_
The plan of attack was unclear at best. There was supposedly an advance group that would be leading the assault, followed by a few others. From Davis's rants directed at messengers, Alfred gathered that there was a fair bit of bureaucratic confusion surrounding the leadership of the units, something he figured the higher-ups would figure out eventually. He had more pressing matters to deal with.
Zach's talent for worrying was reaching new extremes. He was constantly packing and repacking his belongings, each time to take out the few personal objects he'd brought with him: a locket from his mother, a handkerchief from his sisters, and a pocketwatch from one of his brothers.
He also kept muttering pessimistic thoughts. "What if my rifle gets jammed? What if I drop my ammunition? What if I don't hear the orders right and get lost?"
And worst of all, "What if I don't come back?"
It was depressing.
"Zach!" Alfred snapped, grabbing his best friend's shoulders with both hands and wrenching Zach towards him. Even if they'd only known each other for little over half a year, Alfred could see the differences in Zach's face. The new lines between his brows, a hollowness to his cheeks, a slightly more mature countenance; it was the little things that let him know war was taking its toll.
"You're worrying over nothing!" Alfred continued. "'What ifs' aren't going to get you anywhere! Just be confident in your training and it'll be all right!"
Zach shrugged off Alfred's hands. "You don't know that," he muttered. "They're perfectly real concerns."
"Yeah, and if you keep thinking about them they'll give you bad luck! So stop!" He was still obviously unconvinced. Alfred sighed exasperatedly. "Listen to me, Zachariah Wetherby!"
That got his attention. Zach snapped his head around, brown eyes wide. Alfred never called him by his full name.
"Your rifle had been cleaned so many times, jamming is the last thing it would do! Your ammunition bag can be tied to your waist, so you can't drop it! I'll be right beside you, so you definitely won't get lost! And goddammit, you're going to survive, so don't you dare talk like that!"
Taking a breath, Alfred forced his voice back down to a normal volume and said, as convincingly as he knew how, "We're the heroes, the brave men of the Continental. You and I are going to go back home and be heroes together, for America. You're going to see your sisters, and I'm going to see… I'll see Rose, because I promised I'd come back. So you will get out of this battle, I swear."
Zach stared, stunned at the vehemence of the outburst. Then he cracked a small smile. "I guess you're right. Then we'll make it back together, okay Alfred?"
"We will," Alfred agreed. "I swear we will."
_V~-~-~V_
The battle gave Alfred a distinct sense of foreboding from the start. As part of the advance group, he knew they were under the command of General Lee, someone both intelligent and experienced, but for some reason he just couldn't bring himself to like the man. He would much have preferred the younger Washington. Perhaps then they wouldn't be clueless about their orders and moving at a snail's pace after some British baggage train.
The June heat was equally unbearable as the Valley Forge cold had been. Alfred could feel the energy being sapped from those around him as the day wore on and the heat only intensified. The humidity was just as strong, with moisture palpable in the air and clouds on the horizon signaling a coming storm.
Sounds of a skirmish elsewhere could be heard, but without a clear idea of the British troops' locations, their corps was given no orders. Glancing sideways, Alfred made eye contact with Zach. He gave him what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, earning a brief smile in return.
Alfred noticed the men around him moving, beginning to head nervously in the direction from which they'd come. He turned to one of the aides on horseback.
"What's going on?" he shouted. "Why are we retreating?"
The aide gave him a confused shrug. "We have no orders from the General, and the enemy's troop movements would make attack useless. I'd advise you to follow your comrades, son," he replied, turning his mount around as he spoke.
"Let's go, Alfred," Zach said quietly, tugging on his uniform sleeve. "We don't want to get left behind."
The pair joined the movement of retreating troops, shuffling back along the road they'd come by, already tired and filthy without having fired a single shot. Sounds of gunfire still reached their ears from a distance, and the sky was clouded with the all-too-familiar haze of artillery smoke.
Suddenly, Alfred heard a shout. Indecipherable at first, it grew clearer as they grew closer to its source.
"Halt the retreat! Form a defensive line, immediately!"
Zach turned to Alfred, confusion written clearly on his face. "Did he just say to stop retreating?"
"I think he did," he replied, falling into place with the growing line of soldiers and turning back to where they'd just retreated from. "Maybe the British are coming this way now."
"Best not to question orders, I guess," came the reply, as Zach heaved himself into a more favorable position, loading his rifle. "Now what?"
"We wait."
They didn't have to wait long for the first line of red uniforms to emerge from the encroaching smoke. Alfred briefly recalled words von Steuben had once mentioned to them: "Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes."
Though he didn't really believe in Sarah's God, he closed his eyes for a moment and prayed.
The command came, a harsh bark through the stifling stillness of the battlefield.
"Fire!"
Alfred held his breath, and squeezed the trigger.
V/~-~-~\V
That was the longest chapter yet! I am impressed with myself...
The battle that Alfred participates in was the Battle of Monmouth, in Monmouth, New Jersey on June 28,1778. All troop movements and the "bureaucratic confusion" were as accurate as I could make them. For more information, the american revolution. com is very helpful (take out the spaces).
Yes, von Steuben did hire people to swear for him, as well as making major improvements to the Americans' camps at Valley Forge. France also had many generals and troops fighting with the Americans (because he wanted to beat up England), which is why he's chatting with Prussia this chapter.
Davis and Zach are my own characters. If there was an officer named Davis, it's coincidence. Alfred is an ordinary soldier because he looks too young to be an officer, still his late teens.
Thank you for reading! If you have any comments or corrections, a review would be lovely. Please look forward to chapter 5!