Lucy braced herself against the sides of the wagon as it jumbled roughly along the forest trail. Her ankle, still sore and swollen as it was, prevented her from walking alongside Rufus, though she would have preferred that inevitable pain to this. The jarring, jerking motion of the wagon was making her sick…and just sitting, doing nothing when her nerves were as raw as they were, was driving her crazy.
Every snapping twig, every rustling branch, every movement that caught her eye had her on edge…and just sitting made it worse.
Somewhere, far ahead of them, Braddock's infantry was marching to their doom…or at least she thought they were. Everything was so different now, she had no idea what to expect from any of this…but that didn't make her feel any better.
History was at stake…yet, for history to play out, Lucy knew, the risks were enormously high. Not just for her and Rufus, but especially for Wyatt.
Why he ever agreed to Braddock's insane plan…why he ever donned that stupid uniform…she had no idea. Maybe, it was just the soldier in him - his need to see a mission through to the end. Maybe it was a higher sense of duty…a need for some kind of revenge after all the French had put them through since landing in this century. Maybe he was just a reckless hothead with a stubborn streak a mile wide…
Whatever it was, it was driving her crazy.
The coming battle - if it were, indeed, like the one in the history books - would be devastating.
A massacre.
A bloody rout.
And Wyatt knew this.
So why the hell did he put himself on the front lines?
"Reckless hothead," Lucy muttered angrily as the wagon gave another almighty jolt.
.
Their half of Braddock's army, led by Colonel Thomas Dunbar, was moving at a much more leisurely pace. Requiring more of a road than the infantry, their march was more or less a crawl as militia men and soldiers, not part of Braddock's advance corps, cleared away parts of the forest to make a suitable path for the wagons and heavy artillery.
Though, Lucy had to admit as her teeth rattled in her head, they weren't moving leisurely enough given the terrain.
When the order came to stop as they awaited the clearance of the road ahead, Lucy gingerly climbed out of the wagon and made her way to the medical wagon, limping and clutching her stomach as she did so.
"You okay?" Rufus offered, giving her a wary glance. "You look…kinda green."
Lucy glared at him as she mixed up a concoction of ginger root. "Never in a million years did I ever think I'd miss Mrs. Poe," she groaned before she tilted her head back and drank down the mixture. "Ugh," she gasped, wiping her mouth, "that's awful…"
"Could use some dramamine, huh?" Rufus observed. "I'd kill for a damn pair of Nikes…"
Lucy rubbed the back of her own neck and groaned, "Well, the good news is at least we're closer than we were to the Lifeboat." Eyeing him, she added, "Any luck with that foil?"
Rufus scoffed, "Yeah, right…when the hell am I supposed to make it? It's musket balls and horseshoes all over again."
"Which reminds me," Lucy sighed,pointing to the hospital wagon, "I've got a few hundred bandages to make. If war's coming…we need to be prepared."
Limping towards the hospital wagon, Lucy set to work with the other women, ripping strands of muslin and rolling them together. It was mundane, mindless work…but at least it kept her occupied and distracted. With Mrs. Poe and Mary's ]absence though, Lucy felt the strain more than usual - they would at least talk with her, keep her company. These women? She wasn't sure if they were still laboring under the presumption that she was a French spy or if they were just that unfriendly, but they had barely even glanced in her direction since she was forced to join their ranks.
All through the morning and afternoon she worked - if she wasn't rolling bandages, she was helping bake bread, boiling water for coffee, constantly moving from one end of camp to the other until, she noted, the darkening sky. "Why aren't we moving again?" she hissed to Rufus over supper.
"Beats me," he shrugged as he took a bite of stew. "They must be having trouble clearing the road up there."
Just the mention of trouble was enough to send Lucy's heart racing, her anxiety over the entire situation had already wound her up so tight, Rufus kept eyeing her as if he half expected her to snap in half.
"Relax," he offered, seeing her fists clench, "I'm sure it's fine…you heard that Dunbar guy, there's swampy ground up ahead…they're probably just working a way around it."
Lucy nodded, trying to convince herself that Rufus was right. Their delay meant nothing…certainly not to Braddock's men who were probably miles ahead of them by now. If anything, the distance was a good thing…too close and they were liable to find themselves in the middle of a firefight.
A restless evening was spent lying awake in the back of one of the wagons, looking up at a night sky filled with stars. Lucy's mind was a jumble of thoughts, but mostly they strayed to one blue-eyed, infuriatingly stubborn soldier who was, she couldn't help but think with a smile, lying out there…somewhere, under the same impressive canopy. "It really is amazing isn't it?" she mumbled to Rufus who was propped up against the back wheel.
Keeping his promise to Wyatt and watching over Lucy with a borrowed .45 in his pocket, Rufus shifted, "Hmm…what do you mean?"
"How bright the stars are here," she observed lazily. "You never see stars like this in 2016…not in San Francisco anyway."
Rufus tilted his head up and sighed, "You know, as much as I hate it here, I have to admit…you're right. They are pretty incredible….kinda makes you understand why Galileo and Copernicus were so interested in getting a closer look."
"Not just them," Lucy murmured, "think of all the ancient civilizations who understood the movements of the planets…without the benefit of technology." Rufus hummed in agreement before Lucy offered quietly, "It almost makes you forget what's about to happen here."
"Almost," Rufus agreed with a yawn, "but not quite. It's kinda hard not to think about it when we could be ambushed any second."
As if to assure herself that there wasn't a band of Frenchmen and their allies waiting at the ready just outside their camp, Lucy lifted her head and peered into the darkness.
Nothing.
From their position everything was quiet stillness, the bright night sky illuminating the rolling landscape in a picturesque scene that almost took her breath away. Like Rufus said, if they weren't currently in a military camp, you'd almost forget that war was just around the corner.
"Do you think he's okay?" she whispered after a long pause.
"Who, Wyatt?" Rufus scoffed, "He hasn't let us down so far has he?"
"I wish he was here," Lucy murmured, pulling Wyatt's jacket closer over her shoulders.
"Yeah?" Rufus grunted softly in return, "Me too."
"Rufus," Lucy murmured after a short pause, "do you think…I mean, if we couldn't fix the Lifeboat. Do you think…we could ever be happy here?"
"You're asking the wrong black man," Rufus replied.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't….I didn't mean that…I meant…"
"I know what you meant," Rufus acknowledged with a nod. "Life here? It's…it's been challenging…hell, sometimes it straight up sucks. But," he admitted with a frown, "there are things I…I'm kinda grateful for. The people we met, the things we did…I mean, I made penicillin and a washing machine.
"I learned how to cook," Lucy added with a smile. "I never thought that would be possible." A long stretch of silence settled between them before Lucy murmured quietly, "I think…I might miss this place a little when we go home."
"Yeah," Rufus admitted with a sigh, "I think I might too…just a little.
It was just after dawn when Lucy (and Rufus) began to disavow their sentimental musings of the night before. As the camp made ready to leave, a grisly discovery had been made near one of the rear-most wagons. The call of alarm had barely been sounded, when Lucy…who had been washing her face in the nearby stream, saw first-hand what had prompted it.
Three of their party, two laborers and a washing woman no more than 18, had been brutally murdered and strung up about 500 yards away from the last wagon. Their throats were slashed, their scalps missing…and upon further inspection of the mutilated corpses it was determined the woman had most likely been raped.
"You think someone would have heard something…" Rufus observed, clearly unnerved.
"Can't scream for help when your throat's cut, can ye?" Daniel Morgan growled in reply, gripping Lucy's arm. "Come away, m'dear…this is hardly a sight for civilized men, it certainly isn't one for a lady such as yourself."
Refusing to be moved, Lucy continued to stare as the corpses were laid next to one another in preparation for burial. "Why wouldn't they attack the whole camp?" She asked in a voice barely above a whisper. "Why do this?"
"You're asking me to understand the minds of savages?" Morgan scoffed, incredulously. "More than likely, they mean to unsettle us…an attack like this, done in the dead of night, with not a sound uttered? Who else but a savage could do something so cowardly? No sense in it - just a bloodthirsty rabble looking to satisfy their lust for violence."
Lucy stared as the soldiers wrapped the young girl in burlap, a few tendrils of her dark shoulder length hair spilling over her bloodied neck despite her missing scalp. Almost reflexively, Lucy reached up and twisted her fingers through her own dark hair, silently disagreeing with Morgan's assessment of the situation.
"Well I know I'm not going to get a wink of sleep tonight," Rufus observed after Morgan left them. "Seriously, nobody heard a damn thing? Don't you think that's weird?"
"Not really," Lucy muttered, remembering Morgan's reasoning. "Rufus," she gasped out in a panic, "I want to go home…I don't want to be here anymore."
"Hey, hey…" Rufus soothed, "I may not be as good as Wyatt, but I promise I won't let anything happen to you."
"What if something happens to you ?"" Lucy cried out. "I mean, those three…that could have been us…they probably were supposed to be us."
"Come again?"
"Those three? That could have been us, Rufus…probably were meant to be us."
Confused, Rufus shook his head at her, "What the hell are you talking about - you heard Morgan, they did it to scare the hell out of all of us…and I'm not ashamed to say they did a pretty damn good job.
"Whoever did that," Lucy explained with a huff, "didn't kill those people randomly…they meant it as a threat…to us…you, me, Wyatt….you didn't notice the physical similarities? Two men, one of them black….a woman with dark hair…"
"No I did not," Rufus admitted. "I was a little distracted by all the blood."
Lucy's eyes scanned the trees surrounding them…"they're watching us…"
"Okay Miss Gloom and Doom," Rufus interjected impatiently, "Suppose I believed you and this was supposed to be a message to you, me and Wyatt….why not just kill us ? Why murder innocent people?"
"I don't…." Lucy stopped, biting her lip in thought. To her, the attack felt deliberate…designed with them in mind as each victim resembled them in some way.
Or maybe…maybe she was just being paranoid.
"Look, I know you've been through hell," Rufus offered, "but Lucy…we've seen this before. It was an ambush…in the middle of the night…I don't think they cared who they killed or what they looked like…"
"Maybe you're right….maybe this was just a random ambush….but…Rufus…"
The order to move out sounded, however, before she could relay her fears. Reluctantly, she made her way back to the wagon, stooping down to pick up a large hunting knife among the soldiers camp as she did so. As she concealed it within the folds of her skirts she inwardly determined that if another such ambush were to occur, she wouldn't be going down without a fight.
—-
Wyatt drew his flintlock pistol as he slowly crept towards the forest clearing. It was just after dawn and the gentle mist that had settled in the woods overnight was now rising with the morning sun. As the tendrils of fog lifted, however, movement could be seen up ahead…and though he was hardly one to balk in the face of danger, he found himself cursing Braddock for volunteering him to investigate.
"Easy now," Daniel Boone whispered, motioning him to crouch down, "they catch wind of us and we're liable to get a bullet in the head."
In the two days they had been marching towards Duquesne, there hadn't been so much as a hint of the French or their native allies. Traversing low marshes and high ridges, Wyatt expected to see some sign, some evidence of the French army's presence he knew would all but decimate Braddock's larger force…yet, hour after hour, day after day they saw nothing…nothing but a canopy of trees surrounding them on every side.
Until this morning.
A sentry sounded the alarm just as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the trees. In the clearing just beyond the encampment, the movement of dark figures could be readily seen, though the light was still too dim to make out what those figures were.
Now as Wyatt peered over the top of the fallen tree, he could see them…three hulking figures who appeared to be stooping over something.
"Vultures."
Wyatt narrowed his eyes, "You sure?"
In answer, Daniel Boone picked up a stick and lobbed it overhead, as he and Wyatt stayed hidden behind the log. Wyatt watched as it tumbled through the air, finally landing within inches of the huddled group. Almost instantly, massive black wings spread forth, thunderously flapping until all three of the dark shapes lifted from their perch and into the trees above.
"Pretty sure." Daniel Boone chuckled, nodding at Wyatt to emerge from his cover. "Imagine we just interrupted their breakfast…"
As the two made their way towards where the vultures had gathered, however, the relief they had felt just moments before was replaced with an altogether different kind of feeling. "What in the…"
"Scalps." Boone declared grimly, lifting one up and observing "fairly fresh too…"
Wyatt stared hard at the dark tresses still clasped in Boone's hand, swallowing hard as lump of panic formed on his throat,. "How fresh?"
Shrugging, Boone frowned as he examined the scalps more closely, "Can't be more than a day…"
"A day?" Wyatt voiced, panic evident in his voice, "you don't think…shit!" Not waiting for his answer, Wyatt spun on his heel and raced back towards the camp, ignoring the concerned call from Boone somewhere in the trees behind him. His efforts, however, were hampered by General Braddock and his aides, sitting astride their horses, blocking his path.
"Ah, I was just wondering what had become of the two of you….is there trouble ahead?" Bradock asked in a voice so casual, Wyatt had half a mind to beat the shit out of him.
"I need to see Lucy," Wyatt replied curtly before demanding, "Get the hell out of my way."
"I asked you a question," Braddock remarked cooly, "I suggest you answer it." Pointing at Wyatt with a gloved finger he added, "And you will remember, sir - that you are addressing a General of His Majesty's Army. Another outburst and I shall personally see you flogged for your impertinence."
Hate like he had never known surged through Wyatt's body as he stood there seething at Braddock. He almost wished he would flog him…feeling it was the least he deserved if his worst fears were true. "Please," he urged, "I need to see my wife. I need to know if she's okay…"
"What did you see?"
"Scalps…and a note," Daniel Boone called out, striding towards them, lifting up a bloodstained letter in his hand.
Taking it, Braddock read out, " La justice sera rendue ." He raised his eyebrows and looked back down at a desperate Wyatt. "Your wife is fine…for the moment."
"How the hell could you possibly know that?" Wyatt demanded, before one of Braddock's aides swung down from his saddle, and punched Wyatt squarely in the jaw.
"I did warn you," Braddock observed lazily, as he handed Wyatt the note. "Justice will be served…" he explained. "That implies a future event…if you fear one of those scalps belong to her…"
"I need to see my wife," Wyatt insisted, "Hell, I should have never left her."
"You will be of much better use to your wife here," Braddock remarked unconcernedly. "By driving the French from this place we ensure her safety and the safety of countless other citizens of the crown."
"And what if you're wrong?" Wyatt challenged, knowing full-well Braddock, for all his pompousness, was about to have his ass handed to him.
Braddock chuckled, "If I'm wrong and one of those scalps does belong to your wife, well…you can do little but mourn her loss, can you?" Wyatt glared at him. "Nothing you can do there," he said pointing towards the rear of his line, "can possibly bring her back…but you can exact your revenge here ." Nodding at Wyatt meaningfully, he continued, "As I said, you will be of much better use to your wife right where you are."
As Braddock and his men rode off to inspect the rest of the camp, Boone handed Wyatt a piece of dried venison. "That's Braddock for you - a more arrogant sonofabitch you'll never find."
"If something happens to Lucy…" Wyatt began, hardly wanting to finish the sentence.
"Morgan is looking after her isn't he?" Boone replied as Wyatt silently stared back at him. "Don't discount him," Boone said in response to Wyatt's unsaid argument. "I know the last time he wound up with a hole in his head, but that only makes him more dangerous. He'll want his revenge…and he'll be damned if they ever take him by surprise again."
"I hope you're right." Wyatt muttered.
"I am too," Boone said with a smile, "but if I were betting man, I'd wager Braddock, in this case, is right. If they had killed her already, they would have said as much. And it's our job," Boone continued, "to make sure they don't get the chance."
—-The day's march was subdued and eerily quiet. All the world around them seemed still, hushed…as if the entire forest were holding its breath. Every soldier looked on edge, scanning the trees for any sign of movement, any hint of danger as they pressed slowly onward.
Lucy tightened the shawl draped over her head and shoulders. It was an unseasonably warm night, but yet, every gust of wind left her shivering and gripping onto the knife still concealed in her skirts. She knew the moment the sun dipped completely under the horizon they would be making camp…opening themselves up to the possibility of another stealth attack in the middle of the night, but as she made this same observation to Daniel Morgan, he merely chortled.
"They could ambush us anytime they wanted," he returned. "We're no safer now than we are when we've stopped for the night, m'dear," he warned, adding with an assuring pat of his hand, "but I'd see every one of them Frenchmen and their allies skinned alive before ever allowing them to harm a hair on your head…you can be assured of that."
Grateful, Lucy nodded from her perch in the wagon as Morgan rode along beside her, wondering where Rufus had gone when a strange, bone-chilling cry sounded somewhere in the lines ahead of her. Turning towards the disturbing sound, she glanced behind her only to see a figure diving out of the woods, burying a hatchet into the head of a soldier before racing just as quickly as he came into the woods beyond.
"AMBUSH!" Morgan cried out in warning beside her. As he began ordering his men to take up defensive positions however, Lucy found herself being dragged out of te wagon and dragged off by the hair. Wriggling and writhing in a desperate effort to break free, she screamed out for help, but the woods around her were now exploding in musket fire..effectively silencing her.
She blindly grappled against the strong hands that held her, scratching and clawing in an attempt to free the grip they had on her hair, but no sooner had she successfully caused her attacker to cry out in pain than she found herself being hoisted up in the air and roughly tossed, face first, to the ground.
Shaking, she attempted to push herself up but the heavy weight of a man was on her, the horrible, familiar stench of sweat, whiskey and bad cologne assaulting her nostrils as an all-too-familiar voice sounded in her ear, "Nous nous retrouvons ma cherie. Cette fois, vous ne vous en sortirez pas si facilement."
"Get off me!" Lucy gritted out, attempting to roll him off of her back.
Tutting at her, Major Marcel Toussaint pushed her harder into the ground, "Le tout en temps utile, mon amour. Monsieur Coloun aimerait un mot, mais j'ai d'abord besoin de votre attention."
With that proclamation, he roughly lifted Lucy's skirts, heaping them over her back as he verbally abused her as a "whore: pinning her rougher to the ground. Unable to muster the strength to push him off, Lucy almost resigned herself to her fate,when the weight of the hidden blade fell against her thigh.
With her shaking left hand, she rifled through her skirt folds, desperately searching for the pocket as Major Touissant settled himself behind her. With one hand pinning her right hard to the ground and the other firmly planted on her hip he moved against her, thrusting at her blindly…searching. "J'ai attendu longtemps pour ca," he groaned as he thrust towards her again, this time finding his mark.
"So have I," Lucy gritted out, ramming the hunting knife into his hand.
Crying out in pain, Marcel Touissant relinquished his hold on Lucy as he cradled his injured hand, allowing her to scramble out from beneath him. Still holding the knife, she pointed it at him, "You touch me again and I will kill you."
"Salope!" he shouted, lunging for her. Though Lucy tried to move out of his reach, he caught the hem of her dress, bringing her to the ground with him in an almighty crash. Still gripping the knife, Lucy fought against him, his blood dripping in rivulets onto her neck and chest as he attempted to wrench the blade out of her hand.
Lucy screamed as she felt the knife handle slip out of her fingers, her predicament all the worse now that her assaulter was armed. With a devilish grin he pressed the blade against her throat, "Maintenant, où en étions-nous?"
"I'll die first." Lucy gritted out, gripping his wounded hand and squeezing hard. Major Touissant cried out in pain again, the knife tumbling out of his grip just long enough for Lucy to regain the upper hand. With one forceful blow, she punched out with the knife, striking the French officer in the shoulder, forcing him to roll off of her in pain.
"Salope," he spat out again, "tu vas le payer."
Lucy, however, didn't stay to argue. Instead, she ran as fast her legs could carry her back towards the encampment, where all hell had broken loose. Dead and dying soldiers were everywhere with many more still desperately fighting off French and Indian troops hidden within the trees. Sobbing, she tripped over her own skirts and the bodies of soldiers until she found herself being pulled into the shelter of a large pine tree by Rufus.
"Holy shit, Lucy what happened to you?" he asked, his eyes widening at the blood stains covering her neck,chest and hands. Not waiting for her answer, he rattled on, "I thought you said the French were supposed to attack Braddock's men? We got the whole damn French army and their buddies out here butchering the reserves!"
'What?" Lucy exclaimed, jutting her head out from behind the tree. "Are you sure?"
"Pretty damn sure," Rufus breathed out, a bloodied shovel gripped tightly in his hands. "Here, we thought it was just an ambush…a few stragglers picking a fight for the hell of it…but by Morgan's count there's at least 1000 French troops in these trees and what's more - that Coulon guy is leading them."
"Oh god,"' Lucy groaned, running a worried hand through her hair. "What are we going to do?"
"Well, Dunbar sent off a rider to go find Braddock, but who knows how long it will take for him to get his big ass army back here."
Though Braddock's reserve force outnumbered the French, they were at an extreme disadvantage. Nestled in between a valley of rising forest, Dunbar's troops were like sitting ducks while the French force enjoyed the relative safety of the surrounding trees. Still, Dunbar wasn't going down without a fight. Rallying his men, he cleared out an elevated piece of ground and dug in, holding off the French assault as night fell around them.
"Light the torches!' Dunbar called. "We've got wounded!'
Hearing the order, Lucy made to leave the shelter of the tree only to have Rufus pull her back, "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
"I'm going to help," Lucy said with a determined nod, "We can't stay here forever."
"The hell we can't. This isn't our war!" Shaking his head at her, he added, "They're supposed to lose!"
"They're not," Lucy reminded him,"Braddock is…and he's not even here now, is he?" With a huff, she wrenched her arm free, "You can stay hidden if you want, but I can't just stay here and do nothing when all of those men need help."
"You're gonna get your ass killed and then Wyatt is gonna kill me!" Rufus hissed.
"Well then, you better take your chances with the French," Lucy retorted as she slipped out from behind the pine and scrambled up the ridge towards the rest of the women with Rufus cursing and following after her, ducking as musketballs exploded into the trees around them.
Ignoring his continued remonstrances about a "sure-fire ass kicking" from Wyatt, Lucy settled herself behind the front lines with a basket of bandages, quickly and desperately working to save the lives of the bleeding men being carried up the hill on crude stretchers.
Fully prepared to do her duty, Lucy raced forth with a basket of bandages, binding up mutilated limbs and sopping up bloodied temples. In earlier days such sights would have made her swoon, but now? Now she was busily engaged in her reluctant role as a battlefield nurse.
Wounded men were everywhere, all of them groaning and begging for relief…relief that she was desperately trying to offer, knowing all the while that some of them probably wouldn't make it through the night. Her back ached, her hands shook, her stomach lurched…but still she worked on, treating as many men as she possibly could even as her supply of bandages dwindled into nothing but a few odd scraps of linen.
Keeping busy was something of a necessity, after all. To be idle in a time such as this was…was unthinkable and not just because of the countless wounded who needed help. Idleness would allow her mind to run rampant with what-ifs…and frankly she didn't need any help in that department - not with history being so utterly changed, not that she was now in what was going to be the new Battle of the Monongahela.
For hours the battle raged on, the night sky glistening with stars bearing witness to the unspeakable horrors being carried out below. She wondered when Braddock's army might turn up, how it might change the course of history…if Wyatt was as desperate to see her as she was to see him.
It was impossible to keep him out of her mind. She knew, upon hearing the news they had been attacked, Wyatt would move heaven and earth to get to her and Rufus, taking little thought of his own safety. Every soldier she treated reminded her of him; every hand she held, could have been his; every parched mouth she relieved with a drink of water, could have just as easily could have been Wyatt's. His recklessness knew no bounds. Several times she found herself desperately crouching down before a dying man only to sigh out in shaky relief that it wasn't him.
Taking out her mounting anxiety on a stack of old rags, Lucy set to work ripping strip after strip of bandages….grateful to have a small reprieve from the wounded and dying. Dawn was fast approaching and while the musket fire had diminished somewhat over the past few hours, a sudden heavy volley from the French told her the battle was far from over.
She was exhausted from the night's effort. Between the heavy layers of clothing she was wearing and the frantic, mad rush from patient to patient, Lucy was certainly feeling the effects of the unseasonably warm weather. To make matters worse, a storm was brewing making the air feel heavy and thick even as she ripped another basketful of bandages.
She was wiping her sweaty brow, desperately trying to tamp down her mounting panic over another day of battle, when a triumphant roar arose from the camp, coupled with an almighty eruption of gunfire.
"Braddock." Lucy breathed out, her shaking hands dropping the bandages and rushing to where Rufus stood excitedly waving her over.
"They're here!" he called to her, pointing towards a large red column emerging from the trees behind the French line. "Not so tough now are you, assholes?" Rufus shouted out as the French scrambled to deal with the new threat. Lifting his trusty shove in the air, Rufus joined Dunbar's soldiers in a cheer, as another powerful volley from Braddock's men slammed into the French line.
Lucy, however, could not join in the celebration.
As much as she was relieved to see Braddock's army saving them from a battle of attrition she felt certain they would lose, this was not the way history was supposed to go. A victory for Braddock would absolutely alter the course of history…and she wasn't sure how they would ever make things right again.
For a moment, it seemed as though Braddock's army would completely envelope the French and annihilate them, but a roar from the French soldiers sprang forth and Braddock's army, as large as it was, faltered. Lucy could see the colors falling, the rows of men falling and others running in hasty retreat as war-painted natives cut into their lines.
Seeing this, Dunbar gave the order to assist, ordering his men to charge forward…and then it was pandemonium. Lucy ducked and swerved as soldiers, eager to help their comrades, raced forward into the exploding fray.
Lucy's mind was at war with itself, at once terrified for Wyatt and at once terrified that history would be irreversibly damaged. Her panic, her fear sent her throwing herself back into her work as she desperately sought to drown out the noise of battle. She was lugging a large bundle of bandages over to the next row of wounded men when she heard her name being shouted above the din. Turning, she saw Wyatt, lumbering forth into the chaos of the camp with a soldier slung across his shoulders. "Oh my God, Wyatt," Lucy gasped out, stumbling and tripping towards him.
He didn't appear injured, but there was something about the way he slunk into the camp that didn't feel right. He looked unnerved, uncomfortable…and when she gripped his arm, the way he nearly charged at her all but confirmed he was on edge.
"Oh," he apologized, seeing her and breathing out a sigh of relief, "it's you…you're okay."
This wasn't like the Alamo…this was worse. He had a look in his eye that seemed almost manic.."Wyatt…what happ-" Lucy began, before pointing frantically at the man Wyatt was now swinging off his shoulder and onto a soft patch of ground, "Oh my God…that's not…tell me that's not…" I
"It's George Washington," Wyatt confirmed, before gripping Lucy by the arm, "We gotta go…now."
Lucy, though relieved to see him, was exasperated that he was pulling her away from a bleeding George Washington. "No…Wyatt…" she gritted out, pulling her arm back in annoyance, "he's hurt."
"He's just knocked out," Wyatt grunted out, grasping her arm again, "Lucy, I mean it…we gotta go."
"What…" she paused, still hovering over the unconscious Washington, "Why?"
Wyatt anxiously looked towards the clearing as more soldiers stumbled back towards the camp, "I'll tell you later….come on…where's Rufus?"
"He's…" she began, but she had hardly had time to point out the general direction of their team mate when Wyatt was lumbering forth in pursuit of him. Taking an opportunity to assess the future President, Lucy ripped off a piece of her own dress and began dabbing at his bloody temple.
"Lucy dammit," Wyatt gritted out in escaperation at his return. "He'll be fine, he assured before adding ominously, "but if we stay here any longer, we won't be." Lucy had barely time to ask what he meant before Wyatt gripped her by the arm and dragged her away, ducking behind trees as they slipped towards the edge of the camp.
He had managed to get her just outside the camp's pickets before she wriggled out of his arms with a huff, "What is the matter with you? George Washington could be dying…"
"I told you," Wyatt hissed at her impatiently, "he's fine! But if he comes to we won't be fine…not if we stick around here," he added as he roughly motioned for Rufus, who was stumbling towards them in confusion, to come closer.
"Why?" Lucy asked, suddenly suspicious. "What did you do?"
"I did my job" Wyatt huffed, quickly shirking off his red British uniform jacket and stuffing his arms in the brown one Rufus handed him, "You got the guns?"he asked him.
"Yeah," Rufus asked in confusion, "But I don't understand why…"
"No time to explain," Wyatt interjected, quickly tossing his military gear to the side, replacing them with his more modern weaponry. Behind them somewhere a commotion was buzzing in the camp, but rather than investigate the source of the upset, Wyatt only seemed more determined than ever to leave. Gripping Lucy by the arm, he insisted, "Come on, we gotta go."
"Wyatt," she hissed, "what happened?"
As a sudden shout of alarm rang out, Wyatt grasped Lucy around the waist and skirted down the side of the rocky outcropping with a still-confused Rufus scrambling along after them. Ignoring both of their repeated protests as they raced through thick and boggy brush, Wyatt ran on until finally, finally he urged them to take refuge in a cave partially shielded by a what appeared to be a recent rock slide.
"In there," he urged, whispering, "hurry."
Confused, Lucy and Rufus scrambled over rocks and brambles as Wyatt frantically wiped away any and all signs of footprints on his own way up to the makeshift shelter, overlooking a small stream. Satisfied, he followed after them, once again wiping away any traces of footprints in his wake.
The sound of distant thunder brought a smile to his face as he settled into the close quarters beside them. "That ought to keep them off our trail for a while," he muttered as Lucy stared at him.
"Who?" she demanded, but just as she again demanded an explanation, above them, shouts echoed across the valley peppered occasionally with bursts of musket shot. Suddenly panicked, Lucy breathed out, "The French? Are they here? Did they follow you? Oh God, Wyatt…if they…."
"Will you be quiet?" Wyatt hissed, pulling her back inside the cave. "They're gonna hear you!"
"Who?"
"Who the hell do you think? The British." Wyatt snapped.
Rufus stared at him blankly, "Uh…not to sound completely dumb but…aren't they on our side?"
Wyatt merely scoffed in return, making Lucy narrow her eyes at him in suspicion.
"What did you do?"
"I told you," Wyatt grunted, "I did my job."
"Wyatt…."
"Look, I got George Washington out alive, right? That's what you asked me to do….to keep him safe."
"Wyatt…"
"And that wasn't easy either. Hell, I had to knock him out just to get him back to the damn camp."
"Wyatt!" Lucy gritted out angrily, silencing him. "What did you do?"
"You told me…"
His response, however, was completely swallowed up by an enormous crash of thunder and a sudden deluge of pouring rain.
"Now's our chance," he breathed out as began to exit their cramped shelter, "No way in hell will they follow us in this storm…
Lucy and Rufus stared back at him blankly. "You want us to go out in this storm?" Rufus gaped in disbelief. "Isn't that dangerous?"
"We're in a valley," Wyatt explained impatiently, "low ground…if we keep off the ridges we should be fine. Besides," he added as he stood outside in the rain, urging them to follow, "We can cover a lot of ground, without worrying about shaking anybody off our tails."
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what is going on. Why is George Washington
unconscious?" Lucy demanded. "Why are we sneaking away like criminals in the rain?"
""Will you just….I'll explain everything later, okay?" Wyatt promised, "Let's just go…now while we still can."
Lucy however, stayed stubbornly behind in the cave, admonishing Wyatt with a steely gaze. "What is going on, Wyatt?"
A shout somewhere above them had him flattening himself on the rocks beside them, glancing nervously up over his shoulder until the danger, whatever it was passed. "That was close," he breathed out, once again urging them to follow him, "come on, if we leave now we can get the hell out of here before they even realize we're gone."
"Wyatt Logan," Lucy demanded, "you tell me what is going on right now or…."
"I killed Braddock, okay?" Wyatt spat out, just as a roll of thunder roared across the sky.
"You did what?!" Lucy exclaimed in disbelief.
"I killed Braddock." he replied, just as more voices sounded overhead. "Which is why we need to get out of here, now!"
Not needing anymore convincing, Lucy scrambled out of the cave with Rufus close behind both of them racing after Wyatt through the wilderness for what felt like miles. They hardly stopped to catch their breaths as they ducked over logs, jumped over raging streams, and maneuvered their way around muddy bogs. Soaking wet as rain pelted them from seemingly every angle, they ran on until sheer exhaustion had them bracing themselves against an outcropping of rock cut into the side of the riverbank.
"You….killed…Braddock?" Lucy huffed out, holding a stitch in her side.
"I did my job." Wyatt replied.
"Your….I don't remember ever telling you to kill Braddock," Lucy argued. "Wyatt, he's…he's…"
"He's supposed to be dead, right?" He challenged, nodding at her. "You told me that…you said, 'Make sure Braddock doesn't win, Wyatt' so I did. Shot him right when he was declaring a victory over the damn French."
"Oh my God," Lucy groaned, holding her head in her hands.
"I can't believe you're upset about this," Wyatt argued, "Braddock was supposed to die, so I made sure he died. I saved history, okay?"
"Did anyone see you?"
"George Washington might have," Wyatt admitted after a short pause, leading Lucy to whimper in panic. "Maybe a couple of allies…I don't know," he huffed out before adding, "look, I knocked George Washington out not long after I pulled the trigger, chances are he won't even remember…"
"You knocked out George Washington?!" Lucy practically screeched.
"Again, I was doing my job. The minute Braddock hit the ground, the French rallied their troops. That's what you wanted right?"
"Not like this…" Lucy stammered incredulously.
"Well, I'm sorry…next time you need to save history, do it yourself then." Wyatt spat out angrily.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means what it means," Wyatt answered hotly. "Do you have any idea how worried I was over the two of you? When I heard the French had attacked…" He shook his head, "And then I do everything you asked me to do and you're giving me a god-damn lecture."
"I am not …"
"Whoa…." Rufus interjected, signaling a time-out, "As much as I love to be the third wheel in whatever relationship you two have going on right here, I gotta say - right now? Not the time or the place for this argument." Lucy and Wyatt both huffed and folded their arms against their respective chests as Rufus continued, "The way I figure it, we now have two damn armies hell-bent on seeing us dangling from the end of a rope, so forgive me if I think we need to stop arguing and start thinking about what the hell we're going to do about getting out of this alive."
Wyatt shrugged, "Easy, we're going to go home. You got all the stuff we need to fix the Lifeboat, right?" Wyatt stared at a suddenly sheepish looking Rufus, "Right?"
"You didn't tell me we were leaving the camp!" Rufus countered defensively, "You just said, "get my guns, Rufus and meet me over by the tree with Lucy.'"
"Why the hell wouldn't you bring the supplies for the Lifeboat?"
"I just told you - you didn't tell me we were leaving. How was I supposed to know you were going to up and murder Braddock?"
"Shit!" Wyatt kicked out, at nothing as another roll of thunder sounded above them. "Now what the hell are we going to do?"
"Do you have anything?" Lucy asked desperately.
Reaching into his coat pocket, Rufus pulled out a bundle of coil and the patch they had made for the Lifeboat. "This is it," he replied with a shrug. "I've got no damn bottles, I've got no damn foil- and we need both if we have any chance of getting that Lifeboat to work…and even then, it's not a guarantee."
"So we pick up some bottles on the way…" Wyatt responded huffily.
"And where do you suggest we go, Wyatt? You think there's a 7/11 between here and the Lifeboat?"
"We could go to Fort Duquesne," Lucy muttered, staring down at the pools of water growing ever larger by her feet.
Wyatt scoffed at the suggestion, "Yeah right, they'd murder us as soon as we got within five miles of that place. Every French soldier on this continent is looking for us"
"Maybe," Lucy replied, "but not all of them know what we look like." Pointing towards the scene of the battle, she explained, "Every French soldier who knew who we were are currently battling it out with the British miles away. The men left behind at Duquesne were reserve troops that came long after we escaped to John Fraser's." She nodded meaningfully at Wyatt, "It was in the letters."
"Okay," he replied slowly, "but how the hell are we going to get in there?"
"Leave that to me," Lucy replied.
Notes:
Life has been NUTS so it follows that fun writing must be delayed and I do apologize for that. I enjoy the escape of fiction writing , so when I get the opportunity to do it I take it - I just haven't had the opportunity in a long while.
As for the chapter - another bloody, violent rout...but honestly if you read the journals of Braddock's march it was a hot mess of ambushes and scalpings and people sick with dysentery. In the Battle of the Monongahela, 44 of the 50 women who accompanied Braddock's flying column were killed, so it was not a pleasant experience by any means, and tough this fit (believe it or not) condenses Braddock's march and all the crazy that went with it, I did my best to highlight the horrors faced by those who witnessed it.
In the REAL battle the British troops highly outnumbered the French, though when they accidentally umped into each other it turned into a rout by the British, many of whom were killed by friendly fire in the confusion. There is even some debate the Braddock himself was killed by friendly fire, which is what I did here...albeit, Wyatt's aim wasn't accidental.
We have not seen the last of the French major...and I am leaving it at that - we'll see him again in the next chapter (briefly). I know say this often, but we are seriously at the close of this MONSTER. I have the next chapter halfway finished and the chapter after that? Well, that's been written and completed since Chapter 1. And that's IT. I MAY still do an epilogue to this...I have one sort of roughed out, but I'm focusing my attention on getting that next chapter finished ASAP so I can finally wipe my hands of this fic and be done with it.
To my fellow US readers, I hope you enjoy your holiday!