"[I]What are you talking about?  There's no road there.  It's just swamp![/i]"

William clenched his teeth tightly together, rising up away from the map spread out over the table to contemplate the Lieutenant's correction.  They had been at this for almost three hours, and the frustrations had only been increasing as time passed.  [url=http://i.imgur.com/jqiqnH5.jpg]The 21st century Boston in which William had been raised was nothing like the Boston of 1775[/url]; and William's extensive historical research over the years -- for his personal interest and for the Doctorate on which he'd once been working but then abandoned -- was proving not to have been as accurate as he'd hoped.  Either that or he'd just been a horrible student and wasn't remembering what he needed to remember for [i]shit![/i]

"Here," he said, pointing to a spot on the map that had been hand drawn on the inside of a Militiaman's deer hide jacket, to hide it from the British should he be stopped for questioning.  "About half a mile north of the narrowest--"

"Swamp," the Lieutenant cut in again.  Tapping his own finger on the map, he described what he knew to be in that location before looking to the Colonel, who had only just moments entered the room to check the progress of their Hessian [i]defector[/i].  Standing more rigidly, the young officer said in a formal tone, "Colonel, it is my belief that this man is a fraud.  I don't believe that--"

But the Lieutenant went quiet at the Colonel's gentle [i]stop[/i] gesture.  The camp's Commander took a moment to study William -- who was appearing a bit nervous at his repeated mistakes and subsequent fear of what would happen to him -- then looked to his subordinate and asked, "Has he told you anything that we know to be accurate, Lieutenant ... something he couldn't have known unless he was who he claims to be?"

The Lieutenant hesitated, then answered, "Yes, sir."

The two Patriot officers discussed William's three or four revelations, after which the Lieutenant -- now eager to support his earlier implication that William was a waste of skin -- said with a firm belief, "But none of this is of strategic value to us, Colonel.  We [i]knew[/i] all of this already.  And he ... this [i]Hessian[/i] traitor ... he could have learned this by--"

Again the Lieutenant went silent at his superior's gesture.  William could feel his heart pounding inside his chest, and -- stupidly, probably -- he was wondering whether the muskets being held by the dozens of Militiamen scattered around the camp outside the HQ were accurate enough to shoot him down as he fled in a zigzag pattern for the nearest swamp.  He wouldn't flee, of course: every time he thought of escape, he remembered the threat the Colonel had made about shooting Keziah if William did try to split this madness.

"Give me one thing of value, sir," the Colonel said firmly to William.  "One thing of actionable value ... to prove to me that you are more than my Lieutenant here believes you to be."

William considered the Colonel for a moment, then looked to the map.  [i]One thing ... just one thing that will prove to them that I am who I say I am.[/i]  William chuckled involuntarily, then -- seeing the officers' reaction to him laughing -- forced himself quiet.  Thee humor that had suddenly taken control of him was a result of William's brain quizzing him, [i]Who exactly the fuck ARE you?[/i]  He was a 21st Revolutionary War reenactor ... emphasis on the last two syllables of that last word ... [i]act-or[/i].  This wasn't his war.  [i]Hell, this wasn't his century![/i]  So, to answer the Colonel's question William had to answer his own: [i]Who are you?[/i]

As he stared at the map, the answer came to William: [i]I'm a history student who knows enough about this time period that I should be able to find at least one thing of value, of important, of action ... to save my skin...[/i]  His skin crawled with goose flesh as that thought continued, [i]...and Keziah's skin, too.[/i]  William had asked about [i]his wife[/i] several times over the passing hours, and each time he'd been told that she was fine, that she was working, and that he needed to concentrate on his own work.

"[i]There![/i]" William said suddenly, pressing his finger to a little slash of a line on the map where a wandering line indicated a stream.  When one of the Sergeants -- who had not only been fighting in the Bottleneck but who had grown up there as well -- pointed out that it was just a bridge over Carlson Creek and unimportant, William quickly said, "[i]No![/i]  It [i]is[/i] important."

"It goes no where," the Sergeant countered.  "The road dead ends at the Tyler farm--"

"Which is the current location of several wagons filled with muskets, shot, powder..." William smiled broadly as he looked to the Colonel before adding, "And [i]two[/i] eight inch Howitzers."

The Sergeant laughed loudly, decrying William's claim as ludicrous.  "Why would the British take [i]that[/i] kind of weaponry up a road to a farm of no military consequence."

"They didn't," William said, looking back to the Sergeant.  He traced his finger on the map -- from northeast to southwest through the what was in this time a combination of river, creeks, swamps, and bay but what would in his time be the Fort Point Channel -- and countered, "They didn't move this stuff north to the farm by land ... they brought in in from the south by sea."

William had been searching for something, [i]anything[/i], that might get him a leg up with the Colonel.  Then he'd remembered [i]"The Covington Letters"[/i].  A British Captain named Harmon Covington had led a unit that arrived undetected by sea at the Tyler Farm, which had belonged to a Loyalist family prior to the Siege of Boston. The plan had been to attack the Second Regiment's position from its vulnerable eastern flank, from across the Carlson Creek Bridge.  But there had been an accident -- still unexplained even in the 21st century -- that had led to a fire, which in turn had led to the explosion of the unit's gunpowder supply.  With the loss of almost all of their powder, Covington had his cannons destroyed -- to prevent their use by the Patriots -- and withdrew his force, knowing that any attack against a fortified Massachusetts army would result in his men's slaughter.  The Captain was chastised for his failure, demoted, and sent back to England in disgrace, but in [i]"The Covington Letters"[/i] -- which were only discovered in the late 1990s -- Harmon declared that he felt no regret for having saved the lives of his men.

"If you send a small detachment of men up the road to attack and destroy the force's gunpowder reserves," William instructed after explaining all about Covington's unit.  He knew he wasn't risking a change in history because the destruction of the gunpowder [i]had[/i] actually happened.  He continued, "Then you can prevent the attack on your east ... and save many Patriot lives."

William stepped back a bit to let the officers mull over the concept.  They spent the next several minutes planning strategy while the Sergeant continued to question whether or not William could be trusted.  Finally, the Colonel declared, "Lieutenant, you will led twenty men to the Tyler Farm to destroy the Redcoats ability to attack.  Sergeant you will lead a scouting party first, to check the bridge ... ensure the unit can proceed without detection."

The Sergeant didn't look to pleased about that order, but after a moment he smirked broadly and suggested, "[i]Sir![/i]  I think the Hessian should accompany the scouting party."

"[i]What?[/i]" William said in surprise almost before he realized his mouth was even opening.  "Me...?  Why me?"

"Because if this is a trap," the Sergeant snapped back before any of the officers could make a similar inquiry, "then you will get killed as well ... or if you're captured..."  His smirk widened as he continued, "...in a Massachusetts Second Regiment uniform, you'll be jailed and likely executed.  Either way, you die with me.  And ... if the British don't kill you..."

The Sergeant looked to the Colonel with a suggestive expression on his face.  The Regiment Commander understood the look.  He glanced at William, then back to the Sergeant.  "Yes, you may take the Hessian with you.  And yes ... if it is a trap, you may execute him."

William felt his face go cold as the blood rushed from it.  He made a half-assed attempt at talking his way out of going -- mentioning his wife and how she'd need him and all that -- but it was to no avail...

......

"How do I look?" William asked Keziah as he entered his and Keziah's little [i]honeymoon cottage[/i].  The expression on his face was about as fresh as the Massachusetts Militia uniform he was wearing: it was torn in a couple of places, had a darker spot of fabric around the mended bullet hole in the shoulder, and was obviously two sizes too large for him.  As she studied him, William explained, "I'm being sent out on a mission with the troops ... to a farm north of here, where..."

He didn't finish explaining, his stomach turning over as the fear and anxiety rushed through him.  He just knew he was going to get killed out there tomorrow.  He was going to get killed, and he'd never get back to [i]his[/i] Boston.  Or ... if he was [i]never[/i] to get back to his Boston and he was here permanently, then the result was that he'd never get back to Keziah's Boston ... and to Keziah ... to his wife...

And suddenly, down below the loose fitting belt of his [i]real[/i] Revolutionary War uniform, William felt a stirring that was [i]entirely[/i] inappropriate considering all the drama happening around them.