"Captain Ian Hayworth, my warmest regards are extended to you and your frontiersmen. Please have a seat, we have much to discuss. Would you and your men like some brandy?"

The sounds of the crickets chirping carried through the air as Captain Silas Parrish of the Red Dragons  76th dragoon regiment greeted the captain of the defense militia of the Carolinas inside the Dragoon's tent. Once the head of the local militia took his seat at the shiny oak table, Cpt. Parrish took his adjacent from him. The colonist's coffee-colored eyes scanned the room , taking in the redcoat officers as two of his men stood guard behind him, the rest waiting outside. The dragoon leader nodded and motioned for him to speak, sipping his liquor.

"You have the floor, Captain Hayworth. Kindly divulge the details of your intel on the possible French and Indian strike at Salisbury and how you came to receive them. It would be a good bonus if you can offer suggestions on preventive measures."

Clearing his throat and sipping some liquid medicine, the provincial commander began to address the English cavalry.  "A fortnight prior, one of our ranger patrols was approached by a member of the Mohawk Indians, which is part of the Iroquois Confedereacy, who are our allies. Panicked and fearing another  attack on the Dobs settlement, our rangers prepared for a counterattack, but fortunately, this native spoke our tongue and informed us about the impending raid at Salisbry. A page for the frogmen had mistook this lad to be of the Algonquin and imparted this piece of intelligence to him. He passed it on to our patrols who passed it on to me and in return, I sent your messenger to you with what you just heard."

There was a brief silence at the table , only broken by the chirp of the crickets or the occasional snort of the horses, before the dragoon officers turned to converse about this rather disturbing news. Once it finished, Cpt. Parrish turned to address the colonial. 

"While we appreciate you coming forward with this vital piece of information, but we still haven't verified the reliability of the source. It may be that the Indian had misintrepeted the information in the best case scenario or is even an Algonquin spy in the worst case. However, as we have no method of verifying the authenticity of this intel, we will proceed as planned to provide support for our forces in Virginia. My brothers and their brigades are stationed there and if this threat is credible, I will not let them fall victim to the cowardly French ambush. We begin our march at dawn."

"Permission to speak, Cpt. Parrish?" The colonial guerilla commander asked.

"Granted."

Hayworth bowed his head, his hand on his tricorn hat and began to speak. "Would you like my forces to assist yours in beating back the French and their Algonquin curs? We aren't much, but you will be needing all the men you could get for this ordeal."

"We appreciate the offer, but-" One officer spoke up before he was cut off by  Parrish.

"We will take whatever you offer us, Hayworth. We don't know entirely what we are up against so extra precautions might do us wonders. Prepare your men to march north with us at the crack of dawn. Dismissed!"

"Aye, sir."

The captain of the Carolinas rose, gave a curt nod, and lead his two guards outside to belay the news to his fighters. It would seem like they would be in for the biggest excitement in months. Not just a few skirmishes with Indians here and there, but a pure counterstrike! There is no guarantee that all of them, if any, would make it back alive, but anything to help the Crown's cause against her enemies was welcome. 

---

"Come on, boys! Move along. Let's keep those boots marching. We haven't got all night! Daybreak is nigh."

As Lt. Col. Findlay spurred the boys on to reach their destination before morning, Thomas began to feel like his legs were losing their ability to help him stand upright. It was like the supports of a table going out and the structure collapsing as he felt like he couldn't walk another league. From the way things seemed, nor could his fellow regulars in the battallion as well as the supporting 33rd infantry.  As the constellations burned brightly above them in the dark blue sky overhead, Sean spoke what was on everyone's mind.

"Oi, lieutenant colonel,  sir! Permission to rest our weary legs? I can't be too sure we will make it far, especially in our current condition. We must have made a ton of progress as we have been marching since we have arrived here the day prior. It wouldn't hurt to get a quick breather to rest and recuperate before we continue onwards, would it not? Even stallions need time to catch their breath. "

Their commanding officer halted their hike over the wooded hills before turning to face the grumbler from the Norburgh Battalion.  

"You've hardly embarked on your first quest and you already request a breather?" he inquired mockingly.  As the boys responded with affirmative 'Aye' or 'Yays', he began to berate them. "You realize the implications of camping out with such a monumental company out here? You would be inviting the enemy for an easy snare. If you give in to slumber now, you might wake up without your scalp and that's on the basis that you will even open your eyes at all! Besides, you are supposed to be fresh legs for the defense of Forts Bragg and Liberty. Getting weary so soon is not the best sign for Colonel Campbell's main force at the Hudson Valley. "

Captain Spall of the New York Frontier Defense militia spoke up. " We can use at most an hour to replenish some supplies and let the boys regain their energy. No use wearing them out before they even arrive at Fort Edward. My men or Deganawida's will keep watch for any Seven Fires scouts or stragglers during this brief interlude."

Findlay seemed to weigh this option for a second before sighing. "Very well. Let's make the most of it, but we must not linger. These woods have bears and wolves together with savages. Frontier force, make haste with our supplies!"

His breathing labored, Thomas took a seat beside Winston and Samuel while the Defense force and their Indian allies hurried off to gather food, water, and other essentials for the remainder of their journey. Those that didn't take part in the side mission stood guard for any threats to the English troops.  In the line before him, Sean the Irishman groaned as he took a seat on a fallen log behind him and started to take his boots off to give his feet some rest and to check for any particles like pebbles , dirt, or even bugs before gazing at his fellow recruit.

"Can you believe that Lt. Col. Findlay expects us to cover dozens of leagues in the span of one night? I mean, what does he take us for? Spartans?"

"I do believe that his intention is to mold us into Spartans for our forthcoming battle with the Frenchies," Winston explained as he opened his leather water canteen and took a long swig from it.  "I mean, we are expected to take a stand against General LaSalle's screamer lot to defend His Majesty's territories down to the last man. "

"Aye, but  circumstances where different back in the Battle of Thermopylae," Samuel stated while taking some nuts from his rations pack and popping it in his mouth. "First of all, we are not Greek and we are not facing down Xerxes' Persian Achaemid throngs. Secondly , our weapons have advanced greatly since then. Instead of spears, swords, and shields, we have Brown Bess and a handy dandy bayonet to wage war on the frogmen and the Indians with. We don't need to even stand within a couple feet of the enemy."

"I do beg to differ on that matter." All eyes turned to Thomas  as he voiced his objection to his squadmate's assertion. "While it is true that warfare has changed over the centuries, we still can learn valuable lessons from each war. For example, we know that Robert the Bruce used the local terrain to lure the English warriors to certain slaughter when his own troops weren't adequate in the Battle of Bannockburn. What's more?  Katsuyori Takeda charged his samurai warriors straight into Nobunaga's forces, who were greatly fortified and outgunned the attacking Takeda forces, and last, but not least, we can learn not to underestimate our foes like how Persian predecessors had. Sun Tzu would want us to know our enemy and how to use our knowledge and terrain could be found in his treatise, The Art of War."

As the redcoats of the 49th Norburgh spoke among themselves after receiving Thomas's lesson on the history of warfare, Samuel only snorted.

"You do realize that you are quoting and drawing examples from an outdated source, good sir? Sun Tzu lived thousands of years ago. "

The recruits chuckled at their fellow regular's quip as Thomas thought of a witty remark. As he opened his mouth to articulate it, shouts drowned him out. Glancing over his shoulders, he spotted arrows flying out of the darkness. Instinctively, he dove to the ground and covered his head. Once he was sure the projectiles had stopped firing, he pulled his musket close and aimed at where the ambush had occurred. Around him, his fellow enlistees readied their weapons to perform a counterattack. There were shouts, screams, and whimpers as those struck with the arrows tried to come to terms with attack that tore the peace. 

"Where are they raiding from?" Sgt. Breighton shouted. 

"Hard to tell, the arrows seemed to fly from nowhere," a Destrier regular replied. "What's more? The darkness doesn't exactly help us pinpoint the origin of the attack."

Thomas knew the British trooper was correct in his presumption. No one could tell where they were being assaulted from as the stars and moon were obscured in the forest. It wasn't until he saw one of the trees moving that he knew something was wrong. No, his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. Upon moving closer, the recruit from Norburgh noticed that the moving vegetation was  a group of people who wore twigs and branches as disguises and had their faces marked with either charcoal or ochre. Their outlandish shrieks and ululations, which unsettled Thomas greatly, verified their identities as the Algonquins, the enemy native tribes. 

"The savages are attacking!" Noel screamed as he brought his rifle up to bear. "Shoot and defend your scalp! Augh!"

His voice was cut off when one of the striking foes buried a tomahawk in his head, making him the first casualty of the regulars whose names Thomas was familiar with. With minimal hesitation, Thomas fired his weapon. The sounds of other muskets went off in succession to stave off the Indian attack. Thomas was pleased to see his shot stop one of the advancing Algonquins in his tracks, but his pleasure was short-lived as another took his fallen comrade's place during the charge. 

Thinking quickly, Thomas ducked as his assailant swung his axe , narrowly missing the schoolteacher's head by inches. As the screaming Algonquin warrior prepared to go for a second strike, Thomas plunged his bayonet into his attempted killer's chest and kicked him backwards. Not waiting to see his opponent staggering backwards, Thomas quickly reloaded his musket with a new ball. From the corner of his eye, he spotted another brave berserker charging at him, tomahawk raised to cleave his head off.  The young teacher fired his weapon at the enemy's face, downing him before he could get any closer. 

As he  ducked behind an oak tree, placing another musket ball inside from his pack, he heard a rustling sound and turned to see another disguised Algonquin lunge at him. Adrenaline pumping in his veins, Thomas brought up his weapon, but before he could intrduce Brown Bess to the native warrior, he realized too late that he forgot to close the chamber and the ball rolled out.  The horrific awareness that he was defenseless before the enemy's hatchet dawned on him and he could only stand frozen in fear as he prepared to meet his inevitable end which only left him perplexed when the blow never came. Before him, his assailant had collapsed facefirst into the dirt, a large hole on his back leaking blood, revealing a Destrier with labored breathing aiming a smoking musket toward him.

The newly enlisted 49th trooper smiled gratefully at his friend. "Ah Breighton, I presume I am in your debt now."

The Grey Destrier sergeant only chuckled and shook his head. "En garde, Parrish. This skirmish is far from over as long as the screamers are still alive. "

"I don't need to be reminded of that."

Thomas and Howard Breighton both turned to take on the remaining onslaught of the raiders, watching each others backs and using their bayonets to keep their assailants back. After what felt like a millenium, the vocal Algonquins retreated into the shrubbery once the local colonial militia and their Iruquois escorts returned to beat them back. Scanning for any lingering natives, Thomas spotted a wounded Algonquin warrior, wearing bearskin, try to crawl into the woods to evade the reinforcements, but an Iroquiois headhunter was on him like a wolf to a wounded deer. Thomas felt nasueseus as the allied Indian scalped the enemy.  Hearing about the horrors of war in schoolbooks was one thing, but experiencing firsthand left a lasting impression. 

Once they were sure that their attackers had retreated and the wounded were tended to, their unit's commanding officer turned to address the recruits. 

"I see that the new blood has their first taste of battle now. That is good news. Despite some losses, which are minimal, we will now resume our march to Fort Edward as we have replenished all necessary supplies and held back King Louis' invaders. Now that you are newly blooded troops, I assume this ambush is incentive enough to get you up and on your feet marching?"

Once they came out of the woods and the light of the waning gibbous moon as well as the stars shone on the column, Thomas, marching alongside Sean, saw Winston and Isaac, another 49th recruit support a limping Samuel. Judging by the lint bandages around the latter's left thigh, he assumed Sam had taken an arrow below the knee.  Isaac and Winston also seemed to have bleeding marks over thier body from the recent skirmish. The young Norburgh schoolteacher's mind still had the image of the dead soldiers, mainly from the recruits and a couple from the Destriers, being buried hastily in the forest before they were led away. Unlike Noel, most of the fallen at least had their faces intact. Still, Thomas couldn't suppress a shiver. 

Could that be my fate should I be unfortunate enough to meet the edge of a tomahawk or a musket ball?

Not wanting to have those thoughts taint his sleep later on, Thomas kept quiet and marched in silence alongside his division. If they made good time, they should arrive at their destination by sunrise.  There, he could drift into sleep and put the night's excitement behind him.