Embrace of the Enemy (Winds of Betrayal) (24 page)

Jonathan rubbed the side of
 his head. He was so tired.  “I do appreciate your concern, but it's misdirected. I feel strongly about the cause. Shouldn't we all? Isn’t that what we all are doing? Don’t you go out every battle, unafraid of the consequences?”

Morgan laughed. “Hell, no. Can't say that I do, Doc. Scares me like hell every time. Rathe’ be back home huntin’, but ya' right that I do it 'cause I believe in what we're doing. Enjoy kickin’ that royal ass, but I want to come out of it alive. I want to enjoy the product of what we have fought so hard for. I would fight like the devil to get out of anything alive.”

“Ah, then you have nothing to redeem yourself for, Colonel. And able to sleep at night without your conscience gnawing within you.”

“I can assure ya', Doc, I've made my share for sure,” Morgan shot back. “Pray, Doc, what could ya' haft done?”

“The list is too long, Colonel,” Jonathan melancholy responded, but continued, not knowing if everything he had kept inside was coming out. Maybe because he wanted to expel his soul or his fatigue had worn upon him. “The people I held most dear, my family, had faith in me and because of that faith....”

Jonathan stuttered. He took a deep breath. “I was betrayed by one I trusted more than life itself. My family suffered because of that betrayal. I have no control over how my life has gone.”

“I don't know many that does, Doc. And I 'specially don't know anyone that hasn't made mistakes,” Morgan tilted his head back. “We are at war, and my mistake can cost soldiers their lives. I ask ‘em to follow me and some won't come back. But I look at things as I done the best I could. I n'ver ask anyone to do something I wouldn't do. You got no control over other people, Doc. Nobody does. We need men like ya'. It's a lot to lose your wife. I know how I'd feel.”

Jonathan laughed. “No, I don't think you do. I have lost much and my heart has broken, but not concerning my wife. If she wasn't dead already,
 I could suck the life right out of her. I gave her everything. I loved her and she betrayed me. You don't understand. You couldn't.” Jonathan paused. The whole of his body shook. “I hate her memory and try to drive it out of my mind. If you want to know what drives me, when I fought the other day, I didn't remember.” He wanted to add he couldn't see her lovely face so clearly; hear her voice; feel her touch and realize she betrayed all he loved.

Mor
gan leaned back over and poured Jonathan the cup of rum he had promised him. He handed it over methodically. “Doc, then I don't see a problem. She is dead, get on with it. We have enough problems facing us within our own camp that you won't have time to think of anything else. We got the New Englanders and the Yorkers going at each other for credit of the battle. Gates is fixin' to relieve Arnold of his command if he don’t keep his damn mouth shut. H'lf our troops ain't even trained properly and I wouldn't even consider what they have on uniforms. Now would you?”

Morgan shrugged. “But see the only thing I’m concerned with is winning this damn thing. I ain’t much good in politics. I call it the way I see it. But I believe in my men, Doc. I got a knack for reading people. Whate’er it is ya’ are fighting within ya’, we can’t afford for ya’ to let it effect ya’. We don’t have time for ya’ to feel sorry for yourself.”

Jonathan spit his drink out of his mouth. Coughing, he denied, “I don’t”

“What would ya’ call it? Got a boy, don’t ya? He’s going to need his
Pa. Maybe you’ve forgotten whatcha fighin’ for,” Morgan’s tone changed. “It’s up to ya’. Drink down your rum. Tomorrow’s a new day and I want ya’on my line of command. Not bad having a doctor that can fight as well as ya’ and doctor at the same time.”

Jonathan exhausted having spent the last bit of his energy. He drank down his rum. Morgan toasted to him and finished off his own, but when the sentry brought in his supper, Morgan turned to Jonathan who had within the hardback chair found sleep.

* * * *

For the next three weeks the only fighting occurred within the Americans own ranks while waiting for the British to make a move. Jonathan watched with annoyance the commanding officers fighting among themselves. Instead of
taking satisfaction that their military strategy had placed Burgoyne in dire straits, the commanders volleyed for accolade from Congress. With each exertion, the door was rapidly closing upon Burgoyne’s chance for victory 

Jonathan sighed. He well understood Morgan’s aversion to politics. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand the appointment of Horatio Gates as commander. Maybe it was his Virginian blood running through him, but he would much rather have a hands on commander. He wanted a commander leading strongly rather than sitting in his tent in the middle of battle. Morgan sat back and laughed about it.

“Got one who credits and pats himself on the back, while hiding in his tent.  Then he leaves the one directing the battle out of the report,” Morgan stated. “The other, gotta lov’ the way he fights. The two don’t mix.”

The camp exploded between Gates and Arnold when their styles clashed, especially when Gates gave no credit to
Arnold in his communications to Congress. Arnold declared war upon Gates himself.

After their screaming display in the middle of camp, Jonathan was disappointed, but not surprised, that Gates relieved
Arnold of command. Then a cat and mouse game ensued between the two. Gates gave Arnold’s command to Lincoln and Arnold requested permission to leave camp. The request was granted, but Arnold remained in his tent.

Thus the camp remained until the early afternoon of October 7
th
when the British emerged. The order immediately went out to detach. Soldiers scattered to their positions.

Jonathan attached himself once more to the Virginian command, although ordered to fulfill his obligations of his profession, but if the occasion arose, he was not to hesitate to defend himself and his country. He listened intently as Morgan directed his riflemen along the western side of the battle.

“Are we to fight, Colonel?” one young soldier asked afraid they were directed away from the major action.

Morgan laughed. “Son, we have a tall order if a fight is what ya’ are lookin’ for. We are to engage Brigadier Simon Fraser’s unit.”
 

Leaving the camp, Jonathan passed by
Arnold’s tent. Cursing and muttering could be heard from miles away.

“By God, tell General Gates I need to be assigned quickly back to my unit with the battle upon us! God damn it,”
Arnold’s voice rang out.

Jonathan caught Morgan’s eyes. There wasn’t anything either could do, but fulfill their own orders. Upon the directions of Colonel Morgan, the men broke upon both sides of the woods. The sounds of battle erupted around them, cannons fired, guns rang out, shouts of attack. Shortly after, Jonathan heard the first musket fire from his unit.

“Don’ let the line break!”

Most men let out blood thirsty howls and attacked the British flank. The British driven back momentarily, but Fraser rallied his men repeatedly, not giving in to Morgan’s advance. Without warning, General Arnold appeared before Morgan upon his horse.

“I have been observing the British General Fraser. He’s trying to form a rear line and it needs to be eliminated,” Arnold announced. Morgan didn’t hesitate.

With two of his fingers in his mouth, Morgan gave a short whistle. Suddenly, a powerfully built dark skinned boy called Sure Shot Tim appeared beside Morgan. Behind him  a small group of riflemen emerged prepared to take orders.

“As you have already demonstrated, again I need another sure aim,” Morgan said simply. He pointed toward the enemy general. “That gallant officer is General Fraser, which, in truth, I admire his courage. But it’s necessary for him to fall. Victory for the enemy depends on him. Take your station in that clump of bushes and do your duty.”

Jonathan held his own rifle in hand, but with this distance he doubted anyone could obtain their objective. The group took their positions and commenced firing upon the brightly uniformed officer. Jonathan couldn’t take his eyes of Sure Shot. He took his time settling his gun. His fellow riflemen had already begun to fire, yet the young man arranged his bearings. He set his gun in a fork of a tree and at a range, Jonathan estimated, of more than two hundred yards, and then commenced firing.

The first two shots missed his mark, but the third hit. Jonathan caught the marksmen’s eyes, assured he had accomplished his goal. Fraser fell mortally wounded. The advance disintegrated around their leader’s demise.

The reputation of Morgan’s elite riflemen had been well earned. Frontiersmen, all of them, rough and speech profane, could fight and fight well. But they took no time to celebrate, for the battle was far from over. To Jonathan’s side, the Hessian’s advance gave the Americans cause for concern.

Momentum fell, but behind him, a roar erupted with cheers among Livingston’s regiment of Yorkers. General Benedict Arnold suddenly appeared on the field of battle, charging ahead in excitement. He galloped between the lines of Breymann’s redoubt where most of the British survivors of the sortie had retreated.

Cheers broke out, regiment after regiment.  It was a beautiful sight,  the blue-coated officer on the back of his bay mare.
Arnold ignored the crossfire and lifted his hand waving his sword forward, calling for the advance. Miraculously, he avoided being hit. Arnold’s horse pounded toward the enemy, followed by enthusiastic regiments.

Jonathan ran through the woods in an effort to keep up. American muskets spouted down harshly over a redoubt, supplying a barrier of protection against the British’s attack. Before him, a German soldier had fallen, but quickstepped back to his feet. The German raised a saber to the back of a fellow American, but before he could land the blade into the flesh of the unsuspecting Patriot, Jonathan fired his musket, knocking the German back to the ground.

The Rebel soldier spun with the sound of the musket so close. Startled then a spark of recognition upon him in the middle of the battlefield, the dungy, dirty soldier hugged Jonathan.

“Damn, if this isn’t a fine way to finally see you! By God! Thank you. Keep hearing about this Deadly Aim Doc. I believe it now,” John Glover slapped Jonathan’s back.

“It’s good to see you too, friend,” Jonathan said as he dodged a soldier running before him.

They had no more time for words. Jonathan heard Glover yell, “Afterwards, my friend. After the victory.”

Jonathan smiled in acknowledgement, but his attention turned as a loud cry came forth for him from one of the riflemen. “Doc! Doc! Arnold’s been hit!”

Jonathan scurried across the field to where the General lay.
Arnold tried in vain to pull his leg out from under his fallen horse. Jonathan laid his rifle down and pressed his hand under the horse’s rump. He gripped the injured limb and diligently worked his leg free. Jonathan turned to the General, “Believe your leg is not only wounded, but broken. We need to get you out of here.”

Arnold
shook his head. “Don’t want to, Doc. The fighting is before us.”

“I believe you have done enough for one day, General Arnold,” Jonathan responded.

The stubborn general negotiated with Jonathan. “Bandage me up. I’m not up front,” Arnold declared. “If you must, take me down to Paterson so at least I’ll know the movement.”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, General,” Jonathan shook his head, uncertain.

“Aren’t you the doctor they talk about? The crazy one, goes straight into battle,” Arnold asked. He broke into laughter, but a grimace formed as a surge of pain swept through. “You understand then my need to be among my troops, encourage them. Stay with me, if you must.”

Jonathan relented, but
Arnold didn’t have long, for Armstrong finally caught up with the General, officially removing him from action. Jonathan stayed with the wounded General, who was more seriously injured than he wanted anyone to know.

The official surrender occurred on October 17
th
. The astonished British had just been soundly defeated by the ragtag American army. An entire army forced to surrender. 

Jonathan, for the first time since this all began, believed that maybe they could actually win the war.

Chapter Thirteen

Jonathan,

Consciousness of every American Patriot has been tested and their will to endure and fight on has prevailed. The battle is far from over, but our hearts will conquer over the tyranny that we face. We have contemplated the numerous tortures inflicted upon our courageous and righteous citizens. Well remember that nothing glorious can be accomplished without such sacrifices, as they have been made.

I have heard of the honor of which you have served upon the battlefield and your profession. Your defense of the rights of mankind and our nation will preserve our spirit for our glorious designs for the proud Americans of the future. Never let them forget what we have done together as a state bent upon the belief of a people and the rights we hold dear. 

The benefits of
Saratoga have already had an effect. You'll now be reassigned, as you have already been informed, to the main army under Washington's command at his winter encampment. But I sought for you and obtained a brief leave. I have been in constant contact with Captain Lanson, who had taken your son and sister-in-law to his sister's home in Baltimore.