I'm going to be able to live. Oh, Revolution grips the country and a fervent fever runs across deep

across the faces of the soldiers at Fort Lee. It had been a disastrous few days for the Continental Army,

with Fort Washington now being held in the grip of the British. Yucky.

Word had spread quickly that it wouldn't be long now before the same fate would be

fall Fort Lee, only a stone's throw from New York itself. A chill ice

the faces of the young man hunkering in the barracks, a collective of over 2,000

with not a single one having the guarantee that tomorrow would ever come for any of them.

They knew the numbers.

The Royal Navy had over 5,000 men on the march, likely a conservative estimate after

their previous victories.

Mutterings from the officer's tables betrayed any semblance of eternal confidence.

Fort Lee may as well be flying the British Red Ensign tonight

lest the inevitable be delayed any longer.

A young lad stirred, standing from the oak bench he was previously seated at, feeling the need to relieve himself.

He did not want to perish with a full bladder after all.

Aiming to find a latrine before the candles were extinguished, he wrapped a standard issue

scarf around his wind-burned lips and pulled the tent-flaps apart before sidestepping

a guard doing the rounds outside.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, a veritable human cannon if there ever was one.

He could feel the man's eyes piercing him, watching him for any signs of desertion.

He ignored the feeling of guilt for even pondering the notion, for even letting it

fester in his mind at all and pushed past both the man and his intrusive thoughts.

...