Chapter 18

My scouting mission assigned by no other than General George Washington standing close enough to me that I could reach out and touch him was going satisfactorily.

The primary objective was to remain covert and not to do anything that would attract British attention to our presence in their midst. I had wanted to blurt out right on the spot the answers to the General’s inquiries, but I knew to do so would immediately cause suspicion on his part and I had no answers I could relate that didn’t sound quite crazed and impossible to give credence to.

There were four of us in total.

My three companions were a motley crew and I trusted them all with my life and limb. The dark-skinned tall one was called simply Mister Green. He was actually half Mohawk Indian and had been in several battles of the French and Indian war on the side of the French. His opinion of the French is not repeatable in this account because it is most demeaning and crude in many respects. He was a “silent” killer with a pair of sharp tomahawks under his leather jacket ready to throw or slice a throat with little chance of the target escaping. Thankfully, Mister Green did not drink the white man’s whiskey because a drunken Mohawk was a terrible foe indeed.

The gentleman that stood next to me at all times was Mister Brown. He spoke the King’s English with a regrettable French accent because in the British view, the French were becoming more and more suspect with their dealings with the Rebel rabble. Mister Brown was an advisor to the French crown having spent almost two decades in training the silver spoon young males of royalty the tricks of surviving a duel to the death with slender slivers of Toledo steel. I had never seen him with a firearm in his hand so I presume he could be added to the list of “silent” killers that were best used in clandestine operations.

The final member of our secret expedition was Mister White. The name was a misnomer due to the fact that Mister White was as black as the ace of spades. He would normally have commanded much attention except for the fact that his face was marred by a simple black patch over one missing eye and a hideous scar that ran from his forehead all the way down to his chin like someone had tried to slice him in two with a very sharp blade. It was enough to cause most enlightened persons to look in the other direction and pretend he wasn’t there at all.

Of course, I was fairly nondescript in comparison and did my best to blend into the background as we were completely surrounded by uniformed soldiers of King George and a number of Hessian regulars that were more interested in a bloody scrap than in the wages being paid to their commander, a Prince with a royal entourage not appropriate to a battlefield. Despite his upper class mannerisms, the rank and file loved the young Prince and they would gladly lay down their lives to bring him glory and fame.

The tavern was one of those places where members of the press had a corner section for their verbal warfare and the pointed barbs were flying much to the entertainment of the fighting troops and the buxom beauties in attendance waiting on the customers with an eye to finding one with a purse of coins to trade for their favors in the middle of the day.

Of course, I was influenced by my twenty-first century opinions and biases, but I found mid-day humping to be somewhat uncalled for in the middle of a war that gave short shrift to the basic needs of everyday people.

I made no objection to the men going off and finding some solace in the arms of soft female flesh as long as they kept their mouths shut and did not divulge anything that could be used against us for being behind enemy lines and not in uniform. I knew that according to British military tradition that would mean instant execution as a spy.

It does sound a bit harsh, but I knew for a fact that the American forces would do exactly the same thing and only the higher ranking officers would be given the opportunity to have a last chance to say their piece or to have a blindfold over their eyes as a saving grace.

A comely maid with dewy eyes and heaving breasts that seemed to be in perpetual motion leaned over in close contact and rested her sweet tiny hand on my broad shoulder feeling the ripple of my gym inspired muscle like a butcher testing the solidity of the meat they were about to slice into juicy steaks.

I knew this one was not looking to fill her belly.

She was much more interested in stuffing her feminine cavity with paying customer manhood all aroused by her visual presentation. She allowed me to navigate my curious fingers all over her posterior anatomy finding that she was devoid of undergarments and nicely shaped in delicious terms for doggy style love-making.

One of the things that I had discovered in my expeditions into the past thus far was that the common fold tended to prefer the old-fashioned “down on all fours” position for the female participant and I had to agree it was the most advantageous for a man that enjoyed allowing his balls to swing without interference.

I did repair with the delightful bar-girl up to the mysterious second level where the sounds of copulating couples could be heard through the thin walls. The sounds were enough to stiffen my resolve to show this pleasure-seeking young lady the value of a wet welcome for instant gratification.

Much to my dismay when we were safely tucked away inside the locked door, the young lady did not remove her clothing but pulled out a report of the dispositions of the British forces, both land based and afloat in the New York City area and even quite a distance up the Hudson river almost to the heavy chain barrier that prevented the British ships from sailing further. The chains were under the protection of a defended battery of cannon that had been captured at Ticonderoga and moved a considerable distance over to the defense of West Point.