Chapter 5

Arriving in the east, Jonathan Alexander made a small fortune running a merchant shipping company, before selling off his ownership and moving west towards the frontier. Creating his own log cabin with his bare hands, he was on the edge of Cherokee territory, where he kept mostly to himself by simply hunting or doing a little farming near his home. His relationship with the local tribe was good, and Jonathan quickly picked up their language. Despite past tension between settlers and Native Americans, the Cherokee looked on him as a man who simply desired to be left alone, and was no threat to them so long as he was not pressed. The following incident enforced this, when one group of Cherokee warriors from a neighboring tribe tried to run Jonathan Alexander off his land, and were shot and killed for their trouble. One of the young men with mortal wounds made it back to his people, and reported a single white man miraculously holding them off with one rifle.

The secret to Jonathan's success was not just his skill in marksmanship, which he had worked hard to hone, but also his skill as a gun maker. Alone as he was, Jonathan saw little danger in using a very advanced rifle instead of a smooth bore flintlock musket of the day. Rifling described the twist on the inside the barrel that spun the projectile inside of it as it was fired, this improved its stability, which led to an increase in its effective range and power. The loading might have been its weak point, if he didn't use self contained shells like they used back in the late 20th century. Inside the shell was the bullet itself, and the smokeless gunpowder needed to propel it after it was hit by a hammer which fired it off. Adding a scope sight onto the weapon made it easier to hit his targets with great efficiency. Handmade for his personal use only, Jonathan was practically a one man army with it.

The first brave had fallen before they had even unstrung his bow, the bullet hitting him right in the chest. As the braves scrambled about on horseback in confusion, his second shot took out one of the Cherokee's horses. The horse comes crashing down as it cried out in pain. Frightened, other horses bucked and tried to run, as their riders fought for control. One by one he took them down, either by taking out the horse first and taking away their mobility, or shooting his enemies as they manage to halt their horses and give him a relatively still target: Jonathan Alexander had become the first sniper. It was clear after that incident, that attacking and trying to kill or drive away this lone settler would prove too costly, and the local tribes did their best to give him a wide berth unless they needed his help translating with other settlers. Jonathan himself had nothing against the English, until he visited his friend and former partner in Lexington, who, like him, had retired to a quiet life away from the city. They had not seen each other in many years, and while the natives and other settlers were neighborly, Jonathan missed his good friend.

Staying in his friend's home, Jonathan spent time with Lucas' family; the Havens. Lucas had a lovely wife and three fine children. The eldest was fifteen; a young man who stood nearly as tall as his father. Both father and son had dark hair and the same tall build. They were in good shape and health, with dark eyes and better than average looks. Lucas had a smile that could warm the coldest heart, and his eldest son had a similar jovial attitude. The eldest was named Thomas. After Thomas came the twins: Martin and Lucy. They had their mother's red hair and green eyes with freckles. Their age was about eight years old. Curious and rambunctious, they were often getting into mischief and getting dirty. Lucas called them his "two little trouble makers". Last, but not least, was his wife Emma. Upon meeting her, Jonathan was captivated by her beauty to the point of speechlessness.

"Are you going to stand there like a fool, or are you going to greet my wife?" Lucas teased; well aware his wife had that effect.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Jonathan smiled sheepishly and said, "Greetings, Mrs. Havens."

"Please call me Emma." She said.

"Well, I couldn't do that ... that is I..." Jonathan said, his mouth refusing to work properly.

He was trying desperately to put some social distance between him and his best friend's wife, who he was having trouble not staring at, especially into her lovely eyes.

"Oh, come off it, Johnny! Call her by her name. This isn't some social function, you are in my home." Lucas said with a grin, and a hard pat to Jonathan's back that nearly bowled him over.

Unlike his son, Lucas was even stronger than he looked, and Jonathan knew the father did it to everyone he liked as a show of camaraderie.

"As you wish ... Emma. You have a lovely home." Jonathan said, refusing to meet her eyes, no matter what.

"Thank you very much, Jonathan. My husband has spoken of you quite fondly over the years. I'm sorry you couldn't be at the wedding." Emma said, with a smile so sweet that Jonathan's heart actually skipped a beat.

"One of the downsides of being on the frontier." Jonathan managed.

"Speaking of the frontier, you must tell us about it. No one else I know has been out that far. Surely it must be exciting with all those dangerous Indians out there." Lucas said, his eagerness quite apparent.

"Lucas Haven, you can wait until your good friend has had a proper meal before you begin interrogating him about the frontier. He must be famished and tired after such a long journey. If he is feeling up to it afterwards, then he may answer your questions, but not until then." Emma said, putting her foot down.

"Yes, dear." Lucas said, putting his eagerness on hold to be a good host.

"Right this way, my friend. My wife is the finest cook in all of Lexington, and I dare say the whole state." Lucas said, lighting his pipe and taking a few puffs, before heading into the dining room where the table was set and a full meal was waiting for them.

"Oh stop it, you flatterer!" Emma said in mock annoyance, as she hustled the children into the dining room.

Lucas chuckled at that, before he put his pipe away in its pouch on the mantle over the fireplace.

"You have a lovely family, Lucas. Any man would be envious of you." Jonathan said to his friend.

"Thank you. I've missed you, Johnny. I had hoped that you would come back sooner, but I'm glad you are here now. I would ask you a favor later on, in private." Lucas said.

"What is it?" Jonathan asked, his curiosity peaked.

"Are you gentlemen planning to eat before your food gets cold?" Emma called to them from the other room.

"We'd best be going before she throws our food out, just to teach us a lesson." Lucas said as they started walking in.

The meal was a fine one, with mashed potatoes with gravy, a nice succulent honeyed ham, some green beans, and rolls. Jonathan's stomach growled as they said grace, and everyone laughed afterwards. When the meal was finished, Emma and the children cleaned up and washed the dishes, while Lucas and Jonathan went to the living room to talk.

Making sure they were alone, Lucas said, "I've joined the militia, Jonathan. I am a minuteman now."

"But Lucas, you have a family." Jonathan commented.

"That is the reason I signed up; I want to secure their futures, and I believe thatit is time we split off from Great Britain and go our own way. I hold them no ill will, but I think the time has come." Lucas said.

"But surely..." Jonathan began to say, before Lucas lifted a hand to quiet him.

"My mind's made up my, friend, not even Emma has been able to change my mind, and you won't either. That is not why I told you this." Lucas replied.

"Then why did you?" Jonathan asked.

"I am no fool, Johnny. In war men die. I must face this truth. Though I am prepared to die for what I believe in, I would see my family taken care of in the event of my death." Lucas said.

"They will want for no financial need, I promise. As long as I live they will be well taken care of." Jonathan said.

"I would ask for more than that. I trust you as I have trusted no other man. My children will need some for guidance, and my wife..." Lucas paused in consideration, "I don't want her to be alone."

Though Jonathan was touched and honored by what his friend was asking for, part of him knew deep down that he desired Emma for himself, so he said, "I can't. I will help your children and be there for them, and if your wife needs money I can be there for her, but beyond that I must decline."

Nodding, Lucas said nothing further on the matter, and his wife and children soon entered the room to hear tales of the frontier. That night all seemed peaceful, showing no signs of what tomorrow would bring. Jonathan awoke to the sounds of commotion downstairs. Quickly dressing, he rushed down to the living room and saw Emma looking out the open doorway worriedly.

"What is it?" Jonathan asked.

"The red coats were sighted on their way to town. My husband and the rest of the militia went out to fight them." Emma said.

Upon hearing these words, Jonathan rushed upstairs to retrieve his rifle, hidden amongst his things. Grabbing a bag full of ammo, he slung it over his shoulder and across his chest. After that, he grabbed his knife and tomahawk that he had made, and slipped both weapons into his belt. When he was ready enough, Jonathan picked up his rifle and headed downstairs.

Seeing Jonathan now armed, Emma said, "Where are you going?"

"To find your husband and bring him back. Lock the doors after I leave, and hide until I come back." Jonathan said, as he hurried out the door.

Fraught with worry, Emma could only nod, before she carried out his directions. Jonathan barely heard the door close behind him, as he broke into a dead run. His heart thumping loudly, Jonathan prayed he would get there in time. It was still dark outside, as the sun had not yet risen. He came upon the militia as they began their retreat, and a shot was fired, where it came from no one knew. The red coats opened up and militia men fell; one of them was Lucas. Spying his friend getting hit in the shoulder and the chest, Jonathan took aim on the commanding British officer, and fired as the British reloaded. Hearing the gun fire, he watched the officer fall from his horse, and men around him look at the mortally wounded officer in confusion. None of them knew where the shot came from, and when a junior officer tried to take command, a second shot took him in the stomach. Howling in pain he was quickly picked up, as the British troops quickly withdrew, their eyes searching the town for the unseen assassin.

When they were gone, Jonathan went to his friend, and kept an eye out for any red coats who might be still around. Lucas was coughing up blood when Jonathan carried him off the battleground. Lucas died not far from his home, after being seen by his loving wife, who was there with Jonathan in her husband's last moments. Jonathan stayed with Emma and her children long enough to make sure they were cared for. On the night before he decided to leave, he had one more dinner with them. Only Emma knew where he was going. After putting the children to bed, she found him out front staring up at the moon and stars.

"Must you go?" Emma said as she approached.

Turning to face her, Jonathan said, "Your husband was dear to me, so his cause must also be dear. I will help win his war, that you and his children might have a chance at the future he so desired."

"Even now you do not meet my eyes. Am I so disliked by you that you will not look on me?" Emma asked, her pain and loneliness apparent upon her face and in her voice.

Meeting her eyes, Jonathan replied with all feeling, "I tell you the truth, Mrs. Havens: your husband asked me to marry you, and take care of your children as if they were my own, and I said no, not because I didn't want one or the other, but because I knew that I wanted you to be my wife. In these past months, my feelings for you have only grown stronger, so now I must leave lest I give into my passions. You shall want for no money, I have promised that, and if your children need anything else, to be there for them when this is all over."

"I just assumed..." Emma started to say in her confusion.

"I am not a man comfortable with giving into emotion, especially when it goes against my principles. I've never been much of a romantic." Jonathan confessed, looking away.

"So you do not want to stay with us, out of guilt, strange for one who does not give into emotion." Emma said.

Looking at her, he saw a smirk on her face, "You're making fun of me."

"Does it bother you?" Emma asked.

"It is ... different." Jonathan said.

"Are you always so careful?" Emma asked, trying to be serious.

"You and Lucas." Jonathan said, shaking his head he glanced at her.

"What about us?" Emma asked.

"I could never understand someone like him. For me, life was all about careful planning and picking your moment. Lucas was always so wild and free. He took chances when I wouldn't, but always seemed to be lucky, and managed to pull off each risky venture." Jonathan said, smiling at the thought of his late friend and his work practices.

"That was Lucas." Emma admitted.

"You are very much alike, you and him." Jonathan said.

"Would it be wrong for you to know that I was attracted to you, too, when we first met?" Emma said, noting his surprise, "I was a married woman then, but despite my attraction to you, I did not plan to do anything, like you, I believe in doing the right thing, but my feelings for you have only grown stronger, so where does that leave us?" Emma replied.

"Perhaps we shall let God or fate decide. If I survive this war and our feelings remain the same, I will honor Lucas' final wish to its very letter. If I don't, then you may choose another if that is what you desire, without either of us feeling any guilt." Jonathan said.

"Then we will wait for you, and I will hope you return safely." Emma said.

The following morning, Jonathan took what he could carry, mounted his horse, and waved goodbye to Emma and the children as he rode off to war. His mission was not to join the regular army, but to target enemy officers on his own. He had no intention of changing the level of technology, so he would avoid the colonial forces as well. Camping in the woods, he would hunt with a bow and arrows that he had brought with him. Firing a gun, especially anywhere near a possible enemy line, would not be in his best interest. He had some practice with the weapon, and could aim well enough to keep himself from going hungry. He only lit fires in the daytime, to make sure its light would not give him away, and he always scouted the area ahead of time, to increase the odds that he wouldn't be found. Tracking the British troops, he followed them as they tried to pull back. The loss of two fine officers had been unexpected. The disastrous loss at Concord soon afterwards, lost them an additional three hundred regulars, as less experienced officers who were forced to take up the slack found it too difficult to handle their new responsibilities. A gap had began to form in the red coats command structure.

Colonel Smith and Major Pitcairn had to be replaced, which took time. It allowed Jonathan to catch up as they made ready to lay siege to Boston. Climbing up into a tree where he had plenty of cover and a good view to pick his targets, he aimed through his scope for red coats marked with officer insignias. He caught one man eating breakfast as the bullet struck. Keeling over, the man choked on his meal and died before shocked comrades sitting around the campfire. Two more shots killed a captain and a lieutenant, before Jonathan decided to relocate. The British camp was a hornet's nest, as men either scrambled to find the shooter who they couldn't see, or ducked for cover. Moving ten yards away, Jonathan picked another target and fired. Another officer fell dead as he tried to issue orders. Disappearing into the forest, Jonathan circled wide around as the British started searching near the trees he had been in. Switching targets, he aimed for pack horses pulling wagons full of ammo and supplies, and shot two before moving again. He always stayed on the move so they couldn't get a beat on him. The enemy soldiers were terrified as an unseen killer created havoc in their camp. By midday, they had learned to keep their heads down, as it seemed to provide them with some safety, but by this time Jonathan had already left, satisfied that now he had taken much of the fight out of the British army. In actuality, Jonathan Alexander had done much more than that: he had managed not only to diminish enemy moral, but also limited their ability to resupply.

In order to replace packhorses and bring their supply operations back up to par, enemy troops would have to take them from nearby towns. The British searched for new packhorses, as they made plans to attack Fort Ticonderoga, because attacking Boston didn't seem possible, even with the packhorses they had lost. They simply lacked the munitions and cannon to carry out a successful siege on Boston, or attack any military targets while more and more rebel forces moved into the area surrounding Boston. They believed that rebels that had shot at them days before at their camp, were part of an effort sanctioned by the Continental Congress to disrupt British military operations, and the British were determined not to be pushed around by a bunch of rebels. It was one thing to lose to riflemen on an open battlefield, but it was quite another to use what they considered cowardly tactics to attack the King's army. As they lay siege to the Fort, the colonial troops from Boston, hearing that the fort recently captured by Benedict Arnold and Ethan Allen and Allen's Green Mountain Boys of Vermont, marched quickly to aid their trapped comrades. The colonists inside the fort were greatly outnumbered and couldn't hold out long, but Jonathan Alexander, ever watchful, heard about the siege and rode hard to get there before things got out of hand.

He saw that the colonists inside the walls were barely holding on, as red coats tried hard to breach the defenses. Aiming for the cannoneers, Jonathan started picking them off with deadly accuracy, using the sound of the cannons themselves to cover the report of his rifle as it fired. In all the smoke covering the battlefield, he had to wait for his shots as the wind cleared the smoke away, but it also meant it would be harder for his enemies to figure out where they were being fired from. A whole gun crew died before the red coats realized they were being fired on. Believing it came from the fort, they tried to pull their guns back to make it harder for their enemy to hit them, though they were surprised that even a rifle could fire that far. This, of course, did them no good, as Jonathan continued to fire from behind, using whatever vantage point he could find from a tree, to a hill or rock, so he could get a shot off. He had spent a whole day replenishing his bullets, using spent shells that he had managed to police up, and now he had plenty of ammo to fire.

Men died left and right, but his main focus was again the officers and packhorses. When he could get a shot, he would shoot a member of one of the gun crews hard at work reloading cannons, but the smoke spewed by their gun barrels protected them more than any other group, as it stayed near them. Sighting through his scope, Jonathan saw an old colonel looking through his looking glasses to access the damage made on the fort. Holding his breath, Jonathan squeezed the trigger and saw the man jerk. One young messenger riding up tried to speak to the colonel and tell him about the approaching enemy troops, when he saw the officer slump, before falling out of his saddle. Men rushed to his side as he let out one final breath, a look of shock on his face. Those men who had seen shooting like this days before, could only look about frightfully, as they knew that the killing would only continue. By the time the minutemen arrived under the command of General Prescott, they found that the British themselves were under siege. Before their eyes, Prescott and his men, numbering 1,000 to the British army's 2,000, regulars and artillerymen ducked for cover as their guns went silent. Every time one of them tried to do anything remotely hostile against the fort, they painted a big target on themselves, and Jonathan had no qualms about shooting them when he had the chance.

Even as they saw rebels marching down upon them, none dared stand up in ranks to face them, and the colonist were able to take the British troops prisoner with little trouble. Word was sent back to headquarters, telling them about the great victory at the fort. George Washington and the rest of his command was just as baffled as their enemy was, as to the events of that day. Apparently, by all accounts, a person or persons of interest had managed to hold down an entire army, not once, but twice. The enemy troops that were captured insisted that it was the same group of rebels that they had faced days before, and grudgingly acknowledged their skill. When asked if they had ever seen any of their attackers, all of them shook their heads.

"It seems my best troops are men that I have never met. I find it strange to think that I owe so much to them and I cannot say thank you." Washington said.

As it turned out, chance would cause him to meet the man in question. While riding home, Jonathan came across Washington and his army marching North. Pulling off to the side, he watched the Continental army march past, with the general on the other side.

Seeing that Jonathan was carrying a rifle in his saddle Washington said, "I have heard that a group of men acting like ghost kept British troops pinned down near the fort not more than a day's ride back yonder."

"If that is true, general, then I imagine they would have had to have some skill, or were very lucky." Jonathan replied, as a gap showed in the line and Washing rode through towards him.

"You recognize my rank?" Washington asked.

"I do, sir. My friend was a Minuteman back in Lexington. I've seen many military men in my time, and with this war going on, I'll imagine I'll see many more on both sides." Jonathan said.

"Are you heading there now?" Washington asked.

"Yes, I must see to his family. I have been away from them long enough since his death, and have responsibilities back there." Jonathan said.

"My condolences to you, and to his family. I'm afraid many brave men will die in this war before it is done." Washington said, looking down at the weapon in the stranger's saddle, "How well can you shoot with that musket?"

"It is not a musket general, sir; it's a rifle, and I can shoot just fine." Jonathan said.

"Why not join up and honor you friend's service, we could use more fighting men?" Washington asked.

"If I was to fight in this war, it would be my way, not yours." Jonathan said.

"And what way would that be, good sir?" Washington asked with interest.

"Simple, I wouldn't make it easier for my enemy to shoot back. The natives on the frontier understand that rule well enough. They fight war the right way: strike hard, and melt away if you can. The British are better at this type of warfare than you are. If you stand in front of them like they want, more people will die." Jonathan said.

"Unfortunately, muskets aren't that accurate, so we have no choice but to fight in ranks so that we hit our enemies." Washington explained.

"You're forgetting that rifles don't have that drawback. Get enough of them together, and you don't need a hundred or more soldiers to hit anything, but then again, I'm not in the army so you can do what you want, general." Jonathan said.

"You're the one who did it, didn't you?" Washington asked, following his instinct; there was something different about this man.

"Did what, sir?" Jonathan replied.

"It wasn't a bunch of rebels or even a few, it was just you." Washington said, looking at him.

"Even if what you say was true, and I'm not saying it is, what difference does it make? I don't plan on joining up and following someone's orders, just to catch a bullet when I'm ordered to do something stupid. If I was your man, then I fight this way 'cause it keeps me alive." Jonathan said.

"While allowing you to kill as many of your enemy as possible." Washington commented.

"And what is wrong with that? The red coats seemed to be terrified of your man. How exactly is that bad for you?" Jonathan said.

"It isn't, which is my point. I'm no fool, sir. I know our chances are not good. That is why I'm looking for all the help we can get. If you were the man I'm looking for, and I simply told you where the enemy was and sent you out, would that be more to your liking?" Washington asked.

"I would only answer to you?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes." Washington answered.

"Then I suppose you and I have a deal, General..." Jonathan said fishing for the man's name.

"Washington, General Washington." Washington said.

Raising his eyebrows, Jonathan said, "I've heard of you. Pleasure to meet you sir, I'm Jonathan Alexander."

Before being permanently attached to Washington's command, Jonathan stopped off at Lexington to see Emma and her family. Everyone is happy to have him back, especially Emma, as Thomas was talking about joining up now that he is sixteen, and is itching to get into the fight.

Talking to him privately, Jonathan said to the young man, "Your mother has expressed concern of you going off to fight. She has already lost a husband, would you have her risk a son?"

"Why do you fight, sir?" Thomas asked, his voice showing great maturity in its calmness.

"I believe in your father's cause, and would see it done even if I must help in its execution." Jonathan said.

"I want nothing less. Am I not allowed to fight for the dream my father was willing to give his life for?" Thomas asked in earnest.

Nodding, Jonathan said, "I see that I cannot change your mind, and though I could do my best to hamper you, I will not, on one condition."

"Name it, sir." Thomas said determined.

"You will serve with me. I need a spotter to help me pick targets and guard my back should someone seek to sneak up behind me while I shoot. It will not be an easy job, and will have its own dangers, but your chances of survival will be better than on your average battlefield in this war." Jonathan said.

"Alright." Thomas agreed.

From that moment on, Thomas' training began. Jonathan had only a few more days before he had to report to General Washington, and he used that time to teach Thomas the basics: how to make bullets, showing him how to create his own rifle, hand signals, spotting targets, and improving communication skills so that Thomas could describe and identify targets for him. By the time they headed out they were already forming themselves into a team. When they arrived at camp near New York, they were shown to the command tent, where Washington waited bent over a table looking at a map of the colonies. Two junior officers who had been talking to him left at a gesture from him, leaving only a guard outside at the opening to the tent.

"Who is this?" Washington said, looking at Jonathan's companion.

"His name is Thomas; a young man I trust, and will be aiding in my missions." Jonathan said.

"And how exactly will he do that?" Washington asked, curious.

"He will act as my spotter: it will be his job to help me find my targets while I shoot, and guard my back when I am focused on my enemy and develop tunnel vision." Jonathan explained.

"Tunnel vision?" Thomas asked.

"It happens to soldiers sometimes, but especially for a shooter who has to fire over a long distance. Performing feats like that requires an awful amount of focus. What if someone snuck up behind me while I'm busy trying to pick my shot?" Jonathan said.

"You would be exposed." Thomas said.

"Exactly, that's why I need you. I don't have eyes in the back of my head. By working as a team, our chances of survival increase. It's that teamwork that allows us to perform our best and keeps us alive." Jonathan explained.

"Very well, then, I have received word that the English are trying to regroup after their losses in Massachusetts. All signs show them preparing to launch an attack on New York. I want you to find the British army and discourage this, or at least buy me time so we can mount a proper defense. Do you require anything from me before you move out?" Washington asked.

"I need a map, and a spy glass for my companion, and some food and water for both of us so we will not have to stop to hunt." Jonathan said.

"Excellent. See the supply officer and give him this." Washington said, writing out the request and signing it.

Taking the signed piece of paper, Jonathan saluted before leaving with Thomas in tow.

As they got what they needed, Thomas asked, "So what is the plan?"

"An army needs rest and supplies in order to do their job properly. Most likely they will want to gather where they could easily be resupplied before they approach New York. My guess is that their ship will be their best bet, so I say we head down the coast." Jonathan said, slipping into the saddle.