Chapter Two

The smell of the smoke still drifted on the breeze as they neared the village. Georges had spread his men out in a skirmish chain as he neared the village, fearing that a few militia may have got away and holed themselves up in some part of the hamlet, not that there was any house left standing to provide refuge.

The hamlet was a smoking ruin by now; when they had begun the fire earlier in the morning the houses roared with the flames that consumed them, burnished with bright oranges and reds as the flames licked and devoured them. Now all that was left were charred black embers, all that lay testament to a happy thriving frontier community.

In the centre of the hamlet a few graves had been dug, evidence of the work the militia had done earlier. Two of his men, Edouard and Phillippe scrambled on ahead, quickly using shelter to move from one area to another. When they had scouted ahead and ascertained none had used the hamlet for a defence, Edouard came back, signalling that it was safe to advance.

 Georges led his men through the remains of the buildings, intent on reaching the track that led further to his territory as quickly as possible, though it would be a dark and unforgiving night. It was at this time when the men were reaching the other side of the forest that three Indians emerged from the trees, a freshly bloodied scalp swinging from one of the men’s belts. Plasoa quickly recognised Georges and headed in his direction. A strongly muscled man, his body an example of athleticism that many of the Indian warriors Georges had become accustomed to were known for.

‘I have a letter here that you may want to read’ Plasoa stated in his roughly accented French.

He handed the piece of parchment to Georges and turned back.

‘Are you not continuing with us back to Duquesne?’

‘We have done our work, the tomahawk has been bloodied, now we return to celebrate, go where you wish to go’; with with that his men ran off into the cover of the undergrowth.

Georges was irritated by their lack of duty; his force had now been rapidly halved and he was not back to safe territory yet. Speed was now of the essence. His attention was brought back to the parchment, he flipped it over and began to read

 

Dear Amelia

The expedition will set off soon now. It won’t be too long before I see you again, and then all the glory of capturing Fort Duquesne will be with us. Do not fear for we have overwhelming strength and General Braddock is with us. I will be back in your arms before you know it.

Your darling

Henry

 

Georges could not contain his disbelief. They had known for a while that something was brewing, but an expedition led by General Braddock! Fort Duquesne was in more danger than they knew, and clearly the priority of the British army’s campaign. How foolish that man had been to put that down in writing. He had to get this information back and soon, preparations would have to be made quickly.

‘Get up you scum, it’s time to move’

The men were suddenly alert, their commanders usually laid back calmness had been disturbed and they knew something serious was up.

‘Move out at the double’

And with that the men moved off the track into the trees, rapidly marching through the undergrowth. Georges quickened the pace moving into a light jog, a sense of dread beginning to overhaul him. His mind was going through the ramifications of the letter. If the British Commander in Chief was leading the forces then it would be a considerable effort, and that meant a large force would be sent to face the meagre garrison at Duquesne. Not only that but the route of the attack would have to be scouted and planned, meaning that his men could run into considerable enemy parties at any moment. Damn that Plasoa for leaving me now. His fear drove him on further, quickening his pace into a considerable jog, he forced his men to move rapidly through the ungainly terrain, moving past trees, up and down rises and falls in the terrain and over boulders and fallen timber.

After a while Sergeant Kimmel rushed up to Georges.

‘Don’t you think you’re going a tad too fast sir, you’re starting to scare the lads’

Georges realised what he was doing and instinctively slowed the pace, he had allowed his fear to overtake him and was pushing the men too much, no point tiring them yet, there was still a long way to go.

‘Sorry Sergeant, I hadn’t realised how soft the men had become’ he smirked,

‘Oh no, not me sir, just some of the lads were thinking you were going a bit too much.’ He quickened his pace and turned to the men ‘Stop slacking you laggards’

Kimmel turned back to Georges ‘Say that letter isn’t the reason for our recent frantic dash?’

Nothing escapes his attention

‘All in good time sergeant, make sure all the water is rationed, we’ll take a break here’

The men settled down on a slight ridge, the ground sloping down a few hundred metres away. Georges himself was left to contemplate what size the force would be that would come against them. He had allowed himself to make a note of all the provisions he would need for his men come a protracted siege when he noticed something in the clearing about 200 metres away. He pulled out his telescope, an oddity he was known for, and scanned the edge of the forest. Maybe it was just the movement of the wind in the trees. He scanned again but this time he picked it up. A man was watching them; not just a man but a man clad in green and carrying a rifle.

S**t, the rangers,

‘Everyone up, we’re being tracked, time to move out, we’re heading south’

Please don’t let them catch us, the race is on.