Fun fact: Arnold was well aware of the severity of his crime and what that meant for him. Talleyrand, the infamous French Minister of Foreign Affairs during Napoleon's reign, even met him in person once. He heard about an American general nearby and hoped to gain some contacts in America through him. Arnold bitterly answered, that he cannot grant him any meaningful contacts, since he is probably the only American that cannot return to his own country.
Not a chance in hell at the moment, and there will be no coups against the Continental Congress attempted in this quest. For the love of everything, can we please not talk about overthrowing flawed but free democratic governments in order to install strong man dictatorships that'll collapse as soon as Big Daddy dictator shakes off his mortal coil?
I will vehemently vote against any plan that tries to turn America into some wacky dictatorship or tries to undo the Revolution. That's not the Quest for that.
I will vehemently vote against any plan that tries to turn America into some wacky dictatorship or tries to undo the Revolution. That's not the Quest for that.
Well Halbert and Arnold had a big connection while under a tree smoking with the stars above. Basically made a promise to have each other's backs. If we can actually keep this going? Could be seen as one of the great partnerships of the war.
The ball was ok. Halbert didn't have a good time but not a bad one either. At least Tommy had some fun drinking. Knox on his natural environment. Wasn't a big success but hey still a good result. Sad about no social with the Redhead.
Chill guys I was just asking a question regarding on how much ties we had on Arnold. Asking if he were to help us out on that endeavor was the first thing that popped in my head.
Chill guys I was just asking a question regarding on how much ties we had on Arnold. Asking if he were to help us out on that endeavor was the first thing that popped in my head.
Can we be able to bend or disregard some orders if it was an order that could backfire on the US.
Ex. Disregard a Major General order of being passive and instead charge the enemy and break them to prevent them from regrouping or doing a Operation that wasn't signed by the Congress because it involved crossing foreign borders we aren't supposed to be (because an important war winning objective could be achieved by doing it).
Can we be able to bend or disregard some orders if it was an order that could backfire on the US.
Ex. Disregard a Major General order of being passive and instead charge the enemy and break them to prevent them from regrouping or doing a Operation that wasn't signed by the Congress because it involved crossing foreign borders we aren't supposed to be (because an important war winning objective could be achieved by doing it).
That would require heavy consideration on my part, but I am amenable to some instances. For example, over on @Skrevski's Civil War quest, a major part of the quest was disobeying orders to halt an attack
Outright disregard is one thing, but bending orders just before they break is a time-honored tradition in armies all around the world. So "Ehhh..." on the first and tentative yes on the second.
That would require heavy consideration on my part, but I am amenable to some instances. For example, over on @Skrevski's Civil War quest, a major part of the quest was disobeying orders to halt an attack
Outright disregard is one thing, but bending orders just before they break is a time-honored tradition in armies all around the world. So "Ehhh..." on the first and tentative yes on the second.
Arthur Smith stood next to John Riely, his eyes scanning the bustling streets of Philadelphia. It had been years since he'd last set foot here, and the city seemed both familiar and foreign all at once. The war had changed everything, and now even this place, once a symbol of colonial ambition, felt like a battleground of ideals. Washington had no use for him at the moment, preferring other men for his daring raids around Boston, so Arthur had made a request. He asked to deliver important letters to Congress, ostensibly on the General's behalf—but more importantly, for his own purposes.
He needed to speak with John Adams.
The stories about the fiery lawyer from Massachusetts had reached even the ears of sailors. Adams, the radical, the man of independence, had become a symbol of defiance against British tyranny. But Arthur sought something beyond fiery speeches. The Continental Navy had plenty of ships and able-bodied sailors, but Arthur knew better than anyone the reality of what they were about to face.
He wasn't a fool. The Royal Navy was the finest in the world, and Arthur's sailors, as capable as they were, were not marines. They weren't trained to storm enemy vessels or engage in fierce hand-to-hand combat. They could sail and run blockades, sure, but when it came to fighting, they were outmatched. He needed real soldiers—men who could stand toe to toe with the enemy.
As he approached the large brick hall that now served as the seat of the Continental Congress, Arthur couldn't help but feel the weight of his disheveled appearance. His hair was wind-tossed, his boots mud-streaked, but his naval uniform, though worn from days of travel, was enough to grant him entry. He strode forward, straightening his jacket as best he could. "I'm here to speak with Mr. Adams of Massachusetts," he announced, his voice steady.
At first, there was a murmur of confusion from the guards and onlookers, some of whom didn't seem to recognize the bedraggled naval officer standing before them. Then, from across the room, a voice that sent a familiar warmth through Arthur's chest called out.
"Arthur."
His eyes locked onto the speaker, and there stood the most important man in his life aside from his own father and grandfather—Moses. Beside him, looking equally astonished to see him, were Henri and Sarah.
"Arthur!" Henri cried, his grin broad as he rushed forward, Sarah following close behind. They embraced him tightly, and Arthur returned their hugs with a relieved smile, feeling the tension of the past few months lift, if only for a moment.
"Good to see you both," Arthur said, his voice soft but sincere as he pulled back from the embrace. He took a moment to study Henri and Sarah, noting how much they had grown since he'd last seen them. The hardships of war had left their mark on everyone, including them. "I'm sure you remember John Riely?"
John gave a wide smile and ruffled Henri's hair playfully. Henri grinned back, but before they could exchange more pleasantries, Moses stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "What are you doing here, Arthur?" he asked, his tone curious but concerned. "Do you have news of James?"
At the mention of his eldest brother, a shadow passed over Arthur's face. He shook his head. "Last I heard, James was delivering letters and was headed to New York. But that was months ago." His voice trailed off, and the air seemed to grow heavier.
Henri and Sarah exchanged a glance, their worry visible, but Arthur quickly forced a smile. "I'm sure he's fine. James can handle himself." He turned to Moses, trying to shift the mood. "And what about you? What brings you here? Helping Congress?"
Moses chuckled lightly. "Not exactly. Just Dr. Franklin. I've been running errands for him."
Arthur nodded. "Ah, the good doctor. Always a man of many schemes." He hesitated, then added, "I'm here on dispatches. Letters from General Washington."
Moses raised an eyebrow. "Well, don't let us keep you waiting. Congress awaits."
Arthur inhaled deeply, steeling himself for the task ahead. John Riely, ever perceptive, noticed the change in his demeanor and nudged him. "Don't say it," Arthur muttered under his breath.
"Say what, Captain?" John replied, feigning innocence.
Arthur frowned, knowing exactly where this was going. "They're friends."
John grinned. "I would've thought you'd find more colorful company, but I suppose these two are colorful enough in their own way."
Arthur didn't respond, only giving a small smirk before turning to the large doors leading into the Congressional Hall. He straightened his uniform and, with John at his side, entered.
The hall was alive with conversation and debate. Delegates huddled in groups, discussing the future of the rebellion, the war effort, and the very fate of the colonies. Arthur scanned the room, searching for the men he had come to see. His eyes fell on two figures deep in conversation near the far end of the hall: Dr. Benjamin Franklin, ever the wily statesman, and John Adams, the fiery lawyer from Massachusetts.
Arthur approached with a steady gait, doing his best to appear confident while concealing his true purpose. As he neared them, Adams glanced up and immediately recognized him. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Ah, Captain Smith," Adams greeted, his voice carrying a mixture of respect and amusement. "I was just discussing your exploits with Dr. Franklin here. It seems your name has become quite the topic of conversation among the General's letters." He smirked. "Though he didn't mention you weren't much of a dresser."
Arthur returned the smile, though more modestly. "Only when the war is over, and victory is ours, will I look the part of the gentleman my father and grandfather would wish me to be."
Franklin chuckled warmly, stepping forward to clasp Arthur's hand. "Good to see you safe, son. The seas haven't swallowed you up yet, I see."
"I'm grateful for that, Doctor," Arthur replied, bowing his head slightly. "And I should introduce you to my first officer, John Riely."
John gave a polite nod, and Franklin's eyes twinkled. "A pleasure. I must say, Captain, you seem to have gathered quite the bold crew."
Adams crossed his arms, an approving smile tugging at his lips. "Boldness appears to be the only language you seem to understand, Captain. But it serves you well. Now, what brings you here, away from the seas?"
Arthur's smile faded as the reason for his visit came rushing back to the forefront of his mind. His expression grew serious. "Mister Adams, I need help."
At that, Adams' jovial demeanor vanished. He leaned in, his voice lowering. "What is it you need, Captain?"
Arthur glanced around the hall before meeting Adams' eyes. "I need marines—trained men who can fight. The Royal Navy is not our only threat. When Boston is liberated and I begin my campaign to support the Quebec rebellion and our allies in Canada… I'll need men who can do more than just sail."
Adams blinked in surprise. "General Washington doesn't supply you with marines?"
"He wasn't overly enthusiastic about naval operations," Arthur replied with a touch of frustration. "He believes the resources we currently have are sufficient, that our sailors can fill the gaps."
"And you disagree?" Adams asked, his tone measured.
"Yes," Arthur said firmly. "Sailors can man the ships, but they aren't trained to fight like soldiers. We need men who can board enemy vessels, defend our own, and hold ground when necessary. The enemy we face is too experienced, and too skilled, for us to rely solely on what we have. If we want to win, we need to start thinking bigger."
Adams' brow furrowed, considering Arthur's words. Franklin, who had been listening in silence, nodded thoughtfully. "He's right," the elder statesman said finally. "But you think you can gain it here?
Adams sighed, his mind clearly turning over the challenge. "I will bring your request before Congress, Captain. But it won't be easy to convince them. They're already stretched thin as it is."
Arthur straightened his back, his resolve firm. "I understand. But know even if you don't, I'll do it, without your help."
"I'll make sure it won't come to that." Adams said.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
November… it had taken until November to finally make it happen, but Arthur knew exactly where to find the kind of men he needed. Desperation mixed with determination had brought him to this point, and now he stood outside the rough-hewn wooden door of Tun's Tavern. The chill of the late autumn air nipped at his face, but the warmth inside, fueled by alcohol and rowdy conversation, spilled out into the street.
Samuel Nicholas, the major General Washington had sent down to assist him, eyed the tavern with skepticism. His arms were crossed, and his face was set in a grim frown. "Tun's Tavern? This is your grand plan?" he asked, his voice dripping with disbelief. "You think a nest of drunkards and scoundrels will give you the men you're looking for?"
Arthur didn't flinch. "Tun's Tavern is where I found John," he replied, motioning to his first officer standing a few paces behind them. "And he's the toughest bastard of them all."
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "Every man in there could be working for the Crown. Or worse, a loyalist spy. What makes you think these men will fight for us, let alone be worth a damn in a real battle?"
Arthur's grin widened. He didn't answer directly. Instead, he stepped toward the entrance, swung the door open, and marched inside. The tavern was packed to the brim with rough-looking men, their eyes gleaming from behind mugs of ale, smoke thick in the air. Conversations hummed, broken only by the occasional laugh or curse.
Without hesitation, Arthur bellowed at the top of his lungs, "GOD SAVE KING GEORGE!"
The effect was immediate. The entire tavern fell dead silent. Conversations halted, mugs froze midair, and every eye turned toward him with cold suspicion. Within seconds, the room transformed. Men who had been slouching in their chairs moments before leapt to their feet. Pistols were drawn, swords unsheathed, and knives appeared from bootstraps. Some reached for rifles hanging on the walls. The air buzzed with the sudden tension, and Arthur could feel the hostility radiating off the men.
The first insult was flung at him, followed by the sharp sound of a pistol being cocked. Arthur calmly glanced back at Nicholas, who looked both bewildered and impressed.
"Time to go," Arthur said casually.
Both men bolted for the door as the first shot rang out, narrowly missing Arthur's head. They slammed the door shut behind them and dove into the street, ducking as a barrage of projectiles—tankards, knives, and even a broken stool—crashed against the wood. Shouts of anger echoed after them as the men inside began to chase them.
"I think we're in the right place!" Arthur said with a grin, still exhilarated from the madness.
Nicholas scowled as he dodged another shot that whizzed past his ear. "Aye, and now we've got to calm the bastards down, you fool! How the hell do you plan to do that?" he yelled as they ducked into a nearby alley, the sound of boots pounding behind them.
Arthur just laughed. He had a plan—or at least, he hoped he did.
---
Hours later, the tavern was much quieter, the firelight casting flickering shadows on the walls. Around a large wooden table, men sat, sober enough to write down their names or mark their "X" on the hastily drawn enlistment rolls. They were no longer armed, though some still clutched their mugs of whiskey like lifelines. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and stale smoke, but the mood had shifted from violent to cautiously cooperative.
Samuel Nicholas, still looking astonished, watched another man make his mark on the parchment. He turned to Arthur, shaking his head. "Let it be known, I have no bloody idea how you managed to calm these mad bastards down."
Arthur smirked and poured himself another small glass of whiskey, raising it in a mock toast. "Whiskey is a powerful thing," he replied. "Promise a man a bottle of it after he's had his rage, and you'd be surprised how quickly he comes around."
Nicholas huffed, still not entirely convinced. "Whiskey might've done the trick tonight, but you'd better hope they don't burn the damn place down once we're done."
Arthur chuckled. "If they do, I'll just take 'em out to sea and let the British worry about 'em." He drained the glass in one gulp and glanced over at the recruits. "These men might be half-crazed, but they're the best we're going to get, Samuel. Bold enough to stand up to the Crown's finest, and mad enough to fight like hell when it counts. That's what we need."
Nicholas sighed. "I still can't believe you shouted that in there. 'God save King George'—you could've gotten us both killed!"
Arthur's smile never faded. "Sometimes, Samuel, the quickest way to find the right men is to light the fuse and see who doesn't run." He looked over the now-reluctant recruits signing up. "These men didn't run. They chased us out that door, and that's exactly the kind of fire we need."
Nicholas muttered something under his breath but couldn't help but nod in agreement. He'd seen enough battles to know that the men who fought hardest were often the ones with nothing left to lose.
I'm able to vaguely remember the results, so I don't think a reroll is necessary. I can't promise complete accuracy, but I can promise that it will be close enough.
"Every post is honorable in which a man can serve his country."
–George Washington
October 13, 1775
Fort Ticonderoga, New York
As the cold nipped at his skin, James Hiller was quickly discovering that manual labor was not his forte. He was young, sure, and had time to grow into the strength he needed—mentally, physically, and spiritually—but that didn't mean the work didn't hurt. Every lift, every tug, every strain on his back made his muscles burn, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from groaning in frustration. Not even working with the printing press had prepared him for stress and strain this great.
"Come on, lad," Colonel Halbert's voice rang out, sharp but not unkind, as he hoisted another heavy crate over his broad shoulders. "I told you I'd use you where we needed help, so put your back into it." The Colonel made it look easy, moving with a practiced efficiency as he loaded up the wagon at the front of the line.
James, on the other hand, was struggling with his own half-filled wagon. It filled him with a deep sense of shame that he wasn't up to the task, that he might delay the entire embarkment. His hands were already raw from the cold and the rough wood, and his arms ached in ways he hadn't imagined possible. Swallowing his pride, he approached Colonel Knox, hoping for some relief.
"Colonel Knox," James began, trying to mask the exhaustion in his voice, "can you spare a man to help me with loading my wagon? I'm falling behind."
Knox, a towering figure with the presence of a man who had seen and done it all, paused from his own work and glanced at James' wagon, taking in the situation with a quick, appraising look. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though not one of mockery—it was almost fatherly.
"Nah, you're perfect, kid," Knox replied, his voice gruff but not unkind. "What we need now isn't just muscle, but speed. Everyone's got to pull their own weight here." Then he reached into the back of his own wagon and pulled out a long, heavy grey coat. "But before anything else, put this on. We're about to start marching through snow, and I can't afford you getting sick. You'll be no good to anyone if you drop dead of cold."
James took the coat, his fingers grateful for the warmth as he slid into it. The wool was thick, and it seemed to envelop him, the weight of it comfort in the biting cold air. He nodded his thanks, though Knox had already moved on, his focus shifting back to the larger task at hand.
Just as James finished adjusting the coat, he heard the unmistakable shout of Colonel Halbert from the front of the line. Standing atop his wagon, Halbert's eyes scanned the gathered men, his voice carrying over the camp like a battle cry. "Come on, lads! We've got a long road ahead to Boston, and there's no stopping—not even for a minute!"
The urgency in Halbert's tone sparked a sense of determination in James. Despite the soreness in his limbs, he knew he couldn't afford to falter. There was no room for weakness here, not when every man had to do his part. He glanced back at his wagon, half-loaded and waiting. There was still so much left to do.
Taking a deep breath, James set his jaw and got back to work. The weight of the crates didn't seem quite so unbearable now, not with the realization that he was part of something larger than himself. The cold bit at his cheeks, the strain still burned in his muscles, but there was a fire in him now too—a fire lit by the words of men like Halbert and Knox, who led not just with authority, but with example.
He just hoped that when he had a chance, he could write it down.
Transportation of the Cannons I
1D100 = 94+15+10+5 => Art!Crit! 129 ( If you had gotten a Nat Crit, I swear...)
Excerpts from Battle for Boston – "Chapter 9: Noble Train"
By William G. Magoo
"...The first step of transporting the guns–sailing them down Lake George and back to Albany–proved to be miraculously efficient and quick. With it still being October, the lake had not frozen over just yet, allowing the convoy to quickly load the cannons onto the two awaiting gundalows on the northern end and swiftly sailing down to the south. Halbert and Knox were the first to make land, with Knox heading onto Albany to prepare the next stage while Halbert stayed behind to make sure the cannons continued to smoothly sail. Knox would note in his journal that the moment his boat beached onto the southern end, a light and brief snow began to fall, the first of the year.
"In his widely famed Pennsylvania Gazette article that covered the convoy and its journey, the then-young apprentice James Hiller would write the following as he gently swayed on a boat crossing the lake: "...It is not the skill at arms or great discipline that is so impressive about the American Soldier; nay, it is but the great fortitude and determination in overcoming any obstacle that hinders their path." Indeed, stubborn Americans tended to bring great results. Within three weeks' time, they had gotten all the guns across Lake George."
Transportation of the Cannons II
1D100 = 25+15+10+5 => 55
"The second stage of transporting the guns, however, would prove more challenging. They had planned to place the cannons on sleds and use the frozen river to transport them, avoiding the usual problems with transporting cannons in the winter. There was only one problem: the river hadn't frozen over yet. And they hadn't prepared for overland transport. So they had to wait for over two weeks until the ice started to form, with them attempting to quicken the freezing by pouring more water onto already existing ice.
"Eventually, they managed to get the cannons moving by mid-November, the snow beginning to thicken on the ground. Unfortunately, three cannons would be lost during the hazardous journey. One popular tale of the Noble Train tells of how James Hiller, riding on one of the sleds carrying a cannon, went on a wild ride across the ice when the ropes connecting the sled snapped. He would be forced to jump for a nearby tree branch to avoid falling off a frozen watercliff and down to an ignomiously icy death.
"They finished the most harrowing part of their journey by early December, with many grateful for the small break they had of four days."
Does the Convoy get Ambushed? (Lower is Better)
1D100 = 21-15-10-5+10+5 => 6 ( If you had gotten a Crit Fail here, I swear again–)
"There were attempts made by various British soldiers and Loyalists to ambush the convoy during this period. Unfortunately for them, the Hellhounds under Elizabeth O'Conner, the "Boudicca of the West" and one of the more controversial militia leaders of the war, proved far too effective in their duties of defending the convoy. Thomas Navarre, Halbert's aide-de-camp, is also noted as having been crucial in these few skirmishes. After being brutally repulsed the first few attempts, the British would refrain from any more attacks. Quite wisely, as the only losses the Americans suffered were musket balls and powder. Which had been used to shoot at the British."
Transportation of the Cannons III
1D100 = 77+15+10+5 => Art!Crit! 107
"However, the third and last stage–crossing the Berkshires–would go by much smoother. Unfortunately, we don't have many sources on the precise route the Noble Train traveled nor do we have many sources on what happened then. Colonel Knox's journal, which provided the best source on this event, is oddly silent during this time. And the article by James Hiller does not go into much detail about it either. Regardless of what happened, however, the Noble Train trudged its way through the Berkshires in record time, reaching the outskirts of Massachusetts just before 1775 turned to 1776. There was no doubt a great amount of rejoicing at this fact.
"It was at this point that most of the New York militiamen, including the Hellhounds, turned back to New York, not wanting to leave their home state while it still had Redcoats in it. They were bid an amicable farewell, and the convoy, gaining some new local helpers, swiftly made their way toward Boston. Along the way, they would be greeted by the locals in the towns they passed y and hailed as heroes. Halbert and Knox occasionally stopped a cannon to briefly load and fire, to the cheers of the watching crowds."
December 31, 1775
Border of Massachusetts and New York
When Halbert finally realized they had crossed into Massachusetts, a wave of relief washed over him like the thaw of winter snow. The landscape had shifted subtly, but it was the signpost in the distance that caught his eye, barely visible against the white backdrop. Simple and weathered, it pointed toward Boston and announced the remaining distance: 100 miles. That meant they were near Springfield, a place of relative civilization. No longer would they need to forage through the desolate winter forests or scrape together supplies from the frozen wilderness to keep themselves and their oxen fed.
The sight was almost enough to make him scream out in joy, though his body and mind were too drained for such a display. His horse whinnied under him just as tiredly, the endless march from Ticonderoga having been an unrelenting test of endurance, grit, and sheer will. But this—this sign—meant they were nearing the end. Soon, it would all be over.
Colonel Knox, always one to sense the mood of his men, called out with a booming voice that carried over the crunch of snow and the low hum of the tired company. "Final stretch, boys! Just a few more days of this, and it'll be done!"
Halbert heard him, and the weight of Knox's words hit him like a floodgate opening. It was as if all the exhaustion of the past weeks finally caught up to him at that moment. He could barely feel his legs as they wobbled beneath him. Without thinking, he slouched onto the neck of his steed, the cold biting through his worn trousers, and clasped his hands together in prayer.
"Thank you, God," he muttered, barely audible under his breath. His mind raced with gratitude—for the strength that had carried him through the march, for the comrades who had stuck by his side, and for the end that was now in sight. The trials they had faced—the blistering cold, the grueling weight of the cannon they hauled, the endless miles through snow and ice—all of it would soon be behind them.
He stayed there for a moment longer, his breath visible in the crisp winter air and his heart thudding in his chest like the beat of a distant drum. It wasn't just a prayer of thanks, it was a plea for continued endurance, for the final push they all needed to make it through the last hundred miles.
Halbert slowly pushed himself back upright, feeling the stiffness in his joints, the ache in his back. But his mind was clearer now, his resolve steeled. He cast a glance toward Knox, who gave him a nod of understanding, and then at the men who trudged alongside him, all sharing the same weariness, the same hope.
Without a word, Halbert pulled his coat tighter against the biting wind and resumed the march. Each step was agony for all of them, but each step brought them closer to Boston. Closer to the end. Closer to the victory they had fought so hard for.
And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Halbert allowed himself to believe that they would make it.
January 3, 1776
Masaachusetts
"Damn this rain," Halbert snarled as the convoy trudged its way down the muddy road, rain battering down upon them as cannons got stuck in mud and oxen brayed at the strain placed on them. Halbert adjusted his hat in a useless attempt to keep himself from getting soaked.
"Language, Colonel," Tommy cheekily admonished Halbert, distinctly not wet as he twirled an umbrella above his head, an umbrella gifted to him by the Schuylers.
"Quiet, Sergeant," Halbert bit back with no real heat, glaring at the innocent-faced Tommy. "Or should I call you corporal instead?"
Tommy grinned. "Still an improvement over private, sir."
"Don't you worry, Halbert," Colonel Knox, ever jovial despite being just as drenched as Halbert. "The rain can't stop our revolution! Not when we're only a few miles away from Boston."
"Mr. Knox!"
The three turned to see a woman in front of a quaint little house waving eagerly at the aforementioned corpulent colonel, a musket in her hand. Behind her was a curious boy, presumably her son, soaked by the rain, and peering from the open door were her other children. "Mr. Knox!"
"Mrs. Adams," Knox answered with both surprise and joy, a grin on his face as he rode toward her. "What good fortune to see you."
"You sold my husband books, and now look at you," the woman replied with a disbelieving chuckle. Pointing to the men and cannons, she then asked, "What is all this?"
"British guns from Fort Ticonderoga," Halbert spoke up as he and Tommy rode up beside Knox, a polite smile on his face. "General Washington may have use for them."
Colonel Knox smiled and patted Halbert on the shoulder before turning to face the woman. "Mrs. Adams, may I introduce to you my colleagues Lt. Colonel Jonathan Halbert and Sergeant Thomas Navarre. Halbert, Tommy, this is Mrs. Abigail Adams, wife of the esteemed John Adams."
As Tommy and Halbert tipped their hats in respect, Mrs. Adams shook her head in disbelief. "How on earth did you manage that," she asked.
"Rowed them across Lake George and hauled them across the Berkshires," Knox answered. Pointing to a cannon that was just passing by, he stated with pride, "We call that one Liberty."
He then turned to point back at a cannon behind them. "And that big one stuck in the mud; we call it Independence!"
At that moment, Tommy took particular notice of the boy behind Mrs. Adams. Hopping off his horse, he adjusted his coat and strided over to the kid, who ducked behind his mother at the approach of the strange man. His mother simply smiled and gently encouraged him forward, and the boy, still shy, peeked from behind his mother.
"What's your name, kid," Tommy asked with a reassuring smile.
"J-John, sir," the boy answered nervously as he stepped forward a bit, wringing hands behind his back. "John Quincy Adams."
Tommy grinned as he unbuttoned the satchel slung around his shoulder. "Well, Quincy, I've got a special gift for you."
Reaching into his satchel with his free hand, pulled out a pair of fancy, pristine white gloves. "I sto–strategically transfered these gloves from a Redcoat officer into my possession," Tommy chuckled. "But I like getting my hands dirty, so I don't have much use for them. Perhaps you could make use of them instead?"
The boy's eyes widened with both shock and uncontainable excitement, and he turned to his mother for approval. She smiled and nodded, and the boy eagerly took the gloves from Tommy. "Thank you, sir," he beamed with joy, his teeth shining despite the rain.
"You're welcome," Tommy chuckled as he stood up. "Now if you may excuse me, sir, I have a war to fight."
With that, Tommy rushed back to his horse, leapt onto it, and called for it to trot forward as the other cannons pulled up behind him. All on their way to Boston.
January 6, 1776
Outskirts of Boston, Massachusetts
A few days later, the "Noble Train of Artillery"–the sobriquet James and Tommy had bestowed upon their convoy–arrived at the main camp of the Continental Army, and it was almost unrecognizable from the disjointed, makeshift encampment they had left behind. What greeted them now was a fortified redoubt, complete with gun emplacements, sentry towers rising like sentinels over the walls, and stables filled with horses and other animals. The transformation was astounding, a testament to the soldiers who had stayed behind to fortify their position in preparation for the fight ahead.
As Halbert marched alongside Knox and the rest of the crew, the sound of jubilant cheering erupted from the men inside the fortifications. The sheer number of soldiers lining the ramparts and gates caught him off guard—he hadn't expected the army's ranks to swell like this. In truth, he had expected the opposite. He thought the men would have gradually drifted home, that the lull in the fighting would have sent them back to their farms, their families, leaving the camp half-empty. After all, the war had mostly paused for the winter.
But as he stood there watching the cannon slowly enter the camp, something incredible had happened. The men hadn't left. In fact, they had stayed. For some, there was no glory in remaining, no tangible reward. Yet, here they were, still together, still holding on to their belief in liberty and the shared cause.
Somehow, by some divine stroke of fortune—or perhaps it was the unwavering leadership of General Washington—the army had not only held firm but had grown. They weren't polished, and discipline still wavered, but there was something more valuable among them—courage, heart, and a sense of purpose.
Knox, who had been overseeing the artillery, strode over to Halbert. Just behind him, James Hiller, the young journalist who had tagged along on the expedition, was scribbling furiously into his notepad. It was a miracle the lad hadn't died during the grueling trek, but he was already walking toward a group of familiar faces, friends who had somehow made their way to Boston during the harsh winter months.
Knox, brushing snow from his shoulders, gave Halbert a knowing look. "So… starting to have faith in yourself now?" he asked with a wry grin. "Think Washington will believe in you after this?"
Halbert followed Knox's gaze toward the parapets. There, high above, stood General Washington, his tall, imposing figure unmistakable even in the swirling snow. He overlooked the scene with an air of quiet authority, watching as his men celebrated the arrival of the cannon that could potentially turn the tide of the siege. Though the snow and distance blurred the General's features, Halbert could almost swear he saw a small smile tugging at the edges of Washington's usually stern face.
Knox took a moment to compose himself before continuing. "He's going to want a report. Don't worry—I'll give it. And I'll make damn sure you get the credit you deserve, Halbert."
Knox clapped him on the shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie before nodding toward the soldiers gathering information ahead of them. "Looks like your men are waiting for you."
Halbert turned to see Prescot's regiment—or rather, his regiment now—standing at attention, just as they had been drilled, their weapons at the ready, and eyes sharp despite the fatigue of months of campaign. It was Wheeler at the head of the formation, standing tall, his voice booming over the cold air who was leading this process.
"Three cheers for Colonel Halbert, lads! HIP HIP—"
"HUZZAH!" the men roared in unison, their voices carrying across the snowy field, filling Halbert with a surge of pride.
"HIP HIP—"
"HUZZAH!"
And once more: "HIP HIP—"
"HUZZAH!"
Halbert stood there, surrounded by his men, by the cheers of comrades who had marched through hell and back. The pain in his feet, the weight of the journey, and the uncertainty that had plagued him for months all melted away. He had made it. They had all made it.
For the first time in a long while, Jonathan Halbert allowed himself to truly smile.
He had done the impossible again. But now, he needed rest, at least for a time.
Results:
Jonathan Halbert and Henry Knox have pulled off a miracle by transporting twenty-seven guns across the New York wilderness in the dead cold of winter. Knox has become yet another hero of the American cause, while Halbert's star only continues to rise higher and higher. He is perhaps the most famous man in the Continental Army besides George Washington and one of its most beloved officers.
It is all but assured that the British in Boston will have to either surrender or escape by February. Fear and despair grips the Loyalist population.
The malus to all George Washington Actions has been removed.
Major Feat Gained!
Major Feat: Noble Train of Artillery
With the help of Colonel Henry Knox, Jonathan Halbert has managed to transport twenty-seven British cannons from Fort Ticonderoga to Boston in less than four months, a nearly miraculous feat.
+5 Relations with Colonel Henry Knox and George Washington, +3 Relations with Tommy Navarre, +2 Relations with Elizabeth O'Conner and all other members of the Continental Army.
Colonel Henry Knox: (42/50) Knox considers Halbert a good friend whom he can trust and depend on, as well as a good person to converse with regarding Poor Richard's Almanac and other pieces of literature.
Special Roll (This is what the James Hiller Action gave a Bonus to.)
1D100 = Nat! 95+10+10-10 => Nat!Crit! 105 ( This was not part of the plan!! How the heck–)
Despite his known abolitionist beliefs, recent spat with Washington, and his known bending of authority and rules, Halbert has been near-unanimously further promoted to Brigadier General by the Continental Congress due to the Noble Train and his other exploits, making him the youngest General in the Continental Army at the moment. He has also received official thanks from the Committees of Safety of New York and Massachusetts. Consequently, Tommy Navarre has been promoted to the rank of 1st Lieutenant, making him a true officer.
Stats Points Acquired!
1D5 => 2 Stat Points Gained!
Author's Notes:
Me trying to hide the pain I'm feeling rn
HOW DO YOU PEOPLE KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THIS CRAP?!?! HOW?!?!
Thanks again to @Magoose for helping write part of this update.
Revolutionary Fun Fact–The last of the Founding Fathers to die was James Madison–the "Father of the Constitution"–who died in June 28, 1836, at the age of eighty-five.
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- George Washington
