"No terms except an unconditional and immediate surrender can be accepted. I propose to move immediately upon your works."
–Ulysses S. Grant
January 18, 1776
Outskirts of Boston, Massachusetts
The white flag fluttered faintly against the backdrop of snow, its pale fabric almost indistinguishable from the winter landscape. But where it blended into the snow, it stood starkly against the crimson coats of the British soldiers who marched solemnly in surrender. To anyone paying attention, this was no surprise. The siege had worn on long enough that the outcome seemed inevitable, yet for Halbert, who had only recently returned from Ticonderoga after months away, it was still jarring.
A lot had changed. Washington had been busy—busier than Halbert had imagined. News had filtered through camp about Washington's fleet, though Halbert had expected Arthur Smith to be the one leading it, not John Manley. Under Manley's command, the Continental Navy had caused havoc on the Royal Navy's supply lines, harassing ships carrying food, gold, and even soldiers meant to reinforce British positions, though they seemed to be released into their care. The British had responded swiftly, dispatching a fleet under the formidable Admiral Samuel Hood, including two first-rate ships of the line, just to track down Smith and neutralize him.
The Continental forces had turned Boston Harbor into a death trap. Dorchester Heights, with its newly emplaced guns, commanded the entire harbor. The hills, from Dorchester to Bunker and Breed's Hill, were covered in an intricate web of fortifications—gun emplacements, redoubts, trenches, sentry towers. It looked more like an impregnable fortress than a series of hills surrounding a beleaguered city. Halbert couldn't help but wonder what Washington had been doing while he was away.
Standing at attention as Washington skimmed through a pile of letters from Congress, Halbert finally voiced his thoughts. "Sir, if I may ask, were there any assaults on our position? Any breakouts by the British?"
Washington didn't look up from the papers, but after a brief pause, he set one letter down. "Several, yes. Skirmishes mostly. Loyalist pioneers or light battalions trying to divert our forces, hoping to disrupt our efforts to keep the British bottled up in Boston. They would fire a volley from afar, but were quickly driven back by our cavalry and first responders. No significant losses on either side."
He returned to his reading, seemingly indifferent to the minor threats they had faced.
Halbert pressed on. "And the enemy fleet? Surely we haven't caused them to abandon the harbor?"
Washington's lips curled into a smirk as he set down the letters and took a slow sip from the steaming coffee Mr. Lee had just brought him. This time, Halbert bit his tongue, withholding the distrust he still harbored for Washington's Southern allies.
Washington sighed, then addressed the question. "I'm sure you've heard of the exploits of the fleet Congress provided. Arthur Smith, pursued by Admiral Hood's ships, diverted much of the British naval force away from Boston. That gave Captain Manley room to harass and capture several key supply ships."
Halbert nodded, surprised at the level of coordination. "It seems that building these defenses and commanding the fleet were not the only things occupying your time, General."
Washington gave no reaction, his face a stoic mask. "Is there something else you wish to discuss, General Halbert?"
Halbert hesitated before continuing. "Not particularly, but you are aware the peace delegation is coming?"
Washington's eyes remained sharp, unflinching. "I'm aware. Ward and Putnam are handling the reception."
"Not Dr. Warren?" Halbert asked, surprised. "He is your deputy, after all."
Washington's gaze shifted slightly. "Dr. Warren has excused himself from much of the command work since joining us. He's been overseeing the surgery and medical tents, a role that keeps him occupied. Congress, however, won't let me remove him from command without insulting the Massachusetts delegation. Doing so would create unnecessary friction within a Congress that, for the moment, is finally unified. As much as I disagree with some of their decisions, I've remained respectful of their authority."
Washington stood up, his posture commanding. "Just as I've accepted your appointment as a brigadier under my command."
Halbert smiled wryly. "Congress recognizes talent when they see it."
Washington's expression remained impassive, though his words were pointed. "They recognize that you're lucky, not talented. You would do well to remember that."
There was a pause as Washington's sharp gaze held Halbert's, the room filling with the weight of unspoken truth. "But in saying that, I hope you take solace in this: the men under your command will die if you make the wrong choices. And that is something I expect to always be on your mind."
The finality of Washington's words hung heavy in the air. "Your choices will get them killed if you're not careful."
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Both men walked with deliberate steps toward the pavilion tent, where the precision of the officers' ranks was as cold as the air biting through their coats. A table had been set up beneath the canvas, its presence looming over the tense gathering. The British and Continental escorts, stripped of their muskets and bayonets, stood by with stiff posture, though the officers retained their swords—perhaps the only dignity left to them.
Halbert could feel the weight of hatred in the air, a palpable disdain from the British officers aimed directly at him and his fellow rebels. It was hatred, concealed only by the forced decorum of the proceedings, a thin veil over the bitterness that still simmered beneath the surface.
Generals Ward and Putnam stood at the head of the table, their expressions hard, with documents prepared in front of them. There was an awkwardness to the formalities, the sort of pleasantries that both sides engaged in but neither seemed to desire. The moment was strained, and fragile.
The silence in the tent was oppressive as all eyes turned to Washington, waiting for him to speak. But instead, he sat, and he listened, before finally, one of his opponents spoke.
"You called our bluff," General Gage finally muttered, his voice edged with frustration as he sat down across from Washington. Ward and Putnam took their seats as well, while Halbert remained standing, unsure of what was about to unfold, or his place in it.
Gage's tone was bitter, but his next words explained his meaning. "We were going to burn the city to the ground... and you called our bluff."
The weight of that statement hung in the air like a storm cloud, thickening the tension. Halbert felt a chill run down his spine at the thought. If the British had razed Boston, they would have cemented their reputation as butchers in the eyes of the world.
Putnam let out a sharp, humorless laugh, breaking the silence. "The world would've seen you for what you truly are—monsters and barbarians, unfit for civilized warfare."
Ward shot him a look, stopping him from continuing. "You knew you couldn't destroy the city without losing every other American colony and the entire world turning against Britian. So, here we are. You ran out of options."
Gage's face flushed, his hands gripping the arms of his chair, but before he could respond, Washington's steady hand tapped on the table. The sound was soft but commanding, and all eyes returned to him. The tent fell silent again as Washington prepared to speak.
"Mister Washi—" Gage started, but his words were cut off by the ice-cold glare Washington shot in his direction.
In that moment, the entire tent seemed to tremble as Washington's hands clenched into fists. His knuckles whitened, and the heavy wooden table groaned under the pressure of his strength. Halbert could see the raw fury behind Washington's usually composed exterior, his rage barely contained.
When Washington finally spoke, his voice was low but deadly calm, the words laced with an authority that silenced any further objections. "I have been granted a commission as Commander in Chief of the Continental Army." His eyes never left Gage's. "The rank of General. As you have learned from the correspondence that was returned and ignored, I will not be improperly addressed. Especially from my enemy."
There was no need for shouting—Washington's quiet fury was enough to make every man in the tent feel the weight of his presence. His authority was absolute, undeniable. The British officers stiffened, their bravado shaken by the sheer force of his command.
"General Washington." General Gage spoke. "We wish to offer terms of surrender, and parole, so that we may end this siege, that we have long been trapped in."
Washington's fists relaxed, and the table creaked in relief as he slowly leaned back. His gaze remained locked on Gage, who looked visibly rattled, though he tried to maintain a semblance of dignity.
"We have no wish to harm the civilians, still in Boston." Gage finally managed to say, though his voice lacked the earlier venom. "But we expect safe passage for our men and ships."
Washington nodded, but his gaze didn't soften. "Your men have waged war against my countrymen, a cruel war that has left many dead. Why should I even consider these terms of surrender, when your men could be released, and all their supplies... to do so again? You have come to me offering terms of surrender, yet I still have ships capturing supplies trying to get into the city? I know there are laws and traditions of war, that need to be played out as civilized nations tend to do, but I have not seen it. Not yet from my enemy. Especially when he has admitted to potentially doing unspeakable things to a city of civilians, to deny it to his enemy."
A long pause followed as the British officers absorbed their defeat, the reality settling over them like the snow outside. Gage's face twisted with anger and humiliation, but there was no more fight left in him. He had lost.
The room seemed to exhale all at once as the tension eased. Ward and Putnam exchanged glances, and Halbert, still standing, felt the weight of history being made before his eyes.
Without another word, Washington rose from his chair, his tall frame casting a shadow over the British officers. "Your swords gentlemen... We will allow your men and officers to leave, with their boots and supplies and your officers their horses... your weapons, your cannon, your ammunition and powder, and your swords. will all be taken. We will hold officers until we can parole them, and any soldier within the army that wishes to leave will be free to do so, without molestation. To be back to England, Canada, or where ever in the world they wish to go."
Gage simply nodded, his pride shattered but his life—and those of his men—spared.
Then, however, as they began to give their swords to Washington... he held up his hands. "Each of your swords will be taken by the subordinates here, that have been instrumental in your defeat... General Ward and General Putnam, take the swords from General Clinton, and General Howe."
At that the two generals gave their blades to each of the Generals. "General Gage, give your sword to General Halbert."
At that, Gage spat. "I will not give my sword to a murderous thug!"
Halbert frowned, but before he could say anything, Washington took a single step in front of him. "That murderous thug only fought in battles against soldiers and militia that were trying to kill him, as a uniformed officer. That murderous thug did not order the deaths of militiamen on Lexington Green." He paused and then stripped the sword from General Gage's belt. "He only did his duty and I applaud that he went beyond it to never harm the soldiers under your command unwillingly. as he could have easily done so and been applauded for it."
At that, Washington let go of the sword from General Gage, and he held it. the threat was clear. Gage did as he was commanded, and walked over to Halbert, and gave his sword to him.
He did not let go of it easily, as Halbert took it.
"Major Stark, please escort the generals to their barracks, so that they can tell the men the terms of their surrender, and the officers of their status."
"Yes sir." Major Stark replied and escorted the disarmed men out towards their new lodgings.
As Washington turned to leave, Halbert couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration.
All his failings as a man seemed to be freed, towards a man who gave him more than he could have ever asked for.
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Washington sat at his desk, quill in hand, scribbling down correspondence with focused precision. The flickering light of the candle cast long shadows across the tent, and Halbert, standing at attention nearby, couldn't help but wonder what was to come next. They were alone in Washington's tent, the quiet punctuated only by the scratch of the quill on parchment. It was a rare moment of relative calm, but Halbert knew it wouldn't last.
"The city has received supplies from Colonel Knox's wagon train," Washington said without looking up from his writing. "It's been a relief. The city is now better prepared for... the eventuality."
Halbert's brow furrowed. "What eventuality, sir?"
Washington paused, placing the quill down with deliberate care before turning his steady gaze on Halbert. "As the new year passes and enlistments draw to an end, many men will be returning home. I am... less than pleased with that reality."
"Why shouldn't they go home?" Halbert asked, genuinely curious. "These men have been fighting for over a year. The British regulars have been defeated, and the siege lifted. Why not let them return to their families?"
Washington leaned back in his chair, a faint, almost sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "This war is far from over, Halbert. We've won a great victory here, yes, but a single battle doesn't win a war. Not unless Parliament suddenly agrees to the terms Congress has sent—which they've failed to do."
The weight of Washington's words hung in the air. Halbert had seen the joy and relief on the men's faces after their victory, but the idea that the war was far from finished hit him like a cold gust of wind. "But how can you keep them here?" Halbert asked, his voice dropping in volume, almost as if he didn't want to disturb the fragile peace. "The army needs its rest, and you don't have the funds to pay them, at least not all of it, let alone the resources for a prolonged campaign until spring. You won't loot the enemy soldiers or loyalists for their money, either. What will keep them?"
Washington chuckled, a rare, deep sound that briefly cut through the tension. "I've had plenty of advice to loot the enemy's coffers, believe me, but I've neither the funds nor the inclination for that. No, what I need is loyalty—loyalty to something larger than payment. I want the men to understand that their sacrifices are for more than wages. They're for liberty, for their families' future, for the hope of a free nation."
Halbert shifted his weight. "You don't intend to march through Boston in triumph?"
Washington's laugh was heartier this time, his face softening. "Oh no, Halbert. I'm not the hero Bostonians are expecting. I've no interest in triumphal parades. It's not about me. It's about making sure the men see themselves as heroes to their people. The adoration and gratitude of their country—that's worth more than any coin we can promise them. But yes," he added with a wry smile, "Congress needs to deliver the funds, and soon."
"So, you're buying time?" Halbert asked. "Waiting for Congress to make good on their promises?"
Washington shook his head slowly, eyes narrowing slightly. "I may play the role of the humble Virginia farmer-turned-officer, but not everyone is as captivated by that as others are. Congress has its own problems, and I don't trust them to send funds quickly enough. Meanwhile, we'll need to occupy Boston, assess the city's needs, rebuild, and see what can be gained in terms of making the city useful for the future."
Halbert nodded, thinking it through. "So who will you send into the city first? General Ward? General Putnam?"
Washington's expression changed, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Ward and Putnam have declined, saying it would be better for a figure of 'public affection' to lead the charge into Boston—to greet the adoring citizens."
Halbert frowned, beginning to understand where this was going. "You mean me, sir?"
Washington met his gaze directly, his tone serious now. "You've become a renowned officer among the army and the Colonies, Halbert, and your regiment of New Englanders has spent the better part of a year fighting to free Boston. It makes sense. The people know your name—they'll rally behind you. It will give them the morale they need."
Halbert's heart raced. The idea of leading a triumphant entry into Boston was both an honor and a heavy burden. He hadn't expected this. "But sir, I'm no great hero or man—"
Washington stood, placing a firm hand on Halbert's shoulder. "You may not see yourself as a hero, Halbert, but that's precisely why you're the right man for this. The people don't need spectacle—they need someone they can believe in. They need someone who has fought with them, bled with them, someone who shares their hardships. You represent that more than anyone else. I only took command after Bunker hill. You fought in it."
Halbert swallowed, feeling the weight of the task Washington had laid before him. He had seen the grim realities of war, had lost men, had faced horrors that would haunt him for years. Yet here he stood, entrusted with the task of leading the charge into a city he had fought so hard to liberate.
"I'll do it, sir," Halbert said, his voice steady, though his heart still pounded in his chest. "For Boston, and for the men who fought beside me."
Washington's smile returned, this time softer, almost fatherly. "I know you will, Halbert. And I couldn't be prouder to have you lead them."
January 19, 1776
Outskirts of Boston, Massachusetts
Men hastily formed into orderly lines as sergeants and officers shouted orders, their muskets shouldered and their postures rigid. Regiments stood in front and behind one another as they readied themselves to enter Boston and retake it from the British. Despite the cold winds of winter beating down on them, nothing could do away with the jubilant spirit that had sweeped over the Americans. They had, despite all the odds against them in the past, had prevailed against the great British tyrant and had forced them to surrender.
At the front of this occupation party was Halbert's regiment of Massachusetts boys, who were already formed up and ready to lead the march into Boston. Hawkins' company would have the honor of leading the regiment, with the companies of Wheeler, Millett, and Warrington following in that order. Sitting atop his newly acquired chestnut brown stallion, Halbert reached reached his pocket and opened his pocketwatch. It was two minutes past noon at the moment.
"When will the bastards hurry up and get in formation already," his ever loud aide-de-camp Tommy Navarre whined annoyedly as he picked his ear with his pinky, now sporting the tasseled epaulets of an actual officer befitting his new status as an actual officer. "I'm starving, and we ain't eating until we take the city."
"Calm yourself, Tommy," Halbert chuckled as he put away his pocketwatch. "Not every regiment is as disciplined as ours."
Even as he said that, however, Halbert couldn't help but feel the same irrational displeasure Tommy had at the delay. Seconds seem to turn into hours as Halbert's men shivered in the cold and he tapped his knee. Finally, however, the sounds of hooves trotting from behind caused Halbert to turn and see General Washington riding up to him. Halbert snappily saluted the general, and Washington returned the salute just as quickly.
"Colonel Halbert," the general said as the two then lowered their arms. "The rest of the regiments have formed up behind you and are ready to move at your signal."
"With your permission, General Washington," Halbert stated as he faintly gripped his sword, and the general nodded solemnly back.
"You have your orders," the general replied before riding back into camp, leaving Halbert to do as commanded. Taking in a short breath, he drew his sword from its sheath, its edge gleaming sharply in the sunlight, and held it above his head.
"Regiment," Halbert exclaimed, pointing his sword toward Boston. "Forward!"
His men replied back with an enthusiastic "Forward!"
"...March!"
To the rhythmic beat of drummers playing that blasted song "The Brit' Grenadier", the men began to march, with Halbert and Tommy riding alongside Millett's company.
The March over Boston neck was met with many people looking at the army coming in from their windows, or on the side walks. There was no joy or triumph, or a cheering crowd in Boston, but that was expected. They had been under siege for so long that it didn't matter what they did prior. The supplies following them in was going to recive more cheer then anything they did. They were tired of being treated as the battleground.
Most of the people within Boston were Loyalists who were looking for protection from the Regular army. It was enough to make Halbert remember two things. They needed to come in as liberators, not as conquorers. That was why the supplies behind them were going to be handed out. It was not going to be the waste, but it would be a return to normality for the people of Boston.
Halbert kept his hands on the reigns, and moved his horse forward, letting the people of Boston see his face, and to see the man who had all but become the Hero of the Revolution for many of them.
And the terror for many more.
They kept looking at him like he was a monster, but all he could see were defeat in the eyes of the citizens.
Defeat and shame.
These were all the hollow men that remained in a now hollow city, ghosts drifting about with only hate and despair to fill their souls. As the men continued to march through the city, while their joy and patriotism did not wane, their emotions turned from frolicsome to solemn.
And at twelve-hundred hours, on January 19, 1776, the Union Jack was hoisted down from flagpoles all across Boston. One one flagpole, a red-and-white striped flag–made by an unknown soldier for his occasion–was raised in the Union Jack's place, each stripe of red representing the Thirteen Colonies.
Halbert has one thing to do in Boston before he leaves for Philadelphia in a month or two. What is that thing? Don't worry, the actions you don't pick will be done by other men with competence and success.
[] Hearts and Minds: Washington has put Halbert in charge of restoring order to Boston, keeping the populace from harassing the soldiers and vice-versa.
[] What We Fight For: Washington has asked that Halbert help with the re-enlistment problems, possibly keeping the army from disintegrating right after the victory of Boston.
[] Men and Material: Washington has assigned Halbert with the duty of managing the prisoners and cataloging the weapons and supplies they have captured.
Also, what do you name your horse?
[] Write-in Horse's Name (Subject to QM approval)
Author's Notes:
Enjoy a short break from rolls. This is written to myself, not you guys. 
Oh, and there's no plans this voting session.
Thanks again to @Magoose for helping me with this update. I'd also like to thank the pieces of music Dixie's Land, Ashokan Farewell, Hard Times Come Again No more, Marching Through Georgia, and the Gettysburg soundtrack for giving me inspiration.
Revolutionary Fun Fact–Roger Sherman of Connecticut was the only person to sign the four great state papers of the United States: the Continental Association, the Declaration of Independence, the Articles of Confederation, and the Constitution.
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