Book X

by Robert P McAuley

  Ted walked down the hallway as he said over his shoulder, “Yes, sir, Mister Hyder.”

  Thirty minutes later the other four members of the Time Watchers group were seated at the conference table across from John.

  “Good morning, all,” he said. He looked at the group and saw four professional history-tracking people waiting to hear what he had found to bring them in.

  Jerry Sullivan sat and cleaned his glasses as he said, “Good morning, John. Got something exciting for us?”

  “Pretty sure I do,” John answered.

  Maryellen Muldey quipped with a smile; “Well at least we had some downtime since the last mission. I finally got to see my grandchildren.”

  “Yep! Some great time off,” said Joseph Sergi as he pushed back a lock of black hair that constantly fell in front of his dark eyes. “What about you, Alexis? Did you do some snorkeling?”

  Alexis Shuntly grinned making her eyes go wide behind her thick glasses, “No. It rained every day so I had to stay in the cocktail lounge most of the time.”

  “I bet you did a rain dance every day,” said a laughing Jerry Sullivan.

  Alexis grinned and said, “What do you have for us, John?”

  John Hyder stood and with his hands deep in his pockets said, “Has anyone ever heard of the Battle of Caporetto?”

  Jerry Sullivan raised his hand and answered, “Yes. World War One, right?”

  “Right,” answered John. “The Germans and their allies, the Austro-Hungarian forces, attacked a weak link in the Italian lines and advanced after shooting gas shells into their trenches and emplacements. Luckily they ran out of supplies and were stopped after inflicting huge losses on the Italian army. However, when the Italian government got the news they panicked and were seriously thinking of making a separate peace treaty with the Germans and Austro/Hungarians.”

  He looked at them and said as he activated the hologram, “Well, it looks like they made that peace treaty and what we see here are groups of German, Italian and Austro-Hungarian troops parading in front of The Palazzo del Quirinale, Rome.”

  Joseph Sergi raised his hand and at John’s nod, stood. “John, I imagine that you checked the computer to find out what this could mean. Right?”

  “Yes, I did that as I waited for you all to come in.” He turned to his laptop and read, “If this glitch in history is allowed to go forward, the first thing to happen is that Germany and her allies will be able to shift all of the soldiers that were fighting on the Italian front to France, overwhelming the French and British army with the result of the Germans and their allies winning World War One.”

  He looked around the room and continued. “Even if they do not win the war, the lives of hundreds of thousands of men and women on all sides who lived will die and their children will never be born. Doctors, lawyers, teachers, artists and others will never be born and the good that they bring to the world will never be.”

  “So,” said John as he finished his presentation, “there it is. Italy joins the other team and the other team gains a huge amount of professional soldiers to throw against the allies in France.”

  “John,” called Maryellen as she looked at her laptop, “What made them switch sides? I mean the Battle of Caporetto actually happened and although they were bloodied, the Italians stayed the course and stopped the enemy.”

  “Good question,” answered John. He restarted the hologram and said, “I remember now wondering why the building was bombed when it never really was.”

  “Isn’t that the building that their government worked out of?” asked Alexis as she squinted at the building through her thick glasses.

  “Yes. And this is where they threw around the idea of signing a separate peace treaty.”

  “I wonder if the bombing had anything to do with their decision?” asked Joseph.

  Jerry Sullivan stood and said as he looked at his laptop, “While I agree that the bombing probably pushed the government to switch sides, according to my computer the Germans didn’t have a bomber with the range to reach that building and return home. Besides, the route they would have to take was covered with Italian fighter groups.”

  “Then how could it have been bombed?” asked Alexis.

  The group all looked at one another and agreed before Jerry answered that question, “It all points to an inside job. An Italian bomber piloted by someone who wished to join the other side did it.”

  John nodded, “Possible, quite possible.” He looked at the group and said, “I propose that we send back probes to try and get a video of the bomber and if possible, the pilot.” He stood and walked in circles as he absentmindedly scratched his long blond and gray sideburns. “Then we must send someone back to fix this fast.”

  “The 1800 Club?” asked Jerry.

  John shrugged, “This mission took place in 1917. Isn’t that a bit late for the 1800 people to operate in?”

  Jerry stood, “Not really. Remember when the head of the club, Bill Scott, sent someone back to save Eddie Rickenbacker in 1918? Heck, that worked. I say we let Bill Scott handle this. He’s never failed us yet.”

  John looked around the table and saw only nods. “Okay, then, let’s do this.” He opened the door and summoned Ted, whose job was to sit outside of the conference room whenever one of the Time Watcher’s group, was on duty. At John’s nod, he entered the room.

  “Good morning, all. How might I help you?”

  “Ted, we need a video of a bomber and if possible the pilot. We don’t have the exact date, but we can give you the coordinates and keep our fingers crossed.”

  “Since you don’t have the date, I suggest that we send a drone that has a very long loitering time. It might take a few days, but the chances are good that we’ll find it.”

  John nodded, “Ted, you’re the expert with those drones, I say go for it.”

  “Very well, sir. I’ll call you when I have something.” He left the room and John turned to the group.

  “Well, guys and gals, that’s that. Ted will call us back when he has something. I suggest we all stay close by.”

  Agreeing with him, they left the conference room and went separate ways.

  Two days later they sat in the conference room once again. They saw that John had a hologram cube in the projector.

  “Good morning, all” he said and they all greeted him back. “Ted thinks he hit pay dirt and I have to agree with him. He sent back a probe that circled the area for forty hours before it spotted the bomber.” John activated the hologram and an Italian Caproni Ca3 trimotor bomber came flying towards the building, circled it once and dropped a single bomb, striking the top floor of the white building. It banked, dropped another bomb that missed and hit the street and exploded. The bomber then flew away. The probe flew after it and after it landed, got a close up of the pilot and another military man in the front cockpit. The probe then flew to the front gate of the airdrome and spotted the name ‘Foggia’ before flying up to five hundred feet to video the entire field. It also videoed an American flag flying over a hangar. Lined up on the runway were fifteen Caproni bombers with an American star on their sides.

  “Ted, will you get the club’s liaison to the 1800 Club in 2013. We will have a hologram for him to deliver to the 1800 Club.”

  “Yes sir,” he answered as he made a note in his notebook. “That’ll be Edmund Scott.”

  “Oh,” said John snapping his fingers, “He’s a descendant of the 1800 Club’s president, right?”

  “Yes sir,” answered Ted as he closed his notebook, “Edmund is the grandson of Mister Bill Scott.”

  DATELINE: DECEMBER 4, 1783 PLACE: 54 PEARL STREET, NEW YORK CITY

  A gentleman stepped out of the one horse, two-wheeled carriage that pulled up in front of Francis Tavern at 54 Pearl Street, New York City. He handed the driver the fare and a tip. It was chilly down at the foot of New York City as the wind whipped across the East River and blew straight up and into the heart of the city. The man pulled his long black high-collar
ed cape close to him with one hand and held his tri-cornered hat and walking stick with the other. As he passed his walking stick to his other hand, the cape blew open momentarily revealing the white shirt, long, ten button tan vest and form fitting pants tucked into his black knee-high boots. Over this outfit he wore a long, ten-buttoned, black jacket that curved from his neck down to his waist where it went around to his back and ended in two pointed tails just behind his knees. At his neck, he wore a red choker with a simple black pushpin to hold it close to his neck. And although he wore a tricornered hat, his stylishly curled, powdered white wig showed. He grabbed the cape again and held it close as he walked to the door of the tavern. Just before he opened the door he thought, Bill Scott, if you pull this off you deserve a medal.

  As he reached for the curved door handle, a squeak from above made him look up at the source: a sign swinging in the wind. Bill smiled as he read, ‘Fraunces Tavern.’

  He opened the door and heard laughter and the clink of glasses as a group of military officers stood and talked in the main dining room. It was obvious that the group of men had a meeting in the room and Bill walked over to the bar.

  A slim man wearing a white powdered wig smiled at him from behind the bar, “Sir, may I be of service to you?”

  Bill opened his cape and the man pointed to a hook on a beam, “Sir, feel free to drape your cloak on yonder hook and pray tell, what is your preference? Ale or wine?”

  “Ale for me, sir, as I’ve heard nothing but good news of its taste. The name, Fraunces Tavern, is known far and wide and as I rode by, I felt I must enjoy its reputation with a sip of their ale.”

  “Then I shall provide you with that very drink myself.” He put out his hand and said, “Samuel Fraunces, sir, at your service.”

  Bill said as they shook hands, “William Scott, sir, but most know me as Bill. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Samuel filled his tall glass with dark ale and said as he placed it in front of Bill, “Enjoy.”

  Bill put coins on the bar and took a sip. He raised his eyebrows as he took a second pull of the ale, “Well done, Samuel. No small wonder why your name is so well known.” He looked at the group of men in the other room and asked, “Is there a party taking place?”

  “Sir, a party indeed! For on this very day, the great General himself shall be here.”

  “General Washington? Tell me, Samuel, will it be my good fortune to be present when he is here or shall I be sent away for privacy reasons?”

  “Sir, good fortune is indeed with you this day as it is I who determine who is to stay or go and I do believe that a gentleman as yourself should be allowed to see history unfold. So, fear not. Now, I must attend to a few matters before the general arrives.”

  Bill smiled as he looked around the famous tavern. Although the interior was constructed of wood, it was well attended to as it shined in the lights of the oil lamps and long windows that faced the street. Tattered flags from the many battles that the group represented were hung on the walls. The long table and chairs were in the middle of the floor and set for lunch with chinaware, silverware and fine glass goblets.

  Suddenly the roar of the crowd out in the street made the officers stop talking as they all rushed to the windows. Bill took the opportunity to peek out one of the windows. General Washington rode down the street on a white horse. Many New Yorkers surrounded him waving and shouting greetings to their general as his aides tried to keep them from being trod upon by their horses. The general was waving his tricornered hat and the crowd loved it and shouted their praises even louder. Finally, an aide held his horse as he dismounted. He squared his hat and entered the tavern to the applause of the officers.

  Bill went back to the bar and watched the historic event take place. The great man mingled with his men and all toasted him with words as fine as the wine they drank. More than once Washington had to wipe a tear from his eyes. He embraced each of the men and choked up as each man said a soft farewell to their Commander-in-Chief. Finally, he stepped away from the knot of officers and stood alone as all stopped to hear his farewell speech.

  The great man spoke: “With a heart full of love and gratitude, I now take leave of you. I most devoutly wish that your later days may be as prosperous as your former ones have been glorious and honorable,”

  He took his hat and cloak and left the tavern. Outside, on either side of the front door, was a double line of light infantry standing at attention and George Washington passed between them. The troops watched him as he walked away. His destination was Whitehall where a barge would take him to Paulus Hook, New Jersey and from there he would ride home.

  Bill had just witnessed history being made and now he was apart of it. He wiped his eyes as he left the tavern that he knew would be around in his time and beyond. But, he thought, such a man, as General George Washington would never again visit it.

  The time traveler placed a coin on the bar and left. He walked ten blocks north and relished the fact that he was accepted as just a typical gentleman of 1783. He passed by stores long gone in his time: Tines Clothing, Peppering’s Shoe Repair, Gregory’s Walking Sticks, Accermin’s Bread and Pastry and many more before seeing a cab driver feeding his horse between two wagons carrying cut wood.

  “Sir, when you have finished feeding your horse, will you take me to the northern most part of New York City?”

  The man scratched his head and said, “Sir, sit in my carriage and rest as my horse is just about finished and he’ll be ready for the ride.”

  Bill sat back and relaxed inside the cab, happy to be alone with his thoughts.

  I saw General George Washington today as he said farewell to his officers. I’m sure none of them thought that instead of just a bunch of guys saying goodbye to their boss, that this would become a page in the history books.

  The cabby tipped his hat as he looked through the carriage’s small open window, “Set to go, sir. You wish to go up north, correct?”

  Bill answered, “Yes.”

  “Very well, sir.” The carriage tilted and squeaked as he climbed up to his seat.

  Bill looked out the window as the New Yorkers of 1783 went about their everyday business. Not unlike ours, he thought as he saw a mother scolding her son as he tried to hitch a ride on the back of a wagon passing by. Bill grinned; Boys will be boys no matter what year.

  The ride took thirty minutes and once at the spot where the streets of New York City end and the green of unsettled New York begin, the driver stopped and called down, “Sir, is it here that you wish to end your journey?”

  “Yes, it is,” said Bill hopping out.

  The man looked around and said, “The fare is an eight coin. Sir, will you be meeting someone here, sir, or shall I come back later and get you?”

  “Yes,“ he fibbed, “I will be meeting someone here but thank you kindly for the offer.” Bill handed him an eight coin and a five coin as a tip.

  The man smiled broadly and said, “If you be meeting someone, sir, then tis back to the streets for me. Safe journey.”

  Bill watched as the driver turned his rig around and went back to the cobblestone streets of New York City. He walked to a section of trees that he knew would become a six-story Townhouse at 520 East Ninth Street in 1820. Making sure he was alone, Bill looked for the three stones he had put in front of the time portal door when he came back to see Washington’s farewell address. Hardly anyone came up this far from the city and today was no different as it was deserted. Bet everyone in the city was down near the tavern trying to catch a glimpse of the general, Bill figured as he located the three stones. Taking a last look around and seeing no one, he stepped over the stones and into the open stairwell of the 1800 Club.

  DATELINE: DECEMBER 1, 2013 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

  Bill entered his den and his beagle, Samson, was there to greet him. He ran to his master and stopped to sniff out the smells of all that Bill had encountered on his travels. Satisfied that, according to the sniffs, he was
the only dog around, he allowed Bill to scratch his ears.

  “Good boy, Samson. Always here to greet me.” Both had turned at the knock on his door before it opened and Matt entered carrying a mug of hot chocolate in Bill’s favorite Donald Duck mug, on a silver tray.

  “Welcome home, sir. Did you get to see the General?”

  “I did, Matt, I certainly did. It was truly a great moment in history. You would have loved it.”

  “Possibly not, sir,” he answered with a grin as he placed the tray on top of the coffee table. “You see an ancestor of mine was one of the troops who evacuated New York because of Mister Washington.”

  Bill grinned back. “Not to change the subject, Matt, but I do wonder how is it that you always seem to know when I come back and are here with a nice warm drink?”

  Matt shrugged and offered, “Sir, some secrets of a manservant need to be kept.”

  Bill shook his head and smiled at the answer.

  The grandfather clock struck 2:45 p.m. and Matt continued, “Would you like something to eat now or wait for this evening’s dinner?”

  “What’s on tonight’s menu?”

  Matt stood with the tray in his hands and said, “Lobster bisque soup, followed by lobster, in or out of its shell. Baby onions and peas in hot butter sauce. Red cabbage, French cut green beans, hot biscuits followed by coffee or tea and a dish of caramelized baked apple, sprinkled with cinnamon.”

  Bill rolled his eyes as he answered, “I will wait until dinner, Matt. It sounds great!”

  “Very well, sir. Will that be all?”

  “Yep!” Bill answered as he took off his powered wig, “I’m going over tonight’s newspaper and will send it to you within the hour.”

  Matt nodded as he picked up the dog’s leash, “I thought I’d take Samson for a quick walk as it will get busy soon.”

  “That’s fine, see you later.”

  Matt took the beagle out of the den and Bill showered. After changing into his favorite, slightly tattered robe (which Matt had just about pleaded for him to burn), he lit a cigar and went online in search of articles for this evening’s newspaper. In a few minutes he found three articles that fit perfectly in the club’s newspaper of December 5, 1865.