Hamilton's Battalion

by Courtney Milan

  But she nodded. “Can you wait just another half a minute? I’m almost—”

  “Yes, yes.” He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his teeth into his lip again. He tried not to think about her arm rubbing against his waistcoat as she frigged herself, or the flatness of her chest beneath her shirt where her nipples pressed into tight linen, or her gasps, or the blunt pressure of her teeth through the wool of his coat where she’d set them on his shoulder.

  She convulsed around him, her body shuddering, her teeth spasming on his shoulder. He waited and waited until he had to push her away. Sensation dimmed all at once but orgasm came anyway, pulsing weakly but intently. Seed dribbled down his cock. He wanted to take himself in hand but he wanted this to be all hers, too.

  Oh, he couldn’t help it, he wrapped his fingers around himself and felt her slickness, it was sordid to say HaShem’s name at this moment but he knew the impulse anyway. When he opened his eyes she lay watching him, her fingers still working, slowly now.

  Boruch atoh Adonoy, m’chaiyay hameisim, he thought out of nowhere, the daily prayer taking on sudden urgent meaning. Blessed are You, Lord, who gives life to the dead.

  She was still for a moment, then wiped her hand on the inside of her breeches before buttoning them hastily. She smelled her fingers with a grimace and, reluctantly, put them in her mouth to clean them. Nathan’s pulse raced despite his satiety.

  “Do you think it smells in here?” she asked.

  “Probably.” Nathan replaced his hat. He felt disoriented by how she was a separate person again when she had been part of him—but she hadn’t been, had she? He had had no idea at all what she was thinking or why. She had wanted him, and he had given himself to her. He’d done it unquestioningly, and loved doing it.

  Now, questions crowded in. But did he really want the answers?

  Nathan fastened his own breeches. “Um. Stay a few minutes. I need to talk to you.”

  She rubbed at her eyes. “I need to get back to my men. And sleep. I need…sleep.” Her voice almost trailed off. She must have been awake since yesterday morning. “They said we might be going out again soon. For some action.”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about. I’m going back into Yorktown.”

  Rachel sat bolt upright, exhaustion receding to a sort of dull jitteriness. “What?”

  Nathan looked pleased by her reaction. “They’re sending me into Yorktown. Before your action. Probably to give false information, or…to help you. To help the army, I mean. Originally, I was hoping maybe you wouldn’t see any action at all, but it’s too late for that, evidently. Cornwallis would do everyone a favor if he—”

  “That’s absurd,” she said firmly. “Going into Yorktown? They can’t send you. Not now. Have you seen Yorktown lately?”

  Nathan took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “Tell them you won’t go. They can’t force you. You’re not a soldier.”

  “I asked to go.”

  That stopped her in her tracks. For several breaths, she simply had nothing to say. “You asked to go,” she repeated carefully.

  He nodded.

  “What if I ask you not to?”

  She hadn’t meant to say it. She didn’t know where the words came from. She waited, heart pounding and head aching, for his answer.

  He watched her solemnly. “What if I asked you to leave the army?” he said finally. “They’d let you go if you told them the truth.”

  Her eyes stung. “I wouldn’t do it,” she admitted quietly. “Not if you begged me.”

  There it was, then. They had no hold on each other anymore. For one glorious moment she’d had him, his hands had been at her waist, he’d been hers but…it didn’t mean they owed each other anything. She felt like crying.

  He shrugged and nodded. “I…I want you to know I’m not doing it for you,” he said. “To protect you. I do want to protect you, obviously. But I would have done it anyway. Well, not this exactly, I’d be in Yorktown right now if you hadn’t arrested me. But you know what I mean—I thought you were dead and I was doing it anyway.”

  He fingered a scrape on his chin. “You know, when I’d get really scared, I’d think, Rachel could do it, and that helped. It inspired me. I didn’t do it for you, but you made me want to do it, and I think it was a good thing to do. So thank you. Thank you for giving my life meaning.”

  Rachel felt ashamed. He’d inspired her too. Sometimes when she’d been afraid, early on, she’d thought, Nathan couldn’t do this, but you can. That had given her so much stubborn courage. A welcome conviction that being a soldier was about more than being a man.

  She’d underestimated him. Maybe he couldn’t fight in a battle, or march ten hours without complaint, but he’d go into Yorktown and lie to Cornwallis’s face and risk cannonballs and hanging, flinching at every loud noise. She didn’t have the nerve for that.

  He was waiting for her to answer him, but her heart was a stone weighing down her throat and mouth, holding them closed. She didn’t even know what to call this emotion. Fear? Anger? If she spoke…that would be something like a blessing, or permission, or acceptance.

  All she wanted to say was Don’t go, and he was going.

  “When…” She could see Nathan considering his words. Trying to decide what would tempt the evil eye least, probably. “When all this is over,” he settled on, “I’ll give you a get if you want one.”

  She couldn’t speak.

  “If you want one,” he repeated. “You said that last time I didn’t ask you what you wanted. So I’ll ask this time. I, um, you probably know I’d take you back if you wanted that instead. That is—sorry, that sounded wrong, ‘take you back.’ I don’t mean to say I’d be doing you such a great favor. I mean to say I love you. But can I ask you for a favor? Please don’t tell me the answer now. I want you to think it over. I want you to be sure. And if you are sure and it’s ‘no,’ I’d rather…is this a terrible thing to ask?” He fisted a hand in the beautiful, filthy hair at the nape of his neck. “You can say no, if you need to. I just would like hope. In case. If you don’t mind.”

  Her heart swelled, closing off words even further.

  She had to say something. He didn’t want to die knowing for sure she didn’t love him. If he did die, and she hadn’t said anything…

  She’d told herself so often, Nathan couldn’t do this, but I can. But Nathan was able to say he loved her, and she was terrified to say it back. She had plenty of reasons, but in the end it was just cowardice, wasn’t it?

  “And I won’t let my mother be rude to you. I lived with her all my life, you know. But I’ve been on my own now, and to be honest it was a bit of a relief. I know you wanted me to come with you to Philadelphia, so I hope that doesn’t pain you to hear. What I mean to say is, I understand now why she was a shock to your system, not being accustomed to it. If she can’t control herself, she’ll have to live somewhere else. If you say yes.”

  Shame at her weakness pushed the words out of her throat. “I love you too.”

  Her voice sounded grudging, but she felt calmer for having said it. What was the worst that could happen? Later maybe she’d add, But I won’t live with you, and maybe he’d believe she’d promised him something and not delivered it. She could live through that. It was better than letting Nathan go to his death, fidgeting bravely and without a single word of comfort.

  “I do love you,” she said again, stronger. “And I’ll answer you when all this is over.”

  She wanted to say something more, but there wasn’t anything. Not meeting his eyes, she took his hand in both of hers and crushed his palm against her lips. So hard it stopped being a kiss and became a demand. A direct order to be careful, because there was no point saying it out loud.

  He smiled, a wide, incredulous smile. His teeth caught the light of the candle.

  It used to make her angry, how much he loved her. How much he wanted her to love him too. It still did, because he was going into Yorktown and he shouldn’t be happy.
He should be solemn and afraid.

  The latch rattled. She dropped his hand, and the door opened. Two soldiers stood in the opening. “We’re here for the prisoner.”

  He was led away, still smiling.

  Rachel sat on the floor, very still, until her face stopped trying to cry. She went back to her tent and went to sleep.

  Nathan’s meeting with Washington was brief, to the point, and left out any information about what Rachel’s battalion would really be doing.

  “…After staging your escape in the sentry’s uniform, you will tell Cornwallis that while assisting in fatigue duty you overheard orders given and discussed in regards to an attack on the Fusiliers Redoubt on the British right flank this evening, to be supplemented by a simultaneous attack on the British position in Gloucester across the river.”

  “What’s a fusilier?” Nathan’s ability to keep his mouth shut was severely compromised by nerves.

  “They are an elite Welsh infantry regiment who wear a distinctive hat,” Washington said without a hint of a smile. “However, I don’t suppose Lord Cornwallis will expect you to discuss the military aspect of affairs. In fact, the less you know, the better. Tell him we were lulled into a false sense of security by your unprepossessing manner and that you used your previous friendship with a noncommissioned officer and coreligionist in the Light Division to—”

  “Corporal Jacobs didn’t tell me anything, sir.”

  “I hope not.”

  “Is my manner really that unprepossessing?” Now he was just trying to see if he could get the general to crack a smile, even a scornful one. “I like to think I’m very impressive on first acquaintance. Dignified. Statesmanlike, even.”

  Nothing.

  “I see why everyone thought it was so remarkable that—” He bit the words off before he could bring up Washington’s dead friend Scammell, who had made the general laugh. “Never mind. I’m sorry, I’m a little on edge. Are you expecting heavy casualties in the Light Division tonight? No, don’t answer that, it’s bad luck. Is there anything else you want me to tell His Lordship?”

  “I believe that will suffice.” Washington regarded him gravely. “Lives depend on your steadiness, Mr. Mendelson.”

  “Not my steadiness, I hope.” He tried to pull himself together. “Don’t worry, Your Excellency. My unprepossessing manner is part of my stock in trade, as you so tactfully pointed out. I won’t fail you.”

  In very little time, Nathan found himself skirting the edge of the trees behind the first Allied parallel, in company with a very large, very Irish sentry. “Well, uh.” He made a fist.

  “Lord love you, you’ll break your thumb,” the fellow said, and showed him how to do it properly. “A good solid blow, mind. I want a black eye to show the boys, and you want scraped knuckles to show the lobsterbacks.”

  Nathan winced in anticipation. “Sorry,” he said, and swung.

  Rachel and her messmates were woken after only a few hours’ sleep by Major Fish, who informed them that the whole division was returning to the trenches at five o’clock.

  “We’ll all need to be at our sharpest,” he told them. “If we keep a cool nerve, we can deal Yorktown a killing blow tonight. Most of all, we cannot allow a single man to desert, or a single deserter to make it into Yorktown with advance information of our attack. We must surprise the British.”

  Flanagan rushed off at once to consult with the captain. Major Fish looked at Rachel. “Your spy friend escaped. I hope to God you didn’t tell him anything. You spent a lot of time in his company.”

  “Nothing, sir,” she said firmly, and the adjutant left with a shrug.

  She felt sick. We must surprise the British. Was that Nathan’s task? To ensure they were surprised?

  Her thoughts full, Rachel began packing her knapsack. Did her queue need retying—

  Scipio cleared his throat. Rachel glanced up to see her messmates regarding her gravely.

  “What?” she asked, unnerved. “I didn’t tell Nathan anything.”

  “We know the truth,” Scipio said.

  Time slowed. Her stomach hurt. What would she do if there was nothing to know?

  She blinked. “What truth?” Maybe she should offer up Nathan’s secret as a distraction. No, of course she couldn’t—it was too late, anyway.

  Zvi shifted uneasily. “You’re going to be embarrassed if we’re wrong,” he told Scipio.

  “We’re not wrong,” Tench said. “You’re a woman.”

  Chapter Eight

  Rachel tried to laugh and keep her voice low at the same time. “What? A woman?”

  “You don’t grow a beard, none of us have ever seen you bathe or take a piss, and you’re in love with Nathan Mendelson.”

  “I am not in love with Nathan Mendelson,” she scoffed. Oh God, was that bad luck to say? “And you don’t grow a beard either, Tench.”

  “A lot of us might not make it through this attack,” Scipio said quietly. “We’re not going to let a woman walk onto a bayonet.”

  Tench, just turned twenty-two, fingered his chin self-consciously. “If it were Sarah, I’d want someone to stop her.”

  Rachel’s heart pounded angrily. Then Nathan’s a better husband than you are. “How dare you?” she demanded. “I’ve fought beside you for three years. I’m not a woman.”

  “If you’re not,” Zvi interjected, “it’s easy enough to prove it and we can all forget this ever happened.”

  “I’m not going to forget it,” she snapped. “I don’t owe you anything. Definitely not a peek at my cock. I thought we were friends.”

  They almost backed down. But they didn’t. “Prove you’re a man, or we’re going to the captain,” Tench said.

  Rachel cast about desperately. Glancing out the tent flap, she saw Colonel Hamilton hurrying by, his face a thundercloud.

  He was slim and small and pretty. Had anyone ever accused him of being a woman? When he wasn’t giving orders or scolding, he was easy enough to talk to. If she had to tell someone her secret, she’d tell him.

  “I’ll prove it to him,” she said, and leapt out of the tent. “Colonel Hamilton!”

  Hamilton wheeled impatiently. “Yes, Corporal?”

  Her courage almost failed her. But Tench, Zvi, and Scipio looked abashed that such a high officer had now become involved in their pettiness. She stepped forward smartly, saluting.

  “Sir, my messmates have convinced themselves I’m a woman, and nothing will satisfy them but that I prove myself otherwise. I refuse to submit to the indignity of such a personal examination by my peers, but if we might have a few moments’ private conference…”

  Words ran out. If he didn’t back her, that was that, and Nathan was already in Yorktown.

  Hamilton looked reluctantly amused. “You’re too proud to show your friends your cock, but you’ll show me?”

  She stood ramrod straight. “Yes, sir.”

  He sighed. “My lucky day. But I suppose we slight fellows must stick together.” He looked at her friends. “I presume you’ll accept my word, gentlemen?”

  A chorus of “yes, sir”s.

  He led her behind a few trees by the creek. “Well, out with it. Lafayette aims to deprive me of command of this assault, and I must hurry if I’m to thwart him.”

  She took a deep breath. “Sir, promise me you’ll hear me out. I’ll be quick, I swear.”

  His face changed. “Jacobs?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “I am a woman, sir. But I’m also a corporal in the First New York Light Company. I was at Monmouth with you. I’m good at my job, and I lead my squad. You need me tonight.”

  Hamilton passed a hand over his eyes. “Damn it, Jacobs.” He grimaced, abruptly unsure if he could curse in front of her. Rachel knew a moment of despair. “You know I can’t just pretend I didn’t hear this.”

  “You can,” she said urgently. “Please, sir. This attack could end the war, or it could prolong it another year. I can’t allow my comrades to go without me. And�
��I want to be useful to my people after the war. I need this. When they sit down to write our new country’s laws, I want them to remember that Jews were among the first into Yorktown’s defenses. That a Jew was as brave and loyal and true as they were. Please.”

  She didn’t mention the lectures. That wouldn’t convince him this was safe for him.

  Hamilton chewed his lip. “You don’t seem to think of what it will do to my reputation after the war if I knowingly allow a woman to participate in a bayonet charge.”

  Her burst of rage felt like a shell exploding behind her eyes. “You sent my husband into Yorktown,” she said between her teeth. “And—”

  His eyes widened. “Your husband? Who, Mendelson? But he’s—”

  She didn’t want to know how that sentence ended. Shorter than you—nervous—so Jewish—an annoying chatterbox. “Yes,” she said tightly, to all of them. “And I am damned if I will sit in camp in a cursed petticoat instead of trying to get in there and fetch him back out. That’s womanly, isn’t it? People will understand that? There have been women in every battle in this war. Don’t you remember Mrs. Hays, who manned her husband’s gun at Monmouth when he fell?”

  And before that, Mrs. Hays had been carrying water to the men on the battlefield. Sarah went into the trenches with their dinner, like camp followers everywhere. No one fretted for their safety. Only that they followed the rules.

  A gleam of humor lit his eye. “An Amazon, I see.”

  Oy gevalt. When the war was over, she’d be a woman again. She’d nearly forgotten what it was like, to have men think she was funny.

  She drew herself up, face blank, trying to remind him with her posture and her uniform and the green epaulet on her shoulder of the hours of training, the fighting experience, the thousands of miles of marching she represented. Trying to remind him that she was a soldier and had earned her rank, and he couldn’t spare her. That she was as tall and as strong as he was.