Dear, Hamilton

Hamilton Is Too Observant

ALEXANDER HAMILTON'S POV

My fingers tighten on my musket as I crouch in wait behind a row of barricades our army had recently built just outside the city. Twelve men crouch waiting behind me for my signal as I wait for the sound of gunshots to sound. 

I just need to hear four gunshots in rapid succession, and then we're good to go and grab the British supplies. 

My men and I are settled near the edge of New York City that's closest to the coast since the British had taken the city partially from the ocean, bringing along a fresh shipment of supplies for the British army already on land. I take a deep breath of the salty air as an ocean breeze ruffles my hair.

Nearly one hundred yards away on the side of the street lining the docks is a line of wagons filled with British supplies just waiting to be stolen. A few British soldiers stand around the wagons with their rifles gripped in their hands, their red coats standing out in the grey morning.

Suddenly, I hear loud shouting and the trampling of several feet as an entire British regimen comes stomping past our barricade. Five shots ring out from the British, and I huff with impatience. The British must have just seen our diversion attack.

I had thought for a split second that the shots were our cue.

And then there it is. Four gunshots reverberate in the air, and I peer over the barricade to make sure it's all clear-- or clear enough-- before waving a hand over my shoulder to my fellow soldiers.

I swing myself effortlessly over the barricade as the men behind me leap to their feet, and I hurry over to a line of wagons near the Battery that hold the British supplies.

I can hear the sounds of gunshots and cannons in the distance as I rush towards the two nearest redcoats. They startle at our rapid approach, eyes widening. Before either of the two redcoats can fire their gun or shout for aid, we swiftly cut them down, the British soldiers no match for the twelve of us.

We work quickly. 

Five soldiers and I are the ones grabbing sacks of flour, ammunition, gunpowder, and barley from the wagons, while the other seven soldiers run the supplies over to our horses we'd kept hidden a little ways behind the barracks and strap the supply bags onto their backs.

"How much more can the horses take?" I demand one of the seven soldiers who had run over to take a pack of gunpowder from me.

"Maybe six more sacks, sir," another soldier snaps a response.

I nod before stepping back from the wagons. "One more sack for each of you," I tell the other five men who are grabbing the supplies from the wagons. They all nod in understanding.

"I wish I could grab a few things from my house while we're here," I hear a soldier grumble, and a sudden, reckless thought occurs to me.

I turn to the next highest-ranked official, Lieutenant Bard, and say in a low voice, "I have to grab something real quick. Get the men out of here. Don't wait for me."

Bard's mouth turns down into a frown. "Sir, what do you possibly need to grab that isn't already here?"

I shake my head in a way to convey to him not to ask questions. "Go. I'll meet you at the camp."

"You're going to walk back?" Bard asks.

"Of course, Lieutenant," I answer with a grin. "I haven't lost the use of my legs."

Bard shakes his head in disbelief but agrees all the same since I outrank him. "We leave immediately, sir."

I dip my head in acknowledgment before pivoting on my heel and sprinting across the street in the opposite direction of the camp, delving further into British territory. I quickly duck into the shadows of a nearby alleyway and press myself against a brick side wall of a house as I wait and listen for footsteps in case anyone had seen me.