[b]January 5th, 1770: Ninety-Six, South Carolina[/b]

General John Burgoyne left his rented home on the north eastern side of town and watched as a slight snow lightly salted the trod ground. The air smelled like construction, a scent made by freshly cut wood, sawdust, and the pungency of mules and horses. Even here in the west cabins came up quickly. The bulk of the newcomers were colonial families, who had sold their eastern properties to wealthy Englishmen for a hefty sum, allowing them to purchase larger lots and acres of uncut wilderness on the frontier. 

The General mounted, followed by the men he kept at his side. On his right rode Major Horatio Gates. The dour man was quartermaster for the expedition. Burgoyne found him ill-humored and plain, a man who could easily be mistaken for a colonial by anybody who didn't know better. On his left rode a man more of Burgoyne's breeding; the Baron Lothar von Dahmetal, commander of the Prussian regiment sent by their government to aid in the clearing of these territories; an act, no doubt pointed out to King Frederick by diplomats from his majesty King George, that was to the benefit of both peoples. The differences between Major Gates and Baron von Dahmetal was visually immediate. Major Gates rode slumped, his uniform clean but plain, his expression like that of a puritan riding muleback into gin alley. Baron von Dahmetal was sharply dressed in Prussian blue, badges and metals tinkling on his breast, his cap that of a grenadier, and his expression like a monarch surveying his demesne. 

They passed through the town, through soldiers off-duty bargaining with locals for goods, purchasing food and clothing for themselves before their plunge into the American wilderness. The locals came in two groups, often times distinguishable from each other; the new comers busied themselves, acting much like the soldiers in their bartering. The locals stayed in clumps, holding to themselves, eyeing newcomers and keeping their conversations low. They passed such a group of young ladies, and Burgoyne set an especially martial pose as he rode by, keeping his eye on the girl in the lead of the group, newly at the age of marriage with delightful olive skin, sparkling eyes, and hair black as crape. When they were well past her, Burgoyne turned to Major Gates.

"If you had to choose a companion in this wilderness, that one wouldn't be so bad" he said, nodding toward the girl.

"She is a Jewess, sir." Gates said dully. 

"Well we share the same God, sir." Burgoyne said. "I believe we could become familiar on that common ground and discover new topics of conversation upon the expansion of our friendship."

"We all have our customs." Gates replied.

"Indeed." Burgoyne said. "And my custom is to enjoy those of others, if there is enjoyment to be found."

"I would think a man at your age would keep his enjoyment for his wife." Gates said.

Burgoyne did not dignify the Major's sally with a response. The Prussian smiled. He understood English though he found it hard to speak it. 

At the center, the town was a few old log buildings interspersed with new construction. One the edge of town everything was new, with the smell of fresh lumber permeating, and work going on all around. This place did not have the nauseating scent of disaster and refugees now present in Charles Town, but the rapid growth warned that the fate of the later town could very well be in the future of the former. Or, heaven forbid, the entirety of the new world. 

The Army camped on the south side of Ninety-Six creek. Threads of smoke rose from camp fires among the trees. The largest camp was that of the British Regulars, their neatly kept camp stretching on for miles and made apparent by the glow of red uniforms in the light mix of snow and haze. The Prussians kept to their own corner of the woods where the uniforms went from red to a dark blue and the smell of cooking rations took on an almost exotic smell. Surrounding them in a crescent, on the face of the hills as they slanted toward the creek, the irregulars mixed with the colonial troops in a disordered mess. There were less of them then the regulars, but they took up more room. This erked General Burgoyne, and he rode through their camp in search of their commander.

Here was a gathering of the worst; colonists, poor irregulars, and Scots. They put down their tents where they felt, if they had tents at all. Some slept under blankets hung from tree branches, or crude shelters made from sticks leaned onto poles. The colonial troops scarcely noticed an officer riding through their midst, though the others at least showed the proper respects. 

He found the commanding officer near the creek, not a young man, but a younger man then Burgoyne, with dark hair tied behind his head and the tight-lipped expression of a church-going New Englander.

"Colonel Lincoln." Burgoyne called.

"What ho!" Lincoln said, startled from watering his horse. "Yes, sir?"

"There is a proper way to order a camp, and what I see here does not seem to be in line with that order. What if the enemy were to spring across this creek?" 

"We would defend it well, sir." Lincoln said.

"I am sure you would make the effort." Burgoyne replied. "But it would take much of that effort just to make a line out of this. Bring your men together, man! Establish a quartermaster."

"I will take that wisdom to heart, sir." Lincoln said. "But I must petition to you that what you see is not everything that I have. The men mustered to my command haven't all arrived. What you see, sir, is a military half-baked."

"Well then, by God sir, bake it. I wish to clear these Cherokee before spring so that the coming campaign can be carried on in the summer. If there is a summer coming, I should say."

Lincoln looked surprised. "The Cherokee are not the supreme campaign? Pardon my speech, sir, but if our main thrust is not meant for them, what could it be meant for?"

"The King wishes these lands cleared to the great river." Burgoyne said.

"That is an impressive thrust."

"Yes." Burgoyne stood up straight. "That is how I intend to make it. In the mean time, sir, you and your second officer are invited to my quarters for supper tonight. If we are to go on so long a campaign, I wish all of my officers to know each other. To our relief, much of the fine drink of the old world was saved from the freeze, and we have some of it."

"I will be there, sir." Lincoln said. "Though I must admit that I do not drink."

"That is quite alright." Burgoyne smiled. "I am certain we can find water somewhere nearby the house."