“What?” Dr. Shaw took a step back from all the eyes focused on her.

“Dr. Shaw, you spent god only knows how long working with the Easterners to build and perfect that device, so what was their grand plan? What did they hope to accomplish by coming back in time? Why did they pick today?”

Everyone realized how stupid that sounded, but it was the reality they had to live with now. Most of them were soldiers and used to adapting to the situation. That skill served them well.

“Well . . . um . . .” the doctor struggled for words. “There are multiple theories concerning this issue, and none of them are testable without a way to return back to the present to verify them; which is not possible.” She made that clear.

MAJ Ward would have been lying if he wished there were a way to get back home, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew that whatever happened in 2141 couldn’t be recreated in 1775. They were stuck here forever and they needed to make the best of it. That reality steeled his will and let him look to the future.

“The first theory, and the theory they hoped was correct, was that what happened in the past would change the future. Their goal was to weaken the Commonwealth, or maybe even destroy it.” She shook her head as she said this.

“You don’t agree?” The MAJ thought through their situation and the dangers it presented.

“I don’t have the data to agree or disagree! All of us just being here could change everything!” Her face was back in her hands.

The seven of them just stood there silently and took in the whole situation. It was a fucked up situation, but it was their fucked up situation to deal with, so the MAJ did what an officer did best: he made a plan.

“I think I know what they are doing, and I know what our mission is.” He stated calmly after a few minutes. “They’re here at this point in history to threaten the founding of the United States. That’s the only explanation for coming back to seventeen seventy-five. Without the United States there is no Commonwealth, and without the Commonwealth the Eastern Block has no significant opposition.” Six heads nodded as he spoke. It made sense.

“Our mission is to head to the Old North Church and secure it against enemy incursion.”

“The Church?” This time it was Cuthbert that spoke up. As a spy, the MAJ hoped he would be able to come to the same conclusion.

“With no signal, or an incorrect signal, being given to the riders the word will not go out to the minutemen to marshal at the Lexington green and oppose the Redcoats. Without any opposition there will be no battle to kick off this war.”

“Let me get this straight,” Cuthbert scratched his chin. “We’re setting the stage so our countrymen can slaughter each other?”

The MAJ didn’t like the look in the intelligence officer’s eye, but he couldn’t deny the validity of the question.

“Sir, we are ensuring that history happens the way it’s supposed to, so get ready to move.”

There was only a little hesitation from the man before he complied, and with that done they moved onto other more practical concerns. As a group, they couldn’t walk into eighteenth century Boston without being the greatest thing since sliced bread. That would make the Redcoats come calling, and it would end up with a lot of dead people who shouldn’t die. Dr. Shaw didn’t have to explain the ripple effect that would have on the future. People that were supposed to be born would never get born. Things that changed lives for better or worse would never happen. It would fuck up everything, and for all they knew one of their great great great great grandfathers might be one of those guys.

The MAJ, LT, CSGT, and Cuthbert would only be conspicuous by their size and clothing. Most men of the time didn’t have the upbringing and training the soldiers had been through all their lives. They were all taller, stronger, and healthier looking than an eighteenth century man. The MAJ’s six and a half feet and two hundred and fifty pounds was going to draw attention automatically.

Dr. Shaw was a woman – a very smart woman – in a time when woman were only meant to maintain the home. The MAJ had only been with her for a short time, but he already saw that was going to be a problem. The only thing going for her was being a tall, healthy looking white woman. They could pass her off as an aristocrat or at least a wealthy merchant’s wife.

Captain Tanaka and PO2 Chambers were the real problems. The MAJ doubted there was another Asian in Boston at this time, much less a woman. They’d need to do something about that. She couldn’t go anywhere without drawing attention. Lastly, Chambers was just as big, strong, and healthy as the rest of the men. He was also black, and slavery wasn’t going to be outlawed for another ninety years. He’d just gone from the racial equality of the mid-twenty second century to the backwards thinking of revolutionary America. Even worse, the SEAL didn’t strike the MAJ as a “taking shit from others” kind of guy. A lot of stupid white people could get killed with just a few words that were socially acceptable in this time and place.

“We need to inventory everything. Let’s do a full layout.” The MAJ put aside the social concerns of their new situation and looked toward the material ones.

The experienced soldiers had their gear unpacked and laid out in a well-rehearsed order in a few minutes. Even with fewer supplies the two spies took much longer. The MAJ had everyone take a count so he could tabulate how bad their situation was.

“All battery packs are charged at one hundred percent.” He couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. With them at a full charge they’d be able to take on a full battalion before running dry.

“There’s no electricity here, so we’ll have to rely on solar charges.”

Groans went up from the soldiers. As far as solar technology had come in the last century, it would still take a day of good sunshine to charge the powerful rifles.

“Between all of us we’ve got forty-three hundred rounds for the rifles, and another eight hundred for the pistols. We’ll divide them evenly between us. Use it sparingly, we won’t be getting anymore.”

Even using lasers was going to have to be done sparingly. Lasers were invisible to the naked eye. The HUD of their helmets tinted the beams of light red so they could see where they were firing, but even wearing helmets to fire was unconventional at this time. It was greatly reducing their tactical options.

Captain Tanaka was lucky didn’t have to split her ammunition. The Japanese Defense Force didn’t use the same ammunition standards as the Commonwealth. She was only armed with a pistol and three hundred rounds, but she got to keep it all.”

“Six more MREs, a few hundred bucks in cash, and our basic combat loads.” He closed his eyes and sighed.

They hadn’t brought more food because it was a quick in-and-out mission, and if they didn’t make it out food was the least of their worries. Someone had over packed– probably the CSGT if the MAJ was betting on it – but even rationing they didn’t have more than a few days’ worth. The paper dollars and pounds were useless. The MAJ’s knowledge on the time period was mainly military, but he’d picked up enough of the social to remember that hard currency ruled the day.

They could probably barter with some of their gears more useless trinkets, but they were all broke. It was a new feeling for a man who’d been in the army since graduating West Point. Since he was eighteen the army had provided everything for him: food, clothing, shelter, rules to live by, and standards of discipline . . . everything. This was a scary new world for several reasons.

Despite all of that, the MAJ had a mission and that was all he needed. The rest he could figure out along the way.

“Everyone put your helmets in your packs. Disguise your rifles as best you can, and only use pistols if we get into trouble. Anyone we come up against is going to have shit accuracy after about twenty yards. Even most of their rifles couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn, so don’t panic, just aim and pull the trigger.” He was talking to the spies more than the soldiers. He didn’t know how much combat they’d seen. “We also need new clothes.”

Now it made sense why the enemy was dressing down into those rags. It would allow them to blend in. All of the Commonwealth soldiers were wearing fabric made of smart materials. They regulated body temperature, wicked away sweat, and even kept the smell bearable. They were hot in the winter and cool in the summer. They were the best thing to hit the army since the invention of the gun, but their green and brown camouflage looked alien compared to the crisp uniforms worn by colonial soldiers.

Dr. Shaw and Tanaka were in civilian clothes, but it didn’t help their case much. The standards of dress were still radically different. The only one who came close was Cuthbert. He was still wearing his prison rags. They were a weird style, but after months and captivity they were run down enough that he could pass as a weary traveler.

Before they even went there he had to deal with Tanaka. “Colour Sergeant, hand me the flesh mask.”

The man bitched about giving up his only one, but he did it after a stern glance from LT Thrumball. A flesh mask was a necessity of spy craft. A plastic-like substance imbued with nanites – small robots that could rework the plastic into a preprogrammed shape. Unfortunately for the Japanese woman, the only preprogramed versions were the ones saved in the English NCO’s armor.

The armor’s computer held a petabyte of space for personal use. Most of the MAJ’s was taken up with military history books, his own diaries of the war, and other personal items. The MAJ feared what he would find if he dug too deep in the CSGT’s data, but thankfully the flesh mask information was easy to find. After fixing the uncomfortable contraption to the woman’s face she looked like a freckle-faced Irishwoman, which did not at all go with her jet-black hair, but the MAJ would take what he could get.

They crammed their packs full of whatever they didn’t want to carry with their hands and set out for Boston. The good news was that what an eighteenth century person considered far was different than the twenty-second century equivalent. The girls’ claims that they were north of Boston were true, but they were only three miles from the city. They ran at least that during morning PT every day. The trip was nothing, and they needed to get used to walking everywhere. The first car wouldn’t be seen until 1885.

At an easy pace they reached the city in an hour, if you could call it a city at all. The MAJ had been born in the suburbs outside of Boston, and outside meant halfway to New Hampshire. The Boston Metropolis held nearly twenty-five million people and stretched for nearly thirty miles. The Boston of 1775 was nothing like that. It was a handful of buildings huddled along a piece of land jutting into the harbor. It was nothing compared to the Boston he knew. There couldn’t even be fifteen thousand people living here.

They’d come south on the road that led to Lexington and that took them through Charlestown to wait for the ferry. It was even smaller than Boston, not even a town in the modern US sense.

Traffic was light on the dirt-packed road, so it was easy for the MAJ and his team to avoid notice as they requisitioned some new clothes. It was a group of men traveling on horseback who stopped at the urging of a pretty woman in need. None of them were injured beyond a bump on the head, but he still felt bad about it, and about any changes made to the timeline. The clothes didn’t even fit the big MAJ. He had to keep his boots, camo-pants, and was only able to use the loose, white long-sleeved shirt and coat. The coat itself barely passed his belly button and was tight in all the wrong places. He looked ridiculous. The only positive was that it concealed his pistol.

He made the decision to leave half the team behind on the Charleston side of the harbor. He took the LT and CSGT across with him while the rest of the team watched the packs and their rifles. It made the most sense to leave behind anyone that would draw unwanted attention. Even better, the LT and CSGT were British, so they could ensure they got passed the Redcoats.

The three soldiers crossed to the north end of Boston just before the sun set.

British soldiers were everywhere. They marched in the streets, drank in the taverns, and stumbled drunkenly all over the place. The MAJ knew that unrest had been festering for years in the colonies by this point, but as he took in the nightlife you’d never know it. People were just living their lives one tankard of beer at a time.

It was simpler times. No one was walking around with their heads in their smart devices. Electronics didn’t run the world, information wasn’t available at the push of a button, and not many people cared what was going on more than a dozen miles outside of Boston. Most people didn’t even know what was going on until news reached them weeks or even months later. There was an odd peace to it, and the MAJ was glad he felt that. He was going to have to get used to it.

The Old North Church loomed ahead of them. It was one of the largest buildings in the area. It was meant to be seen, which was the whole point of tonight. There were three patriots that the team needed to be on the lookout for. The church sexton – the maintenance man/groundskeeper – Robert Newman, Captain John Pulling, and lastly Thomas Bernard the lookout.

The problem was that they didn’t know what the three men looked like. The MAJ had several books on the Revolutionary War in his personal data, but there were no pictures or descriptions of their targets. Before they could guard the men who would help kick off one of the most influential wars in the history of mankind they had to find them.

The MAJ had done a lot of missions in his military career, and protection details were one of them. He knew how to pick out guys acting strangely or weren’t supposed to be there. Constant vigilance had kept him alive in more than one assassination attempt, and he assumed the SAS officer and Royal Marine had similar experiences.

“Lieutenant, I want you to focus on Bernard. Keep an eye on things out here and let us know if shit goes sideways.” The one piece of technology – aside from the pistols – that the MAJ was unwilling to go without was communications gear. The flesh-colored earbuds of the short rang comms were more than good enough to handle this mission.

“Colour Sergeant, you and I will take the interior and look for Pulling and Newman.”

“Sir, you should probably call me by something other than Colour Sergeant if we’re about to go into a den of Patriots who hate the British.” The CSGT offered with a grin.

“Good point, William.”

“Call me Willy, Sir. William sounds like my father.”

“Ok, Willy. Call me Tom.”

With a nod to the LT, and a quick look around to make sure there weren’t too many British troops present, Tom and Willy crossed the muddy street toward the church.