Chapter One: Cold Spring, New York, Winter 1776
[Music: Stakes by Vancouver Sleep Clinic]
Mercenary soldiers aren't supposed to feel.
They aren't supposed to think. Or ask questions.
They are hired to bring any rebellion to an end. By whatever means necessary.
Stefan Lochner looked at his captain. The captain looked back at him with thinly veiled disgust. Stefan looked down at his weapons – a short saber and battle-ax – gleaming cruelly in the dark, misty morning light and said, "As you say, sir."
Captain Maksim Von Wolfskeil furrowed his heavy brow at his lieutenant. Stefan Lochner was in constant need of correction. The captain couldn't go five paces without someone claiming that Lochner had said something that almost defied orders, but not quite. This was the third time in as many days that he’d had to call the man out for spreading the idea that maybe they shouldn't be attacking the villages along the Hudson and "encouraging" their loyalty to the British Crown.
"We've been ordered to burn this village to the ground unless they pledge loyalty to the crown. If you have a problem with those orders, Lieutenant Lochner, then the only solution I see is for you to lead the first charge."
He wanted to grin at the look that passed over Lochner's face, but he didn't. He took pride in being able to control his emotions at all times. The captain himself didn't feel any loyalty to the British, even though he'd sworn allegiance to King George as all Hessian mercenary soldiers were required to do before they were shipped off to this backward swamp of a wilderness. No, it was power and position that held his loyalty. So if Britain ultimately put gold in his pockets, then that is where his loyalties lay.
Wolfskeil allowed himself a half-smile at the thought of how he and his small band of skilled cavalrymen had gained a formidable reputation since the battle of White Plains more than a month ago. Yes, the highly trained Hessian regiments had made quite an impression on the British troops, not to mention sparking fear and respect throughout the small villages caught in the middle of a war. His plan was to rise to the top of the ranks and make a name for himself. He had already made the rank of Rittmeister, captain of an elite cavalry hussar regiment. He was well on his way to earning the rank of major.
It was his destiny.
His lieutenant merely nodded and cast his gaze down at the ground. Good. It was already an insult that Stefan Lochner was the only man in his command who was tall enough to look him directly in the eye. Most men in his regiment were several inches shorter than the captain was. He found he preferred the advantage of looking down at almost everyone he came in contact with. "Ready your men," he said. "We attack on your call."
Stefan's heavy steps echoed in the quiet morning as he walked to the head of the group. He looked to his left at the two mercenaries who had earned the "honor" of leading the first charge by being particularly brutal during the last raid. This time, their orders were "No survivors." Stefan felt sickened by the thought.
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Stefan's heavy steps echoed in the quiet morning as he walked to the head of the group. He looked to his left at the two mercenaries who had earned the "honor" of leading the first charge by being particularly brutal during the last raid. This time, their orders were "No survivors." Stefan felt sickened by the thought.
The small band of Hessian troops had been watching the village for almost an hour, waiting for people to wake and begin the business of their morning routines. Captain Wolfskeil preferred to raid a village while people were awake, but not expecting an attack. Catching people helpless in the middle of the night was not as interesting.
How had he become this monster?
Stefan's mind flashed to his childhood in Prussia. He missed his home in the mountains near Brocken. He missed the snow-capped mountains, pine trees, and clear mountain streams. The heavily wooded forests and steep mountain slopes were so different from the farms and gently rolling hills of the Colonies. He missed chopping wood with his father, while his mother and younger sister made pumpernickel bread each morning, or honey cakes if it was a holiday. He was only fifteen years old when a sickness raged through his small village claiming the lives of his entire family, along with most of the people who lived there. Alone and afraid, he had joined the military earlier than the required 16 years of age.
Stefan paused. He shouldn't think of home. Or his family. They were all gone – had been gone for years. Instead, he steeled himself for the gruesome task ahead. This is the last time, he thought. I cannot continue down this path of brutality and evil. I will no longer serve the Crown if this is what it means.
He'd been a soldier for five years. He knew his duty, and what was expected of him. After he'd been shipped to the Colonies with his Hessian regiment, it seemed that everything he thought he knew and understood about the world came to an abrupt end. His first year in the regiment had been the hardest he'd ever faced, but these last few months had been almost as difficult. Where would he go after this? That is if he survived. One thing was certain; there would be no more holidays, no cozy nights by the fire listening to Father read, and no family for him to return home to when this wretched war was over. If it ever ends, he thought.
He waited in the cold, early morning darkness for one more house to light their candles.
How had he become this monster?
Stefan's mind flashed to his childhood in Prussia. He missed his home in the mountains near Brocken. He missed the snow-capped mountains, pine trees, and clear mountain streams. The heavily wooded forests and steep mountain slopes were so different from the farms and gently rolling hills of the Colonies. He missed chopping wood with his father, while his mother and younger sister made pumpernickel bread each morning, or honey cakes if it was a holiday. He was only fifteen years old when a sickness raged through his small village claiming the lives of his entire family, along with most of the people who lived there. Alone and afraid, he had joined the military earlier than the required 16 years of age.
Stefan paused. He shouldn't think of home. Or his family. They were all gone – had been gone for years. Instead, he steeled himself for the gruesome task ahead. This is the last time, he thought. I cannot continue down this path of brutality and evil. I will no longer serve the Crown if this is what it means.
He'd been a soldier for five years. He knew his duty, and what was expected of him. After he'd been shipped to the Colonies with his Hessian regiment, it seemed that everything he thought he knew and understood about the world came to an abrupt end. His first year in the regiment had been the hardest he'd ever faced, but these last few months had been almost as difficult. Where would he go after this? That is if he survived. One thing was certain; there would be no more holidays, no cozy nights by the fire listening to Father read, and no family for him to return home to when this wretched war was over. If it ever ends, he thought.
He waited in the cold, early morning darkness for one more house to light their candles.
Waited for one more family to have a few more moments of peace.
Waited for one more child to be held by its mother before he and the men standing behind him brought that world to a bloody end.
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The Curse of Sleepy Hollow and all photos are copyrighted 2019. This is a work in progress and is subject to editing and updates (my apologies for any errors as I continue to research and try to get it right!).
The Curse of Sleepy Hollow and all photos are copyrighted 2019. This is a work in progress and is subject to editing and updates (my apologies for any errors as I continue to research and try to get it right!).
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