The trouble came without warning.
A supply convoy failed to arrive during the night. By the timetable, it should have reached the next rally point before dawn, yet as the sky began to pale, there was still no signal.
Such disappearances were not uncommon in war.
Often it was nothing more than a wrong turn, a delay, or a problem with the horses.
But Greene did not treat this as an ordinary delay.
Because the route passed through a river valley—terrain perfectly suited for an ambush.
And worse still—
The wagons carried not only food, but gunpowder.
Food shortages were uncomfortable.
Gunpowder shortages killed people.
Greene summoned several officers and prepared to dispatch a relief force.
The debate erupted immediately.
Some argued for sending the main force at once.Others urged waiting for confirmation.Still others feared it was a British lure.
At the height of the argument, Greene suddenly looked toward Nathan, standing at the edge of the tent.
"How fast can your people move?" he asked.
The tent went silent.
This was not a question.
It was a rope being handed over—thin, frayed, and tied to enormous risk.
Nathan did not hesitate.
"With light equipment," he answered, "we can reach the outskirts of the valley within an hour."
Greene nodded.
"Go," he said. "Your objective isn't rescue. It's confirmation."
"Confirmation of what?" someone asked.
Greene did not answer that officer.
He looked at Nathan, his voice lower. "Confirm whether they're still alive—or already under control."
It was the calmest—and cruelest—order possible.
Because on a battlefield, "rescue" was often an emotional word.
Judgment was the real mission.
Nathan led the unit out with light gear.
No wagons.No excess ammunition.Only enough food and water for half a day.
They avoided the main road, advancing along the forest's edge.
Elias Moore moved at the front, nearly soundless.Thomas Reed covered the flank, alert for sudden threats.
As they drew closer to the valley, the air itself seemed different—
Not smoke.
But the smell of damp earth trampled again and again.
Elias stopped and crouched.
"Wheel ruts," he said. "Fresh."
Thomas added softly, "And drag marks."
Nathan narrowed his eyes.
Dragging meant one of two things:
Either someone had tried to push the wagons away from the kill zone,or the wagons were already being forced toward another location.
"Circle to the upwind side," Nathan ordered.
They climbed along the slope to higher ground.
From above, the valley looked like an open wound—narrow, hidden, dangerous.
And at the bottom, there was movement.
The wagons were parked behind brush. No fires burned, but faint reflections flickered—gun barrels catching the early light.
British.
Not many.
But enough to control a supply convoy.
Nathan felt no panic. His thoughts sharpened.
This wasn't a large operation.
It was a precise interception.
They didn't want a battle.
They wanted gunpowder.
Thomas whispered, "Do we engage?"
Nathan did not answer immediately.
He studied the arrangement below, running the possibilities through his mind.
Few British soldiers meant they wouldn't stay long.The wagons hadn't been moved—meaning they lacked enough horses.They were waiting—for a better moment to move the cargo, or for support.
A direct assault might succeed.
But it would cost them.
And the most expensive cost wouldn't be casualties.
It would be revealing the limits of this unit.
Nathan chose differently.
"We don't fight," he said.
Thomas frowned. "Then how do we save them?"
"Saving them isn't the objective," Nathan corrected. "Confirmation is."
He turned to Elias. "Can you tell if the convoy crew is still there?"
Elias nodded. "Movement behind the wagons. Tied, most likely."
Nathan continued issuing orders. "Thomas, take two men. Move downstream and make noise."
"Noise?" Thomas echoed.
"Like a larger force," Nathan said.
Thomas met his eyes and understood.
They didn't need to win.
They only needed the British to believe—
That staying meant being surrounded.
Ten minutes later, deliberate sounds rose from downstream.
Branches snapped.Stones clattered down slopes.Someone shouted a few indistinct commands in a low voice.
The British reacted at once.
They tightened formation, trying to identify the threat.
At that moment, Nathan led the rest of the unit in tossing stones down from above—not to strike, but to amplify the chaos, like men slipping on the slope.
British attention fractured.
In that brief confusion, Elias slipped through the brush like a shadow, cutting ropes with swift precision.
Two convoy soldiers were freed.
They could barely stand, faces drained of color.
Nathan didn't tell them to run.
He asked only one question. "Is the gunpowder still there?"
"Yes," one gasped. "They hadn't moved it yet."
"Good," Nathan said. "We withdraw."
The moment the order was given, the British made their choice.
They did not pursue.
Because they couldn't determine the size of the force behind the noise.
They refused the risk.
They abandoned part of the objective to ensure withdrawal.
When Nathan's group returned to camp, the convoy crew was alive—and the gunpowder intact.
It was a victory without gunfire.
And its consequences were more complicated than a firefight.
Because those who save the situation inevitably make someone else look incompetent.
When Nathan handed the report to the officer in charge of supplies, the man's expression darkened.
"You exceeded protocol," the officer said coldly.
Nathan didn't argue.
He set the report down and replied evenly, "The gunpowder is here."
There was nothing more the man could say.
But Nathan could see it—
Resentment had taken root.
That night, Greene said only one thing to Nathan:
"You did the right thing."
No praise.No reward.
But Nathan understood the weight of those words.
Because in this system, every time you saved the situation, more people wished you gone.
Which meant you had to climb faster.
Not for glory.
But to survive.
Something else also began to stir that same day.
Officers responsible for supplies started whispering among themselves:
If someone could reliably move gunpowder, salt, cloth—even certain metal components—from one place to another, who could make it happen?
When Nathan heard these conversations, a practical path formed in his mind—
Not an industrial revolution.
But the simplest law of wartime economics:
Information asymmetry + scarcity + the protection of legal status.
He didn't act on it immediately.
But he remembered it.
Because in war, money wasn't a luxury.
Money was life.