The activity along the side routes quieted down.
Not disappearing entirely—but becoming fragmented, hesitant, lacking continuity.
For the front line, this was good news.For Nathan Carter, it was only a temporary outcome.
Because he noticed something more troubling.
The British had begun to imitate.
Elias Moore was the first to recognize it.
He returned from the woods one morning and said only one thing:
"They've started observing in a dispersed pattern."
Not patrols.Not sentries.
But like them—no fixed routes, no fixed timing, just watching and recording.
Nathan did not respond immediately.
He understood what this meant.
The enemy was no longer just moving along roads.
They were learning how to read them.
That was a dangerous shift.
Once war entered a phase of mutual learning, advantages eroded quickly.
Nathan knew the Continental Army was at a disadvantage here.British training systems were more mature, their resources deeper.If they fully absorbed this method, attrition would favor them.
"We need to stay ahead," Thomas Reed said quietly.
"Not ahead," Nathan replied. "Half a step."
Elias looked up. "What does that mean?"
"They learn quickly because we've made the method too visible," Nathan said."So we make the method less valuable."
Over the next few days, Nathan did something that looked deeply irrational to outsiders.
He began allowing small mistakes.
Not strategic failures.But insignificant misjudgments.
A road flagged as suspicious, followed by no action.An observation ended early, as if patience had run out.A report written conservatively, lacking its usual sharpness.
The changes were subtle.
But enough to confuse the observers watching them.
Because what the British now saw was this—an opponent losing internal consistency.
It was intentional.
Nathan didn't need them to see nothing.
He only needed them to be unsure what to copy.
Elias finally asked, unable to hold back.
"Won't this make command misunderstand us?"
"It will," Nathan answered plainly.
"Then why do it?"
"Because being misunderstood once," Nathan said,"costs less than being fully understood."
The imitation began to warp.
British units invested excessive effort in irrelevant points.At genuinely critical areas, they hesitated.
The method dulled.
And once a method lost its edge, it ceased to be dangerous.
During this period, Nathan was asked to step away from the forward area briefly.
Not reassigned.
But pulled into regional coordination.
That alone said enough.
He was now seen as someone who influenced overall tempo.
The meeting lasted an entire day.
Not confrontational—but exhausting.
Routes.Supply flow.Priority conflicts.Risk thresholds.
Every topic had defenders and opponents.
Nathan spoke very little.
But on one question, he intervened.
"Are we assuming the enemy will always act optimally?"
The room fell quiet.
"And if they don't?" someone asked.
"Then every prediction we're making now," Nathan replied,"will arrive one step too late."
The remark wasn't recorded in the minutes.
But afterward, small adjustments began appearing—quietly.
By evening, Nathan returned to camp.
He didn't go straight back to work.
Instead, he walked slowly along a path beyond the perimeter.
He needed to bring his state down.
Judgment warped when tension lingered too long.
Abigail Warren was nearby, helping sort wounded soldiers' belongings.
She looked up when she saw him.
"You're back early today."
"Relatively," Nathan said.
She set the items aside and walked over.
"You don't look like someone who won," she said.
"In war," Nathan replied, "few people win. Some just don't lose."
She thought about it, then nodded.
"So which are you today?"
Nathan didn't answer right away.
They walked side by side for a while.
"Not lost yet," he said.
It was the most honest assessment he could give.
They stopped on a small rise outside the camp.
The sky hovered between light and dark.
Fires flickered on in the distance, one by one.
This time, neither of them mentioned waiting for free time.
They just stood there for a moment.
"Do you ever worry," Abigail asked suddenly,"that one day you'll go too deep—and won't come back?"
The question was more dangerous than any tactical problem.
Nathan was silent for a long time.
"It's possible," he said.
She didn't look alarmed.
She simply nodded.
"Then I hope you remember," she said,"you didn't walk in alone."
There was no promise of the future in her words.
But in the present, they gave him something solid.
Night settled fully.
Nathan returned to his tent and unfolded the map once more.
The British imitation had begun to fail.
But he knew this was only the end of one exchange.
They would adapt again.
And he would have to remain ahead—
Even if only by half a step.
The war was pushing both sides into deeper complexity.
And Nathan had passed the pointwhere he could retreat to merely making judgments.