Chapter 140: Survey

Ricky stepped past the threshold into the main living room of Henry’s farmhouse. The interior was simple and sparse. Sacks of grain and flour were stacked neatly against the timber walls beside wooden crates of whiskey and salt pork, leaving just enough room for a plain pine table and two chairs.

​Mounted on the far wall above the stone hearth was an oiled Krag-Jørgensen service rifle, its steel bolt gleam resting parallel to a light cavalry saber in a leather scabbard—a piece of gear from the Spanish-American War.

​Looking at the polished saber, Ricky pegged Henry for a former officer. A man living out in the timber alone, still carrying the weight of the men he’d lost in Cuba.

​Heavy footsteps echoed down the wooden stairs, and John Caldwell appeared at the bottom landing, wiping his hands on a rag.

​Arthur turned toward the front door. "John’s down. I’m heading back out to the hill to make sure the boys aren’t slacking off on their obstacle runs."

​"Go ahead, Arthur," Ricky said.

​Arthur gave a short nod to John and stepped outside, pulling the thick farmhouse door shut behind him.

​John walked into the living room, gesturing around at the stacked crates. "Hope you don’t mind the mess in here, boss. We’ve been using the corners of the front room to store the dry provisions."

​"It’s practical, John," Ricky said, taking off his cap. "How’s Henry taking all of us being on his land?"

​"Oh, he doesn’t mind at all," John said, tossing his rag onto the table. "In fact, I think he’s glad for the company. It gets quiet out here. My uncle and Henry used to sit on this porch for hours whenever we visited."

​"Was your uncle a veteran too?" Ricky asked.

​"Yeah," John nodded. "Both of them served in ’98. They’d talk about the campaign between themselves, but they’d clench their jaws shut if anyone else asked about it. Painful memories, I suppose. Whiskey’s about the only thing Henry uses to quiet the noise—just don’t go telling him I said that."

​Ricky let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Telling him what? I haven’t heard a word."

​John grinned. "That’s the spirit, boss. Anyway, we’ve got three bedrooms upstairs. Arthur and I took the first room, and Phill and James McClain are sleeping in the second. We scrubbed down the third room and set up a proper cot for you, just in case you decide to stay out here."

​"I appreciate it, John," Ricky said, looking toward the staircase. "I’ll likely be spending a lot more time at this camp than in town. I’m leaving the main business decisions in White Plains to Evelyn for now. As long as my name is sitting on police wanted posters in Manhattan, I can’t afford to be careless."

​"Smart move," John agreed. "Let the papers cool off while we build our strength up here."

​Ricky gestured toward a doorway at the rear of the living room. "Where’s the food being prepared?"

​"Right through there," John said, pointing toward the kitchen. "I assigned five lucky guys to handle kitchen duty for the camp. Saves them from running laps up the ridge. Arthur and I set up a rule—whoever turns in the top physical scores during the daily exercise drills gets picked for kitchen duty the following day. Once they finish cooking, their evening is their own."

​Ricky smiled faintly. "No wonder those boys were running so hard up the hill earlier."

​"A little motivation goes a long way," John chuckled. "Come on, boss. Let me show you what we’ve done with the barn."

​They stepped out the side door and walked across the muddy yard to the large timber barn sitting beside the main house. John pulled open a small access door cut into the heavy main slider, stepping inside first.

​The interior of the barn was packed with activity. Double rows of folding cots stretched down the center floor, with work coats, trousers, and leather boots hanging from iron pegs driven into the wall studs. Personal suitcases and kit bags were tucked under the beds.

​"It’s a bit cramped in here," John admitted, looking around. "But the atmosphere is lively enough. Some of the boys tried laying out blankets up on the second-floor boardwalks near the hayloft, but Arthur told ’em to get down. We don’t need anyone rolling off in the middle of the night and breaking a leg."

​"That’s a good call," Ricky said, looking at the high rafters. "What about when the winter frost sets in? Will the barn hold heat?"

​"We’ve stacked a dozen coal sacks against the back wall and cleared plenty of dry firewood," John said. "We’ve also got iron steel drums ready to modify into wood-burning stoves to keep the air warm."

​"Don’t worry about staying in the barn for long," Ricky said, his tone turning practical. "This is temporary. We’re prioritizing the construction of the three wooden barracks buildings starting tomorrow. There’s no reason for sixty men to be living on top of each other. I’ll also have Marek supply standard-issue training clothes and proper hygiene kits for the camp. I don’t want anyone coming down with sickness because we were careless with sanitation."

​John nodded approvingly. "The boys will be damn grateful for that, boss. Should I schedule a team to haul the timber and corrugated iron up from White Plains first thing tomorrow?"

​"Might as well," Ricky said. "The faster we get those roofs framed and sealed before the heavy snowfall hits, the better off we’ll be."

​"I’ll have the trucks ready by dawn," John said. He turned and led Ricky out through the rear barn doors, gesturing toward a cleared flat field behind the building.

​Ten heavy canvas military tents stood in two neat, aligned rows across the grass.

​"We’ve got ten tents set up out here," John explained. "Two men per tent with their gear."

​"What happens when the cold hits at night?" Ricky asked.

​"They’ll have to crowd back inside the barn floor until the new barracks are up," John said.

​"Why not set up a large central tent for the whole camp?" Ricky suggested. "Something big enough to use as a temporary mess hall and briefing room."

​John rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, the canvas we scavenged from the city docks was in small sections, boss. We figured trying to stitch them together into one massive tent would just end up leaking when it rains."

​"Don’t bother stitching old canvas," Ricky smoothly lied. He knew he could easily summon one from the system shop. But maintaing the lie was becoming harder. "Marek already ordered a heavy-duty military command tent from an army surplus supplier. It’ll be delivered on tomorrow’s supply truck. It’s wide enough to hold four long dining tables and act as a temporary command post."

​John looked at him with a wide grin. "The men are going to think Christmas came early."

​They walked to the edge of the field, watching Arthur lead a squad of twenty runners through a steep rope obstacle course built between two old oak trees, while the rest were slow to keep up and was already becoming tired. Arthur stood at the base of the timber wall, bellowing encouragement as the young men hauled themselves over the top barrier and dropped cleanly into the dirt pit on the other side.

​Ricky folded his arms, watching the men move with growing coordination and speed.

​With a global conflict bound to erupt in Europe in just a few short years, preparing these men now was essential. When the United States eventually drawn into the European war, these tenement boys wouldn’t just be cannon fodder sent into the meat grinder of no man’s land—they would have the conditioning, tradecraft, and tactical discipline to survive the machine guns and artillery.

​And if he could establish a foothold in weapons manufacturing across Great Britain or France before the war broke out, the syndicate would build enough capital to expand far beyond New York. It would give them the financial armor needed to weather the Great Depression decades down the line.

​But none of that happens if Tammany Hall stays on our back, Ricky thought, his eyes fixing on the ropes. Every business venture we build in New York will be squeezed or sabotaged if those ward bosses keep their grip on the city.

​"We have to start somewhere," Ricky said aloud.

​John turned to him, his face settled into calm resolve. "We’re starting right here, boss."