As far as the major was concerned, Captain Hooper was newly arrived from the continent where he’d been on extended service, most recently in Nantes, France, there having undertaken a number of unspecified duties on behalf of a grateful United States Government. Now he was in Albany, awaiting orders from the War Department, on the understanding that he was likely to be assigned to General Dearborn’s Northern Command Headquarters, where his intimate knowledge of British military tactics could be put to strategic use in the current hostilities.

Hawkwood knew that, as masquerades went, it was tenuous at best and downright dangerous at worst, but as his liaison with Quade was only scheduled to last as long as a couple of drinks, hopefully it would suffice.

“It sounds,” Hawkwood said, in an attempt to move the conversation on, “as though the bastards have that part of the frontier sealed up tight. What about Ontario and the St Lawrence? I hear we’ve given a good account of ourselves there.”

Quade’s eyes flashed as he nodded in agreement. “Thanks to Chauncey! About time the bastards got a taste of their own medicine! Now they know what it’s like to be bottled up with nowhere to go!”

From his reading, Hawkwood knew that Commodore Isaac Chauncey, former Officer-in-Charge of the New York navy yard, was the newly appointed Commander-in-Chief of the Great Lakes Navy. Since his transfer to Sackets Harbor in October, the Americans had taken the war to the British with a vengeance. With their successful blockade of Kingston, it was now the United States who ruled the waves on Lake Ontario and the upper reaches of the St Lawrence, and not the Provincial Marine as had previously been the case.

“The Limeys need the Marine to help keep their supply routes open.” Quade said. “We sever those and hopefully we can wear the sons of bitches down. We’ve made a good start. They’re already having difficulty supplying their southern outposts. Once winter sets in, it’ll be impossible to move anywhere. Not that either side will want to, so both armies are going to be snow-bound until March, which means we’ll be ready for them come the thaw.”

Hawkwood manufactured a smile in support of Quade’s rekindled optimism. From the major’s point of view, the reversal of fortune following the Queenston and Detroit defeats was a much-needed boost to national morale, but all Hawkwood could see was the shutting down of his second prospective escape route.

Not that either option had held much appeal, due more to their geography than their military significance. It was four hundred miles to the Niagara frontier and at least two hundred to the St Lawrence, with each route involving a heavily defended river crossing at the end of it.