The battalion formed up just before dusk.
Four companies of infantry stood in uneven lines along the edge of the ridge—boots sunk in churned earth, muskets resting at half-cock. Some uniforms were regulation blue, others patched militia coats faded by smoke and rain. Faces were drawn tight from exhaustion.
DJ stopped a short distance in front of them.
The talking didn't stop.
It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. A low murmur rolled through the ranks, the sound of men testing how far they could push before someone pushed back.
"—that him?"
"Too young."
"Didn't think they'd do that."
"Looks like he belongs in a classroom."
And then, quieter—but not quiet enough—
"Didn't know they'd let his kind give orders now."
DJ heard it.
So did the sergeants. They stiffened but said nothing. They were watching him, measuring what kind of officer he was going to be.
He didn't react.
Instead, he turned to the senior noncommissioned officer standing nearby.
"Sergeant Major. Report."
The sergeant major—a thick-necked man with gray in his hair and scars on his knuckles—hesitated for half a second, eyes flicking over DJ's face, then snapped to attention.
"Sir. Third Battalion, Maryland Line. Four companies present. Two hundred and thirty-one effectives. Ammunition low in the second company. Morale… uneven."
DJ nodded once.
"Form them properly."
The sergeant major barked the order. Men shuffled, straightened, corrected intervals. The murmuring faded, replaced by discipline. Not respect—discipline.
That was enough to begin.
DJ stepped forward.
"I am Lieutenant Colonel Carter."
A pause.
"I have been placed in command of this battalion by General Smith."
He didn't explain why. He didn't justify it.
"I am responsible for this ridge. If it falls, the road behind us opens. If that road opens, Baltimore burns."
Some men shifted uneasily. Others stared straight ahead.
"I do not care what you think of my age," DJ continued. "I do not care where you think I should be instead of here."
His eyes moved across the ranks slowly, deliberately.
"I care whether you load when told, fire when told, and hold when ordered to hold."
Silence now. Real silence.
From the back of the formation, a voice rose.
"With respect, sir—"
DJ didn't raise his voice. He didn't even look back immediately.
"Who spoke."
A beat passed.
A private stepped forward reluctantly. Big man. Farm-strong. Jaw set in defiance.
"Private Thomas Hale. Second Company, sir."
"What is your concern, Private Hale."
Hale swallowed, then said it.
"Ain't never been commanded by a colored officer before."
The word landed hard. A few men looked away. Others watched openly, curious to see what would happen.
DJ walked forward until he stood a few paces from Hale.
"You are now."
A ripple moved through the formation—shock, anger, disbelief.
Hale flushed. "Sir, I don't—"
DJ cut him off. "You don't have to understand it. You don't have to approve of it. You will obey it."
He turned slightly so his voice carried.
"Any man here who believes my commission is invalid may step forward now."
No one moved.
"Any man who believes orders given by me may be ignored may step forward now."
Still nothing.
DJ looked back at Hale.
"You are a private in the United States Army. I am a Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Army. That is the entire matter."
Hale hesitated, then snapped a stiff, ugly salute.
"Yes, sir."
DJ returned it crisply and turned away.
The sergeant major exhaled through his nose, impressed despite himself.
"Dismissed to company duties," DJ ordered. "Sergeants remain."
The companies broke formation. Men walked off in low, tense clusters, throwing glances over shoulders. Not friendly. Not yet. But no one openly defied him.
That mattered.
As the enlisted men dispersed, one of the captains approached—thin, nervous, clearly uncomfortable.
"Sir… some of them won't like this."
DJ met his eyes. "Some of them won't survive the next engagement either."
The captain stiffened. "Sir?"
"If they follow orders, they live. If they don't, they die," DJ said flatly. "Racism doesn't stop a musket ball. Discipline might."
The captain nodded slowly.
Behind them, the sergeant major spoke quietly.
"You handled that cleaner than most," he said. "Didn't shame them. Didn't threaten them. Just made it law."
DJ answered just as quietly. "Law is the only thing that holds when belief fails."
The sergeant major studied him for a long moment.
"I'll make sure they understand that."
As night settled over the ridge, DJ watched his battalion dig in, light campfires, post pickets.
They didn't trust him.
Some of them hated him.
But they would obey him.
And in war, that was enough to start with.