The road north from Montreal was a ribbon of frozen mud, marked by the passage of supply wagons, infantry columns, and mounted couriers. Isaiah Carter rode at the head of his brigade, flanked by Baird and Hale, as scouts fanned out ahead along the snow-dusted ridges and riverbanks. The St. Lawrence shimmered cold and gray to the east, and the low hills to the north promised both opportunity and danger. Montreal was secure behind them, but Quebec lay ahead—fortified, prepared, and aware of American movements.
Isaiah had insisted that reconnaissance be meticulous. He would not repeat the mistakes of previous campaigns, nor would he allow politics or impatience to dictate the advance. His orders were clear: map every approach, identify all natural obstacles, confirm enemy troop positions, and establish supply caches along every route likely to be used in the march. Every soldier, from the youngest private to the senior officers of his brigade, understood that failure to gather accurate intelligence could cost lives—and possibly the campaign itself.
The first skirmish came within two days. A small British patrol, perhaps thirty men, had been probing the northern forest road near the Rivière du Sud. Isaiah's scouts spotted them from a ridge overlooking a frozen creek. The enemy, unaware of the Americans' presence, was lightly armed and overconfident.
Isaiah paused, studying the formations. "Let them advance," he instructed softly. "We engage only when their center is vulnerable, and we will use terrain to funnel them."
Baird raised an eyebrow. "Sir, they're small in number. Shouldn't we strike immediately?"
Isaiah shook his head. "A disciplined fight teaches the men more than a rout. We'll control the engagement, not react to it."
When the British patrol entered the creek valley, Isaiah's companies emerged from the treeline, firing controlled volleys into the enemy flanks. Caught in the narrow depression, the British were unable to form proper lines. American sharpshooters targeted officers and machine gunners, disrupting command and slowing their advance. The patrol attempted a desperate retreat, only to be met by a secondary American company waiting further down the creek.
In less than an hour, the skirmish was over. British casualties were significant; the survivors surrendered quietly, recognizing the futility of resistance.
Isaiah moved among his men afterward, inspecting positions and ensuring prisoners were treated humanely. "This is how we win wars," he told them. "Discipline, patience, and control. Not rash attacks or wasted lives."
The men nodded, visibly inspired. Even the younger soldiers who had once questioned his authority now saw the value of his calm, precise command.
That evening, campfires burned along the ridge while Isaiah reviewed reports from scouts and captured enemy officers. Intelligence suggested that Quebec had fortified its northern approaches more heavily than expected. Small garrisons, hidden artillery positions, and barricaded roads presented challenges that would require more than brute force.
Howard and Frasier rode into camp, their expressions a mixture of admiration and irritation. "Colonel Carter," Howard said, "these skirmishes are impressive, but they are minor. We must plan a decisive strike if we intend to take Quebec before winter freezes the river crossings completely."
Frasier leaned closer. "We cannot waste time with caution. An early bombardment will intimidate the defenders and secure our path."
Isaiah looked at them both, calm and measured. "We will strike decisively—but not blindly. These minor engagements give us intelligence, reveal enemy positions, and conserve our strength. We know the terrain, the enemy disposition, and where they are vulnerable. That knowledge is far more valuable than burning men or ammunition on a frontal assault."
Howard frowned but did not speak further. He understood Isaiah's logic, even if it chafed against his own desire for glory.
Over the next week, multiple reconnaissance patrols reported skirmishes along several northern roads. Isaiah used each encounter to refine his maps, adjust artillery positions, and fortify supply points. His brigade moved efficiently, leaving no opportunity for the enemy to regroup or counterattack. Minor ambushes, feints, and river-crossing challenges tested the men—but each was overcome with minimal casualties, teaching them to trust Isaiah's judgment implicitly.
During one particularly tense engagement near a narrow ravine, British riflemen opened fire from elevated positions, pinning an American company in a precarious position. Isaiah's solution was immediate: reposition sharpshooters to suppress the enemy while a secondary company moved through a side path to flank the defenders. Within thirty minutes, the ravine was secured, the British forces scattered, and no American life was lost.
"This is why we advance cautiously," Isaiah said afterward to Baird, surveying the positions. "We control the tempo, the engagement, and the outcome. Quebec cannot repel an army that moves with precision."
By the end of the week, Isaiah had established multiple fortified staging areas, complete with supply caches, artillery placements, and observation posts. His brigade had won every engagement, each minor victory reinforcing discipline, morale, and the confidence of Washington, which had begun filtering back in reports praising his foresight.
But the young colonel was not satisfied. Each skirmish was a test, a rehearsal for the real siege that awaited Quebec. He knew the city's defenses were formidable, the garrison determined, and senior generals eager to seize the glory. Isaiah could not allow impatience, politics, or overconfidence to jeopardize the campaign. Every decision, every deployment, every mapped approach had to be perfect.
As he stood atop the northern ridge one evening, watching his soldiers move into defensive positions and reviewing patrol reports by lamplight, Isaiah allowed himself a brief thought of satisfaction: Montreal had been won, Quebec was coming, and he had already begun shaping the campaign. He was young, African-American, and underestimated by nearly everyone—but the land, the soldiers, and history itself were beginning to recognize the truth: Isaiah Carter was a commander to be reckoned with.
The real test was coming. And he would be ready.