A body of uniformed men appeared around the corner, smart, tall, and dressed in blue rather than the expected white. They stopped as they saw the Royal Marines waiting for them, and the officer in charge gave a sharp order in an American accent.
“Who the hell are you?” the officer asked as his men formed an extended line, aiming their rifles at the British.
Jack stared in disbelief. “American navy?” He thought of James Boyce. “What the devil are you doing here?”
The commander of the Americans stared at Jack’s khaki uniform and then at the men behind. “British marines?” He raised a hand. “It’s all right, boys. They’re friendly.”
The words reassured Jack. “Stand easy, men,” to forestall any possible too-eager trigger fingers. He holstered his revolver but prepared to draw it quickly.
“I
