Chapter 51: The Hunt for General Exeter
25th June, 1778
Coosa, Creek Nation
"Leaving!? We can't leave, we're not done yet!"
"At ease, Sergeant." Tom Heyward held up his hand to John as they sat in his tent, enjoying a meal. He turned back to the messenger. "Repeat that?"
"Yes, sir. General Steving's compliments, and he asks that the cannon be prepared for moving out."
"Thank you, sir. Tell him I shall attend to it immediately." Tom rose, reaching for his hat. "Well, that's that."
"That's what? We're in a siege! We can't just walk out!" John Preston stood, flustered. The siege proper had started back in January, and as time passed strict order slipped inch by inch - which explained why a cavalry sergeant could have a meal with an artillery colonel. The long, frankly boring days, punctuated by the occasional artillery blast in the beginning, left everyone harried and jaded. The Creek finished their little fort and their city was damn near impregnable. Damn the French for teaching them how. And damn them for sending an extra fifteen thousand men to knock their walls down for them.
A Frenchman - Marshal Duvey, showed up in early March with fifteen thousand men at his back "to support our very good friends." Perhaps the Frenchmen meant well, but within a month the two armies ate through what few plants survived the winter. Now the two cavalry arms literally raced to claim hunting rights and the ripening harvest for 'their' side while supplies dwindled. Meanwhile the Creek sat, smug in their little city.
"If command orders it John, then that's exactly what we'll do. You know that." Heyward sighed. He knew something the young sergeant didn't; the siege wasn't going very well. The Creek seemed to have crops within their walls - they barely suffered while American and Frenchman grew sick from spoiling food and tainted water. "Best get going. I'm sure your Colonel Ballard has similar orders."
"Sir!" Preston saluted, but smiled. Tom stepped outside to find Major Kiernan already limbering the cannon.
"I see you received word?"
"Yes, sir. Major Wright of the 2nd Virginia told me. Are we really leaving?"
Tom scanned the army. Everywhere people struck tents and limbered cannon. Infantry regiments began calling to by squad and yes - that was the cavalry abandoning their daily 'match' against French counterparts. "I'd say so."
"Thank God. I thought we were all going to die here."
Heyward gave him a sharp look, but only because it was expected. Leaving this heat filled, mosquito infested, near barren valley would be a blessing. "Let me see what I can find out. Have you seen von Zahringen?"
"The German?" Officially, because there was no one to gainsay him, Dieter had set himself up as the Badener liaison despite the fact the small German state never entered the war. Kiernan scanned the crowd. "Is that him by Lincoln's tent?"
"Yes. I'll be right back."
Tom worked his way past the ground, muddy soil that had been his home for the past six months. His leg actually hadn't been too bad during the winter and early spring, but now that it was hot again, and the air so humid...he limped to his destination. "von Zahringen!" he gasped, stopping some distance away.
The Badener hurried over. He was leaner than before, much of the youth in his face and eyes had silently slipped away. Long, unproductive sieges will do that. "My friend. Shall I call the surgeon?"
The surgeon who thought there was nothing for it but to amputate. "No, thank you. I came to ask what you've heard."
"Heard?" von Zahringen frowned. "I don't...Oh, you mean our moving!"
"Just so."
"Do you remember our friend General Exeter? He's still in Mobile you know."
"Is he?" Tom frowned. After being crippled, then losing a humiliating battle in February, Heyward hoped he'd taken the hint.
"Yes, my friend. And despite our hiring of...irregular naval forces? He's been reinforced with three thousand men. He marches on our new trading posts in West Florida. If he breaks through, then the entire south is open to him."
"Christ. How's he leading the troops if he can't talk?"
"That we're unsure of, but there he is, my friend. No one has relieved him, and I dare say he wants revenge. Then again, so does our general. He's decided to end this once and for all."
"And abandon the Creek though?"
von Zahringen shrugged. "I do not make policy, my friend. Though truly, so long as the French stay here, these Indians aren't going anywhere. If they want the glory of a multi-year siege, I for one am happy to let them. Let it not be said I am a greedy man."
"Of course." Tom smiled, then paused. "Any word from home?" he asked finally.
"None. Then again, I do not want to be found - yet at least. Perhaps after we teach Herr Exeter a lesson, hm?"
Just under a mile away, John Preston tweaked his squad into something resembling order. They were in an ugly mood. After their victory against the Creek, his group - indeed the entire company - secretly thought of this as John's siege. He'd brought them safe past the Indian defenders, and their final defeat would be the vindication of Preston's saving the banner...and revenge for poor Captain Hawkes as well.
Their indignation reached a fever pitch as trumpets blew up and down the columns and slowly the American army began to rumble south to deal with the traitor once and for all. French regiments moved to take command of the siege while their musicians played a salute.
Private Richards glared at the Frenchmen then sidled up to a trumpeter. "Any time, mate."
John nearly leapt out of his saddle as the trumpeter bellowed his challenge. In reply the musicians in Ballard's regiment began playing....
"What the hell is that?!" he bellowed.
"Our song!" Richards grinned.
"No, that's English! Heart of..."
"Not anymore! Listen:
Come cheer up, my lads. It's to glory we ride.
To add another honor to our victorious tide.
For it's to honor we call you, till the war is won,
And freedom safeguarded by America's sons."
25th June, 1778
Coosa, Creek Nation
"Leaving!? We can't leave, we're not done yet!"
"At ease, Sergeant." Tom Heyward held up his hand to John as they sat in his tent, enjoying a meal. He turned back to the messenger. "Repeat that?"
"Yes, sir. General Steving's compliments, and he asks that the cannon be prepared for moving out."
"Thank you, sir. Tell him I shall attend to it immediately." Tom rose, reaching for his hat. "Well, that's that."
"That's what? We're in a siege! We can't just walk out!" John Preston stood, flustered. The siege proper had started back in January, and as time passed strict order slipped inch by inch - which explained why a cavalry sergeant could have a meal with an artillery colonel. The long, frankly boring days, punctuated by the occasional artillery blast in the beginning, left everyone harried and jaded. The Creek finished their little fort and their city was damn near impregnable. Damn the French for teaching them how. And damn them for sending an extra fifteen thousand men to knock their walls down for them.
A Frenchman - Marshal Duvey, showed up in early March with fifteen thousand men at his back "to support our very good friends." Perhaps the Frenchmen meant well, but within a month the two armies ate through what few plants survived the winter. Now the two cavalry arms literally raced to claim hunting rights and the ripening harvest for 'their' side while supplies dwindled. Meanwhile the Creek sat, smug in their little city.
"If command orders it John, then that's exactly what we'll do. You know that." Heyward sighed. He knew something the young sergeant didn't; the siege wasn't going very well. The Creek seemed to have crops within their walls - they barely suffered while American and Frenchman grew sick from spoiling food and tainted water. "Best get going. I'm sure your Colonel Ballard has similar orders."
"Sir!" Preston saluted, but smiled. Tom stepped outside to find Major Kiernan already limbering the cannon.
"I see you received word?"
"Yes, sir. Major Wright of the 2nd Virginia told me. Are we really leaving?"
Tom scanned the army. Everywhere people struck tents and limbered cannon. Infantry regiments began calling to by squad and yes - that was the cavalry abandoning their daily 'match' against French counterparts. "I'd say so."
"Thank God. I thought we were all going to die here."
Heyward gave him a sharp look, but only because it was expected. Leaving this heat filled, mosquito infested, near barren valley would be a blessing. "Let me see what I can find out. Have you seen von Zahringen?"
"The German?" Officially, because there was no one to gainsay him, Dieter had set himself up as the Badener liaison despite the fact the small German state never entered the war. Kiernan scanned the crowd. "Is that him by Lincoln's tent?"
"Yes. I'll be right back."
Tom worked his way past the ground, muddy soil that had been his home for the past six months. His leg actually hadn't been too bad during the winter and early spring, but now that it was hot again, and the air so humid...he limped to his destination. "von Zahringen!" he gasped, stopping some distance away.
The Badener hurried over. He was leaner than before, much of the youth in his face and eyes had silently slipped away. Long, unproductive sieges will do that. "My friend. Shall I call the surgeon?"
The surgeon who thought there was nothing for it but to amputate. "No, thank you. I came to ask what you've heard."
"Heard?" von Zahringen frowned. "I don't...Oh, you mean our moving!"
"Just so."
"Do you remember our friend General Exeter? He's still in Mobile you know."
"Is he?" Tom frowned. After being crippled, then losing a humiliating battle in February, Heyward hoped he'd taken the hint.
"Yes, my friend. And despite our hiring of...irregular naval forces? He's been reinforced with three thousand men. He marches on our new trading posts in West Florida. If he breaks through, then the entire south is open to him."
"Christ. How's he leading the troops if he can't talk?"
"That we're unsure of, but there he is, my friend. No one has relieved him, and I dare say he wants revenge. Then again, so does our general. He's decided to end this once and for all."
"And abandon the Creek though?"
von Zahringen shrugged. "I do not make policy, my friend. Though truly, so long as the French stay here, these Indians aren't going anywhere. If they want the glory of a multi-year siege, I for one am happy to let them. Let it not be said I am a greedy man."
"Of course." Tom smiled, then paused. "Any word from home?" he asked finally.
"None. Then again, I do not want to be found - yet at least. Perhaps after we teach Herr Exeter a lesson, hm?"
Just under a mile away, John Preston tweaked his squad into something resembling order. They were in an ugly mood. After their victory against the Creek, his group - indeed the entire company - secretly thought of this as John's siege. He'd brought them safe past the Indian defenders, and their final defeat would be the vindication of Preston's saving the banner...and revenge for poor Captain Hawkes as well.
Their indignation reached a fever pitch as trumpets blew up and down the columns and slowly the American army began to rumble south to deal with the traitor once and for all. French regiments moved to take command of the siege while their musicians played a salute.
Private Richards glared at the Frenchmen then sidled up to a trumpeter. "Any time, mate."
John nearly leapt out of his saddle as the trumpeter bellowed his challenge. In reply the musicians in Ballard's regiment began playing....
"What the hell is that?!" he bellowed.
"Our song!" Richards grinned.
"No, that's English! Heart of..."
"Not anymore! Listen:
Come cheer up, my lads. It's to glory we ride.
To add another honor to our victorious tide.
For it's to honor we call you, till the war is won,
And freedom safeguarded by America's sons."
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