Chapter 58: Glory Deferred
9th January, 1780
Savannah, Georgia
"Sir? We've arrived." Lieutenant Donnell, General Exeter's companion since his assassination attempt, saluted.
He might as well have said "Sir, I'm British," or "Sir, I'm a marine." The smoldering ruins of Savannah, Georgia were clearly visible from where Jasen Exeter sat astride his black horse, breath steaming in the winter chill. Exeter glared at the man who'd saved his life, then held up his hand to halt the command company while he scanned the city. Governor Howe's attempts at erecting defenses lay in stone heaps and those buildings beyond that hadn't burnt outright now stood as charred, gutted husks - silent testament to Carolina's new war doctrine.
Exeter made a complicated series of hand gestures, which Donnell interperted correctly. "I agree, sir. This looks like General Heyward's handiwork." Sign language had been used to help deaf people as early as 1620, and the Frenchman Abbe Charles Michel de L'Epee created his own language in 1755 after opening a school for the deaf. This was what he used now, that and a little chalkboard he kept tied to his hip. "Shall we sweep for survivors?"
The general made a sharp negatory gesture. Fool. They'd all fled either into the swamp or Carolina, and even if they hadn't he could care less. No, the crops and stores were what he cared about, and both were gone.
"Then how about the fort, sir?"
Fort? He turned his attention to Fort Oglethorpe, some two miles distant. It looked...intact. Exeter reached into his coat and pulled out his glass. Yes...surprisingly intact. No... unforgiveably intact. He used his right hand to grab the fingers of his left, clenched his fist around them like a...
"Trap?" Donnell whistled, then sharply: "Hey! Get away from there!!" They were too far away to be heard by the platoon disappearing into the fort.
Ten seconds later the armory exploded, several barrels of gunpowder catching fire in a confined space. A roar louder then thunder shook the air, followed by a high-pitched whine. The flash was as bright as the sun, almost as if the fort intended to challenge her for dominance, then committed suicide in its failure. When the acrid, billowing black smoke drifted away a great gaping hole ruined the fort's beauty. No soldiers emerged.
Jasen Exeter grit his teeth and turned away. Heyward. Damn him. If he'd known that bastard was in the artillery batteries of Lincoln's army, he would have tried harder to kill the wretch. Heyward destroyed his chances with the Americans with his pontificating holier-than-thou dribble, and now mocked him from the other side of his river. Twice he'd lost entire companies to sweeping cavalry charges coming out of the Georgian forests, then disappearing like phantoms in the predawn mist. When he'd ordered a general pursuit, the Americans retreated by way of Augusta, then destroyed the... he signalled rapidly.
"I will have someone check," Donnell promised, "but I would be surprised if the bridge was intact."
The marine proved right, of course. Heyward and his band of thugs had cut off the last link to Carolina. Exeter didn't mind that he'd finally met a creative opponent, rather than Lincoln who was - at best - lackluster. He didn't even mind that Heyward was relatively inexperienced and holding his own regardless. He minded very much the man wasn't fighting fair.
Unnatural, he thought angrily. Unsporting. Exeter made a last signal, and his lieutenant nodded.
"All generals. I'll see to it." As he ran off, the general considered his options. Obviously he'd need boats - he'd been counting on 'annexing' smuggler craft from Savannah, but oh well. They could begin building rafts, while having people move up from Saint Augustine bringing supplies. If Heyward was smart, he probably had the river shore lined with scouts to report on where he landed. With enough ships he could throw everyone across at once and then consolidate, perhaps striking before the Americans could get together in turn ... or perhaps an amphibious assault near Beaufort? The river would be defended, and Charleston harbor had to be swarming with ships, but all he needed was a beachhead...
He was still working on this when a scout rode up to him. His horse breathed ragged gasps and the rider was sweating despite the morning chill. He saluted clumsily, then all but fell off his horse. "GENERAL!" he bellowed.
Exeter snarled visibly. Though it should have been obviously untrue at this late date, most of the people around him still seemed to equate 'unable to speak' with 'unable to hear.'
"Apologies," the scout continued in a more human tone. "Sir, the Americans are crossing north of Augusta. Sir, they must have constructed a ford after clearing out Augusta." In short, they had added enough rocks and dirt to make the crossing possible, if hazardous.
He thought furiously. Fighting defensively here, with no supplies, no foraging, and God knew who rising out of the swamps to catch them by surprise...unenviable. For the first time since the Cherokee campaign, he found himself outmaneuvered - a marvelously unpleasant sensation.
So, Heyward, Lincoln and their rabble wanted to fight? He would certainly meet them... but not here. Not in this quagmire..
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12th January, 1780
Augusta, Georgia (Carolina-occupied)
"Leaving?" Tom Heyward echoed, staring at the scout. "He can't leave! We haven't even fought yet!!"
The scout insisted though, he'd seen it with his own eyes. The whole of the British army simply packed up and headed back for Florida.
"That's ridiculous." General Benjamin Lincoln frowned. "Why would he leave? He's beaten us time and time again." Upon Lincoln's arrival he'd tried, not unreasonably, to assume command of the united forces. Edward Rutledge himself had explained that the new army was Carolina Militia, and though the Massachusetts man was welcome to 'help,' as a militia force it didn't fall under the auspices of the Congressional Army. Lincoln had little choice - he had crossed into South Carolina with just over a thousand men and twenty-odd guns, and it was only Heyward's constant raiding into Georgia that allowed him to survive at all.
"He doesn't want to defend Savannah," Tom replied. "He doesn't know what else we may have planned there. Plus, he's probably learnt a lesson from us and has the swamps filled with his riflemen. We pursue, we get shot at."
"So we simply secure the border and watch," Colonel Westerly commented. "I agree."
"No, we attack."
"But you just said we'd be ambushed if we pursued him. He seems to be quite good at that."
"Yes, but as long as Exeter's out there with his men we'll never be safe. We need to continue with the plan and secure the south."
"The Congressional plan you mean?" Westerly looked up. "We're not beholden to Philadelphia, sir."
"No, but it continues to make the most sense. If we can chase the English out of Georgia, and yes Florida and the Gulf as well, then I don't see any way for them to take Charleston."
"Would you not get equal results at less cost just by holding Savannah? It would also be easier for us to bring supplies in."
Tom frowned. The man had a point. Did he have the right to ask men to die for vengenace?
Lincoln thought so. "As I understand it, you're now holding Jasen Exeter responsible for the catastrophe against the Cherokee, as well as the losses I suffered. If so, then he must be brought to trial. Justice demands it."
Colonel Allen spoke then: "We hid snipers in the swamp. Why doesn't Exeter hide his entire army? We wouldn't know about it until we were completely flanked. You must admit, sir, that is the kind of battle our enemy is growing famous for."
"Infamous," Westerly agreed.
Tom nodded reluctantly. "They'll need to be followed, of course." Damn it, Rutledge promised me a cavalry commander and the man doesn't even show. I'm going to ring his...
The tent flap parted. "Sorry I'm late! What did I miss?" Said cavalry officer limped in.
"JOHN?"
