The Lone Star Reloaded Series Box Set

by Drew McGunn

  In bed of the arroyo below, Will saw several dismounted lancers making their way along the bottom of the steep banks, the one in the lead still holding his lance before him. The lead lancer spotted Will and Crockett and lunged forward, thrusting the razor-sharp point at Will’s abdomen. He twisted his body away, and dodged as the lance’s point skewered the air where he had just been. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline surging through his body as he leapt down from the arroyo’s lip and crashed into the surprised lancer, who dropped his lance as he tumbled backward into the man behind him.

  Will looked down and it registered in his mind he was still holding the sword. He gripped the hilt with both hands and swung it in a wide arc at the panicked lancer. His arms reverberated with a jarring crash as the sword caught the lancer along the collar bone. It took all Will’s strength to hold onto the sword, as his opponent slid to the ground, blood pulsing from the gash. Will tumbled to the ground as he struggled to free the blade from where it had wedged into the dying soldier’s collarbone.

  Sitting on the stones, made smooth by an untold number of flash floods running through the arroyo, the hair on his neck stood on end, as warning bells in his head went off. Will rolled to the left, leaving the sword lodged in the dying lancer. The sound of flint striking a firing pan alerted him to a pistol discharging a few feet in front of him, briefly illuminating the bloody ground. As he landed on his left side, he felt his right arm erupt in pain. He gripped his arm and saw the dying man’s companion standing a few paces away. The lancer wore an enraged expression as he dropped the smoking pistol and pulled a wicked looking knife from his belt.

  Casting a furtive glance around, Will saw a holstered pistol on the dying lancer to his right. He lunged for it, ignoring the burning pain in his right arm, as the knife cleared the other lancer’s sheath. The Mexican lunged toward him with the blade, attempting to stab him. Will yanked the hammer back on the pistol, prayed it was loaded, and pulled the trigger. The sharp edge of the flint slammed down and sparks and smoke splayed from the pan. The pistol discharged in Will’s left hand. With less than twelve inches between himself and Will, the lunging Mexican lancer grunted in surprise as the bullet caught him in the chest. His eyes grew wide in shock as he sank to his knees and rolled over, still and lifeless.

  The third and last of the nearby lancers let fall a smoking pistol and leaned down and picked up a lance laying at his feet. Despite the deepening twilight, Will saw the hatred stamped on the other man’s face as he pointed the heavy, wooden lance at Will’s chest. His sword was lodged tight in the first man, and the pistol was empty. Will edged away from the approaching lancer, until he found himself trapped by the crumbling dirt wall of the arroyo. He looked at the lancer, who sneered at him with murder blazing from charcoal eyes. The lancer braced his feet, preparing to lunge, when a hand grabbed at his throat from behind and a blade slashed his windpipe. As blood bubbled through the widening gash, the lancer’s eyes lost their fiery focus as he sunk to his knees. Crockett stood behind the collapsing soldier, a grimace of disgust stamped on his face, as he guided the body to the ground.

  Shuddering with relief, Will struggled to his feet, taking the hand Crockett extended. He flinched as the pain in his right arm, which felt like a nail being driven by a hammer, threatened to overwhelm him with waves of nausea. He pulled his hand away and saw the dark stain of blood smeared on his fingertips. Crockett noticed and grabbed his arm, not as gently as he might, and ran his own fingers along the wound. “You have the luck of the third time, boy. It’s just a graze. An inch to the left and we’d be lucky to save your arm.”

  After working the sword loose and retrieving it, Will joined Crockett and climbed back to the top of the arroyo. They watched Seguin’s men giving way along the center of their line, as the lancers, now on foot, crested the arroyo’s slope. With Will’s arm still stinging, he felt himself being propelled along by Crockett as they collected the other riflemen on their side of the road. “Boys, get those rifles reloaded.” Crockett growled to the men now assembling around him them. They reloaded as quickly as their tired fingers would allow, as the Tejanos along the center of their line began running to their horses, away from the advancing, dismounted lancers.

  Will, Crockett, and the dozen men around them, stood oblique to the road, amid the mesquite trees and scrub brush. As the last of the Tejanos ran, toward their mounts, Will watched the surging mass of Mexican lancers, running on foot after the Tejanos, brandishing knives, swords, and lances. While Crockett was the first to reload, the other dozen men finished seconds later. His right arm, numb with pain, Will raised his sword in his left hand and brought it down with a flash, yelling, “Fire!”

  A dozen rifles fired in unison toward the charging lancers along the road. At less than fifty feet, every bullet found a target, slamming into the flank of the charging men, dropping more lancers. Stunned by the point-blank rifle fire, the lancers stumbled to a stop, many of them taking cover, ducking behind the bodies of their downed companions. With the brief respite, Will turned to Crockett, “Time to hightail it?”

  Crockett nodded, “These lancers got their blood up and they got numbers on us, let’s get!”

  Twilight was fading fast and night was almost fully upon them, as Will took the reins from a handler and mounted up. His mouth twisted into a frown as his arm twinged in pain. He found Seguin riding at a fast clip at the head of his Tejanos. Each step Will’s horse took sent jolts of pain up his arm as he came up beside the Tejano captain. He tried his best to not let the pain show as he said, “Juan, your men did an excellent job back there. If you know of another place down the road where we can teach Santa Anna another lesson, lead on!”

  Seguin looked back at his men riding behind him, his face radiating pride. He urged them to a faster clip as they cantered down the road. Will looked behind, but it was too dark to see. He wondered how many empty saddles he would find when they stopped again that night.

  ***

  General Almonte glimpsed into the night sky and wished the heavy clouds would blow away. He stood on the north bank of el Rio Bravo del Norte and recalled how much he enjoyed gazing into moon-filled nights. He felt scant joy now, and knew the cold and cloudy night was not the reason. An hour earlier, he heard the rattling sound of musket fire from the north. Now, as commander of the Vanguard brigade, whatever transpired would fall on his shoulders. He would know soon enough.

  He turned away from the river, walking past the earthen embankments that the Texians had thrown up, he was perplexed at the blackened tree trunks that the enemy had used to fool them. He worried about how long had their artillery been gone, and worse, where it was now?

  That thought slipped from his mind as he heard shouts in the distance along with the sound of cavalry arriving in camp. He resisted the urge to run, despite the overwhelming need to learn of what transpired. But as the brigadier of the Vanguard brigade, he reminded himself that it was beneath his dignity to be seen running along like an enlisted man. The lancers of the Dolores Cavalry Regiment had dismounted near his Excellency’s headquarters tent, now transferred to the northern side of the river. He arrived just in time to see a disheveled sergeant standing at attention in front of Santa Anna. Almonte knew something was dreadfully wrong. He saw no officers amid the lancers. Was the sergeant the highest-ranking soldier to return?

  Almonte walked up and stood next to his Excellency and heard the sergeant responding to an inquiry, “Yes, my President. We were scouting ahead, and where the road crosses an arroyo, we ran into a company of the rebels. They were hidden in the mesquite trees and scrub brush along the north side of the arroyo. Their volley killed or wounded all our officers. We couldn’t force our way through the arroyo on horseback, so we dismounted and forced them away from their position.” The sergeant paused for a moment, unsure how to continue.

  The newly minted general felt his heart sinking as Santa Anna’s voice fell into a dangerous pitch, only loud enough for the three of them al
one to hear. “And how many of the pirates did you kill?”

  With a slight sigh of relief, the sergeant responded, “We killed twelve and captured two more, but their injuries are severe.” Almonte’s left hand was in his pocket, fingering a rosary, thankful that his Excellency didn’t ask about their own casualties.

  As Santa Anna returned to his headquarters tent, Almonte guided the sergeant away and when he felt they were far enough away, stopped and asked, “And ours? How many of our lancers did the rebels kill or injure?”

  Morosely, the sergeant replied, “Twenty-three of our men were killed, and Forty-five were wounded.” Almonte blanched at the news. This was horrible. “How many effective lancers can the Dolores Cavalry Regiment field?”

  The sergeant grimaced in response, as he said, “Seventy-five, my General.”

  ***

  A half-dozen miles away from Almonte, as the temperature fell through the evening, Will took counsel with Crockett and Seguin. Each of them pulled their coats closer in, trying to keep the worst of the cold at bay. He asked, “How bad are things, David?”

  Crockett replied, “We’re down to forty riflemen, Buck. I lost six more men back at the arroyo. Juan has his own report.”

  Seguin’s normally jovial voice was solemn, “Si, Colonel. We’re down to thirty-four men in my company. We took a beating from the lancers this evening.”

  Will sighed. It was worse than he had expected. “That puts us down about twenty percent since dawn. If this cloud of ours has a silver lining it is that we likely inflicted more casualties on Santa Anna’s army than we have men here.” He paused, running his left hand along the bandage wrapped around his right arm, before he continued, “Whatever may happen tomorrow, I want both of you to know your boys fought exceptionally well today. Y’all should be proud of your men.”

  Seguin’s normally cheerful countenance returned, as he listened to Will’s praise.

  Crockett gestured toward the men, unrolling bedrolls or rubbing down their tired horses and said, “Much obliged, Buck, but it’s those boys that did the fighting and dying today. Don’t matter if they’re from Bexar, Nashville, or Belfast, they fought like lions. When this war is over, that’s the kind of courage that we should write about in our history books. Not the kind that sits over on the Brazos, giving speeches.” Will tried to hide a smile as he wondered if he and Seguin might be the first to hear a Crockett campaign speech.

  The three men grew quiet, each alone with his thoughts. Will’s mind replayed the quick and brutal firefight along the arroyo and as he considered the battle, he realized it was the same regiment that Seguin’s men had fought a few days prior as well as the same with which Santa Anna opened the battle on the first day. “You know, David, I haven’t seen any other Mexican cavalry other than these lancers with their blue and red jackets.” He turned toward Seguin and continued, “What about you, Juan, you see any others?”

  Seguin shook his head. “No, just the regiment from Dolores. I doubt those lancers have a hundred men left. El Presidente has used them up over the past week. You know, Buck,” Seguin said, using Travis’ nickname for the first time, “We should stay close by tomorrow morning and see what Santa Anna does. If he sends his lancers in the lead, then we should finish them off. If he sends his cazadores forward, then we should probably pull back and draw them north.”

  Crockett interjected, “Cazadores? What in the blazes are those?”

  Seguin replied, “Loosely translated, it means hunters. They are the Mexican army’s light infantry. They are like the Hessian Jäger units during your own, or I mean, the American Revolution. But they are capable scouts and worse for us, many of them are armed with rifles.”

  The next morning, the 24th of February brought a light snow flurry to the desert southwest, coating mesquites and prickly pear cactuses with a dusting of white. From the south, instead of the lancers from the Dolores Regiment, Will saw in the distance, moving slowly, blue-uniformed infantry, in skirmish formation. “So much for taking out their cavalry today.” Will thought wistfully. With that thought, he ordered his men to start moving north, toward the Nueces.

  Chapter 11

  The ant crawled from the tree bark onto Will’s exposed hand. He squashed the insect and removed his hand from the tree as he spotted a trail of ants along the trunk. He turned to Crockett, who knelt beside him. “How far out do you make them, David?”

  Crockett peered through Will’s spyglass before replying, “Maybe six, seven hundred yards away.”

  His breath condensed in the morning chill, but Will thought it a bit warmer than the last few days. To Will, the cazadores that moved slowly along and next to the Camino Real were no bigger than the ants crawling along the mesquite tree, but he had become very familiar with the blue-jacketed foes over the last few days. Following the near destruction of the Dolores Cavalry Regiment, Santa Anna had used his light infantry effectively to screen his army. Unfortunately, Will amended.

  Since the battle at the arroyo, Will’s men had set several ambushes along the road, leaving another dozen of their own dead in their wake. For their trouble, they inflicted forty casualties on Santa Anna’s army. The high point of the retreat was watching Crockett shoot an infantry officer from more than four hundred yards away. While Will was frustrated with Santa Anna’s newfound wariness of ambushes, he reminded himself, “We slowed him down to scarcely more than a dozen miles a day, and gave Grant and the others plenty of time to set up one hell of a defense on the Nueces River.”

  Since the previous afternoon, Will had been in contact with the main army. Now, less than a half mile separated him from Colonel Grant. And less than half a mile separated the advancing Mexican cazadores from Will, Crockett, and thirty riflemen, who were hidden amid a field of mesquite trees and scrub brush, running alongside the Camino Real. Additionally, Seguin’s remaining cavalry, now only twenty-five strong, hid behind a large copse of mesquite trees behind Crockett’s riflemen. Will’s plan was simple. Crockett and his riflemen would open fire on the advancing cazadores at 250 yards. Seguin’s men were situated to provide protection to the riflemen when they pulled back toward the main defensive position along the Nueces.

  The long minutes ticked by and Will checked his pocket watch a couple of times as the cazadores snaked their way closer, along the Camino Real. Although his pocket watch showed only fifteen minutes had elapsed, it felt like an hour had come and gone before Crockett said, “Right about there.” He aimed his rifle and fired. Will watched the gray, acrid smoke swirl out of the barrel, then looked downrange where he saw a soldado clutch at his arm, as he spun around, falling to the ground. Along the line of riflemen, sheltered amid the scrub brush, another thirty rounds sped toward the Mexican skirmishers.

  As his riflemen hastily reloaded, Will kept his eyes on the cazadores, many of whom began running in the direction of Crockett’s riflemen. The smoky haze of gunpowder hung in the air, as Crockett’s riflemen sent more shots into the advancing skirmish line. He watched the Mexican skirmishers running, and briefly wondered what it would take to manufacture cordite powder. At somewhat less than two hundred yards away, the cazadores stopped and returned fire at the sheltered Texian riflemen.

  Will instinctively ducked behind the fallen mesquite trunk as a bullet slammed into it less than a foot away from his face. “Damn,” Will thought, as he brushed splinters from his jacket, “They’ve got Baker’s rifles!”

  Will watched Crockett calmly reload his rifle, sheltering low behind a mesquite tree. When he had reloaded, he exposed only the smallest part needed to aim at a target, fire, and shelter behind the tree, reloading again. A couple of bullets smacked harmlessly into the trunk, inches away from where he had been only an instant before. Will peered through the heavy smoke hugging the ground in front of the riflemen and gauged that all his men were still in the fight. The rifle-armed cazadores returned fire, sheltered by the same scrub brush and mesquite trees affording Will’s men the same protection.

  Beyond the M
exican skirmish line, Will saw a battalion of white-jacketed infantry deploying to the left of the Camino Real. The normally crisp lines were broken by the dense scrub brush and frequent mesquite trees. Despite the lack of cohesion, the battalion advanced, propelled forward by their NCOs and officers bringing up the rear of the advancing soldados. Will thought, “They’re learning. Leading from just behind the line, the officers will exercise more control than when leading from the front. But it makes them harder to hit. What a shame.”

  As the infantry swept by the skirmishers, the cazadores ceased fire. Will shouted to Crockett, “David, how about one more volley and let’s pull back!”

  When the advancing infantry were four hundred feet away, Crockett sent one last bullet into the advancing line then called out, “Back to our next line!” Will joined the frontiersman as they raced back toward Seguin’s cavalry. Glancing back at where they had been, Will saw one of his men down. It was clear from his position that he was dead. In the back of his mind, Will found it vaguely unsettling as he realized this campaign was inuring him to the casual death found on the battlefield.

  Coming upon Seguin’s Tejanos, Will waved to the wiry Tejano captain, “Juan, we’re going to fall back a little ways. Send a man back to Grant and let him know we’re leading at least one regiment straight into his position.” Seguin sent a horseman galloping back to Grant’s position on the Nueces while the remainder of his mounted troops moved toward their next fallback position.