The Lone Star Reloaded Series Box Set

by Drew McGunn

  With a flash of inspiration, will took the charcoal marker from Major Jameson and flipped the diagram on the back and drew a crenelated hump situated in the middle of the chapel’s façade. The other two men bobbed their heads in agreement.

  Will smiled and thought, “This old chapel may never go down as the shrine of Texas liberty, but damned, if I’m not going to make the front of the old church look just like I remember.”

  He flipped the diagram back over, “The north wall, the two barracks, and the roof to the chapel, how much time will you gentlemen need?”

  Neill rolled the diagram up and said, “Even if the government gives us the money we want, we’re looking at two or three years. Longer, if they’re tight with the purse strings.”

  Will grunted. A lot could happen in three years. As they toured the construction, Will prayed the forces arrayed against the republic would give him the time.

  After Neill and Jameson left, to continue their work on the north wall, Will closed himself in his office as he reviewed orders which required his approval and did the thankless task of reviewing each invoice requiring payment from the provisional government. One invoice he set aside as he worked through the stack. Once finished he returned to it. It was from a vendor in New Orleans who won the competitive bid for the new butternut uniforms which he and Lt. Colonel Johnston had approved. Each Jacket, pair of pants, and shoes were four dollars, and a black slouch hat was two dollars. Excluding the cost of shirts and socks, each soldier’s uniform was fourteen dollars. Even if he only equipped 800 men, it still totaled more than eleven thousand dollars

  Long ago, Will conceded it was impossible to translate exactly between the twenty-first century American dollar and the hodgepodge of currencies circulating in Texas, but it hadn’t kept him from trying. He considered the comparable clothing in the early twenty-first century would cost more than two hundred dollars, or nearly two hundred thousand for all eight hundred men.

  “It’s hardly apples to apples,” Will thought, “but it’s still a godawful lot of money.”

  The chest with gold and silver had been moved to Will’s office from the chapel’s sacristy, and a few thousand dollars had been used to settle debts with New Orleans merchants so they would continue providing supplies to the three ships of the Texas navy.

  A knock at the door diverted his attention from the invoice, and he set it aside. Lt. Colonel Johnston entered. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  Will waved Johnston into the room. “I wanted to discuss our new tactics and get your take on them, Sid.”

  Johnston settled himself into the chair opposite Will, “The men are taking to them. Despite your order this past spring to clean out the soldiers just looking for their land bounty but have no interest in taking to our new order drill, I’ve still got close to a thousand infantry in the Army, not counting Seguin’s cavalry or Caldwell’s Rangers. I’ve only been able to get about half of the infantry training with the new tactics.”

  “Once President-Elect Crockett takes office and we have a working congress, we’ll request funding for a fixed number of regulars, Sid. When that happens, we’ll have a solid battalion of infantry. Looking to the future, I’m concerned our structure is ill-suited to the war we’re facing against the Comanche.”

  Dropping the formality of rank, Johnston cocked his head, “In what way, Buck?”

  Will responded with a question, “What’s the smallest operational unit on a battlefield, Sid?”

  Johnston leaned back in the chair, as it creaked, “Typically the company is the smallest unit to function on a battlefield, although platoons can certainly operate away from the company if called upon.”

  “True enough. We’ll have but a single battalion of infantry, come next year, call it eight companies if David can pry the funds free from congress. We need to demand more from our non-commissioned officers, and show them they can take initiative on a battlefield. I don’t want us to be limited to a company of sixty or eighty men being the smallest tactical unit.”

  Will paused, as his thoughts slipped back to the months before his mind was transported to Travis’ body. The fireteam was the glue holding a squad together. The four men in the fireteam each had a separate function, but more than that, they worked closely together. A single fireteam could operate independently to take or hold an objective or work with the other teams within the squad or section. He wanted the men in the Texas army to work that closely together. The weapons were different, the technology 180 years old, but the men, he thought, could be trained.

  “We need a new model. I have an idea for a tactical team of men, under the command of a corporal to be the focal point of each platoon. Let’s call this team a rifle team. These four men will drill together, work together, and fight together. I want them so well adapted to their team, there’s never a question they have each other’s backs. Three of these rifle teams will be under the command of a sergeant. These squads, just like their rifle teams, will work together and learn to be integral units. Three squads will form a platoon under the command of a lieutenant, and two platoons to a company.” Will drew a breath before continuing.

  “Sid, when we take the war back to the Comanche, I want every rifle team to have the confidence that they can hold an objective for their platoon or company. This model will force us to scrap any existing commitment to the tactics of Napoleon upon which both the US and Mexico rely. No more training the men to stand in line, blazing away at an enemy. We are going to focus on small unit tactics.”

  Johnston stood to his feet, and started pacing behind his chair as he tried wrapping his mind around Will’s vision. “That’s going to require a lot more drilling, Buck, and more practice on the firing line. We’re going to need more gunpowder and lead.” He continued pacing, becoming lost in thought about how to implement the new tactics.

  ***

  Mid-October brought with it a break in the sweltering heat, as summer, which had seemed determined to hold out as long as possible, finally gave up its assault on San Antonio. The day was perfect for a war game. Will joined Johnston on top of the Alamo chapel’s southern wall. Johnston had selected two companies of infantry, which had been training in the new “Texas Model” tactics over the previous month.

  The hundred fifty men were assembled in two companies of seventy-five men each, south of the fort. They were about to start a two-day war game west of town, one company pitted against the other.

  As the soldiers started marching to the west, Will glanced down at a piece of paper he had received from Harrisburg. It was the approval for the new organization of the army. Although only a month old, the new congress had agreed to Will’s proposal to fund a single battalion of infantry of eight companies, six hundred men in total. Will tried not to think about the fact that these two companies represented a quarter of the republic’s infantry. In addition, congress approved the earlier expansion of the Texas Rangers under Major Caldwell, while keeping two companies of regular cavalry, under the command of Captain Seguin. A battery of artillery, totaling forty men, was also stationed at the Alamo under the command of Captain Dickinson, while another was to be stationed between a couple of coastal forts east of Galveston, under the command of Captain Carey.

  The paper in Will’s hand was also an irritant. In it, President Crockett explained Will needed to work with Thomas Rusk, whom congress had assigned to organize the republic’s militia. Rusk hadn’t talked to Will since the constitutional convention, when the two had found themselves on the opposite side of the slavery debate. How was he supposed to work with someone who wouldn’t talk to him to organize the militia companies, which varied greatly in their sizes. Worse as far as Will was concerned, was their musters were poorly attended. On paper, Texas militia forces numbered more than four thousand men, and that only counted those present during the Revolution. Thousands more had arrived over the past few months, lured by the promise of cheap land. Even so, he had serious reservations Rusk would be able to muster more than a quarter if
things came to a head with Mexico.

  It wasn’t something he cared to discuss with Johnston yet, so he tried setting the thought aside as he considered things which were actually going the right direction. In three weeks, he had the largest war game yet planned. In addition to six of Johnston’s infantry companies, both of Seguin’s cavalry would join in, as well as sixty rangers from Caldwell’s command and Dickinson’s battery. Around six hundred men would participate.

  ***

  The large command tent Will had previously purloined from Santa Anna was set up a day’s march from San Antonio. Will was joined by Lt. Colonel Johnston and Captain Seguin, as commander of the cavalry. Captain Dickinson was present as was Major Caldwell. A half dozen infantry captains rounded out those present, making the tent rather crowded.

  Will glowered at Johnston, who he thought looked happier than a tornado in a Texas trailer park. He grumbled, “Sid, you look like a cat that found himself a bird to eat.”

  Johnston’s sly smile spoke volumes. “Oh, please, General. I’m sure if your team had won yesterday, you’d be smiling too.”

  Will corrected him, “You mean, gloating.” But it wasn’t something he could deny, so he let the sniping go, even though it grated against him that Johnston’s team of three hundred won the war game against his own team. The judge’s ruling that Johnston’s use of artillery was more effective tipped the balance into the Lt. Colonel’s favor. Will tried to be philosophical about the loss. Despite Will’s eight years of infantry experience, first in the regular US Army and then later in the Texas Army National Guard, he understood Johnston’s formal training at West Point exposed him to a broader range of experiences. It hadn’t hurt that Johnston took to the new “Texas Model” tactics like a new convert. Will soothed his wounded pride by reminding himself Johnston was actually a very gifted and skilled officer. In a world living only in Will’s memories, he had risen to the rank of full general during the Civil War.

  In addition to the tactics, another of Will’s innovations was the “after action debrief” he and his officers were conducting. “Captain Seguin, your troopers would have been badly mauled when you attempted to move against company B. Most of the infantry were deployed effectively to counter your attack. Even though the judge ruled in your troopers’ favor, I don’t think he fully understands the effectiveness of our new model tactics.”

  Seguin nodded, “I thought the same thing, General Travis. Usually, there’s a window of opportunity to move cavalry against an infantry unit after they fire their volley. But with the new tactics, there is no volley, just a constant rate of fire. Each rifle team always seems to have someone ready to fire.”

  The next morning, Will’s six-hundred men quickly broke camp and marched back to the Alamo, less than twenty miles away. Next to him rode Major Caldwell. As the column marched along, the two men talked. “Major, when we move against the Comanche in a few months, in addition to your Rangers, I intend to take four of our infantry companies, Seguin’s cavalry, as well as a couple of Dickinson’s field pieces. My hope is we catch the Comanche by surprise with these new tactics.”

  Caldwell replied, “I have to admit, General, if these new tactics actually work, it’s going to really change the role of cavalry on a battlefield.”

  Will agreed, “Here in the west, Santa Anna’s lancers are a dying breed. Hell, even back east, I understand the army is looking at dragoons, to augment their infantry. That, I think, is the future of cavalry. Very mobile, but more likely to actually fight on foot once in combat.”

  The column ate up the distance to San Antonio, covering the score of miles by midafternoon. As Will led the column into the large Alamo Plaza, he saw a half dozen wagons along the western wall. His hopes began to rise as he rode over to the lead wagon. It was heavily laden, with a canvas tarp pulled tightly over the bed. Major Payton Wyatt, acting in his role of quartermaster, looked over the manifest as Will approached.

  Wyatt pointed to the wagons, “General Travis, sir. It appears we’ve received supplies from the United States.”

  Will untied the ropes securing the first wagon’s tarp and flung the canvas back, exposing several long crates, nailed closed. A teamster handed him a crowbar and he pried loose the nails and lifted the lid from the nearest box. He reached in and took from it a carbine. The rifled weapon was just under four feet long. The stock’s deep brown wood was polished to a bright finish. The barrel was twenty-eight inches long and had been browned at the armory, giving it a dull, matted finish. Will flipped the block on the breech up, inspecting where the paper cartridge was inserted. As he held it in his hands, it looked and felt deadly. His grin was feral and untamed. The Model 1833 Halls Rifled Carbine had arrived.

  The last wagon contained several dozen boxes with the words, ‘Patent Arms Manufacturing’ stenciled on their sides. Opening these boxes up, they found their order of Paterson Colt Revolving pistols. Will and his command had received two early Christmas presents.

  Chapter 5

  The ride between San Antonio and Harrisburg was uneventful for Will, Juan Seguin, and his father, Erasmo.

  Will thought, “I could get used to traveling in style,” at the end of the trip.

  They traveled in the elder Seguin’s carriage, which was as comfortable a mode of travel for the period as could be had, except for the cold, early-December weather. An hour out from Harrisburg, they traveled through a newly platted town, the developers were marketing it as the new town of Houston, in honor of Texas’ first general. Will shook his head at the irony the town was still named for Sam Houston, even though Crockett was considered by nearly all Texians to be a key hero in the revolution. The reasoning behind the developers’ decision was lost on Will, as he thought it should have been named after the new president.

  The naming of the new town after Houston left Will wondering about the mutability of history. On one hand, in the history he knew, the developers chose to honor Sam Houston for his victory by naming the town after him. Now, their choice perplexed him. If the same rationale was used here, by rights, the town should have celebrated Crockett’s name. Will couldn’t help but feel a mysterious paradox at work. Texas had won its independence without the fall of the Alamo. Hundreds of men, who otherwise would have fallen at the Alamo or been murdered at Goliad, yet lived.

  “Yes,” Will thought, there were exceptions like Jim Bowie, and now, he added the town of Houston to that list.

  In Will’s quest to stay alive, he knew he had changed history. He had spent a more than a few sleepless nights puzzling over how the future would look in a world in which hundreds of men, who would have otherwise died in a Texas Revolution that would never be. Did the world he come from simply cease to be, or did it move along a parallel path after his own transference? He even briefly questioned whether this was still an elaborate dream, even after all these months. These were questions to which he had no answer. To cope, he trusted that God, for reasons he would never fathom, had allowed this to happen. When he allowed his thoughts to wonder about the poor Mexican soldados who had died, who otherwise might have survived, he had no answers for that.

  He shook his head, mentally shelving the thought as the coach pulled up next to a clapboard building serving as Harrisburg’s lone hotel. Now that President Crockett had been in office for almost two months, he wanted to go over the details of the coming Comanche campaign. Since the election, Will’s communication with Crockett had been by correspondence, and there were simply too many details to discuss, to leave things even to the speed of a fast horse.

  The next morning as they sat in President Crockett’s split-log cabin, the president welcomed the three men, “Thank you all for joining me in my humble presidential mansion. As I like to call it, the Texas White House.” He swept his hand grandly around the roughhewn logs of the cabin, which served as both his home and office in Harrisburg. The government’s tenure in Harrisburg was temporary and they were too cash poor to do more than rent a ramshackle collection of buildings to house
the government.

  “After many a letter to my Liza, she has agreed to join me here. I suspect the humble nature of my home may have something to do with her decision. She was plum pleased, given the size of the house, there would be no more housework than before.”

  “Now that I’ve given you the nickel tour, let’s get down to the republic’s business. I want to express my thanks to you, Señor Seguin for accepting my invitation. As I mentioned in my letter, you’re native to the soil here and your perspective on how the Spanish and Mexican governments have dealt with the Comanche is priceless.” From the elder Seguin, Crockett turned to Will and warmly welcomed him, “Buck, it is good to see you, boy. I hadn’t realized how much I missed you until now. The last couple of months have found me busier than a one-eyed cat watching nine rat holes. And Captain Seguin, thank you for bringing the perspective of our mounted forces.”

  After the four men were seated around a large, wooden table, he said, “I had asked Sam to be with us today, but since the election he has chosen to represent Texas’ interests with the Cherokee by brokering their tribal claims with our government. Recent correspondence from him has been favorable, but the claims proceed at their own pace.”

  Switching subjects, Crockett asked, “Señor Seguin, am I to understand correctly you have been in contact with the governor of New Mexico?”

  Erasmo Seguin spread his hands and shook his head, “Alas, President Crockett, would that it was so. No. But in my dealings, I have talked with several traders from the Comancheros.”

  Crockett interrupted him, “How are these Comancheros related to the Comanche?”

  “They are mostly traders from Nuevo Mexico, mostly from Santa Fe and Albuquerque. They get their name from trading with the various bands of the Comanche. There are many things the Comanche want which can’t be obtained from the buffalo, and if they can’t raid it from Texas, then they will trade with the Comancheros for it.”