George Washington Zombie Slayer

by Wiles, David

  After finishing his third jelly donut with a final sip of Earl Grey, Cornwallis gave the order for the British to restart their advance. The bugles blew and zombie and living soldier alike advanced forward to find several thousand Continental Army soldiers now positioned at the crest of the wooded hill before them.

  Cornwallis was chagrined. How could these Americans have repositioned thousands of troops in the time it took for a picnic lunch and tea? It was inconceivable! Cornwallis nonetheless ordered the British to continue the assault.

  The newly positioned Americans fought bravely but were still seriously outnumbered. British zombie troops poured forward, forcing the Americans to spend precious ammunition and powder. Washington noticed that his own men were firing too soon, often hitting the zombie soldiers in the chest or arms or legs, to no effect. As such, it would take two of three shots to fell one zombie, until it was finally shot in the head.

  The American lines broke but were quickly reformed several hundred yards back. That newly reformed line broke again, but was again reformed. The zombies could push the Americans back, but the Continental Army soldiers, now experienced fighters, would withdraw, and reform their lines of defense.

  But it was a bad spot for the Americans all around. Back at Brandywine Creek, Knyphausen intensified his own attack and began pushing against the under manned American defenses, until the soldiers remaining there were forced to withdraw. The American troops with Washington in the northern part of the battlefield could now see their own comrades withdrawing from Brandywine Creek, and were forced to join their friends in retreat.

  As nightfall approached, Washington’s army withdrew in good order against the ferocious onslaught of the British and the relentless zombie regiments thrown against them.

  As evening arrived, the British, short of supplies and ammunition, and with soldiers exhausted from two days marching and fighting, decided against the continued attack of Washington’s Army. Pursuit and extended battle were simply not practicable at this time.

  The Battle of Brandywine was certainly not a British loss, but then again, neither was it a British win. The Americans were beaten… but not defeated. Washington lived to fight on, as did the Continental Army. Cornwallis, fucktard that he was, had once again missed a golden opportunity to crush the American rebellion and end the conflict entirely.

  In a battle that could have resulted in the complete annihilation of the Continental Army, Washington lost only 300 killed and 600 wounded, with an additional 400 captured. Cornwallis lost less, roughly 600 killed or wounded. And as he held possession of the field at the end of the battle, Cornwallis was deemed the technical winner of the Battle of Brandywine.

  But who the fuck cared? Cornwallis held a hill and a creek and a ten mile patch of land that no one gave two shits about. He failed yet again to defeat Washington and stop the rebellion. Instead of savoring the sweet strawberry sundae of victory, Cornwallis had to suck the stale shitsicle of another missed opportunity.

  Now, the Revolutionary War would continue.

  Chapter 51

  George Washington and the Continental Army

  at Valley Forge

  September 1777 closed out with American Generals Horatio Gates and Benedict Arnold fighting in the Battle of Saratoga against British General Burgoyne. It was a battle that accomplished little, except for a few hundred more soldiers on both sides being killed or wounded. Washington and the army fought a minor battle at White Marsh in December and the commander knew it was time to find a suitable winter encampment.

  With the colder weather fast approaching, Washington withdrew the main body of his troops to winter quarters in a place called Valley Forge, Pennsylvania, roughly 20 miles north and west of Philadelphia. It was a winter that would test the courage, determination and resolve of all who remained encamped there.

  Valley Forge was a heavily wooded area, which provided vast numbers of trees for the construction of log cabins which would be used to house Washington’s soldiers. By February 1778, there were nearly 2000 small cabins constructed across the encampment. But adequate shelter was the least of their problems.

  The real issue was the lack of food, clothing and supplies that always seemed to follow the Continental Army like a bad stink follows a hobo in summertime. There were never adequate supplies provided to the Continental Army, and the rank and file soldiers suffered accordingly.

  Perhaps as many as 2000 of Washington’s troops didn’t even have shoes and were forced to stand barefoot guard duty in the muddy, ice covered pathways and roads that crisscrossed the camp. The amputation of frostbitten toes was becoming commonplace and infection, illness and disease were ever-present. It was during this period of harsh suffering that two terms never before used became part of the American vocabulary.

  It was a medical reality that at several points during the winter, it became so cold that many soldiers on guard duty actually had their testicles frozen solid and turn blue from the cold. It was from this experience that the phrase “blue balls” was coined, although it later acquired a different meaning. Once frozen solid and blue, sad soldiers had no choice but to “snap off” their own frozen nutsacks and discard them. Colonial America could sometimes be a cruel and demanding homeland.

  Soldiers who failed to remove and discard their “blue balls” had the dead testicular tissue later thaw out and become gangrenous and “blackballed.” Their now useless nutsacks literally turned black. These soldiers faced excruciatingly painful, life-threatening infections and were literally “blackballed” from active military service until they healed or, in most cases, died.

  Soldiers grew sick by the hundreds and then by the thousands, bed bound and unfit for duty. Even Washington’s ever-shitting son, John, grew sick with severe constipation.

  Animals in Valley Forge also fared poorly as hundreds of horses either starved or froze to death. Horses were later eaten, along with any chickens, cows and pigs that could be scavenged or foraged from the local countryside. Sadly, the army even attempted to eat its canine mascot, a terrier they had named Lord Buster Farnsworth, before the pooch smartly hid in the woods.

  There were also instances of great bravery and courage at Valley Forge. During one powerful winter storm, at about midnight, Washington could hear the distinct sound of an axe chopping wood above the howling winter wind. And this went on for over an hour. Although everyone in camp was short of firewood, Washington was astonished that any soldier would venture out in this bitterly cold snowstorm to chop wood.

  Washington eventually put on his great blue wool coat and walked over to the woodpile where, to his astonishment, he found a single, seven year old boy chopping wood. The tall, lean lad was amazing with his axe, swinging with bold clean strokes and chopping wood faster than most grown men. An enormous pile of freshly chopped wood grew next to the lad and soon stood higher than the boy himself.

  “I think that’s enough wood for now,” Washington said as he approached the boy, placing his own scarf around the boy’s neck. “You have done a great service to your country.”

  “Thank you, General,” the shivering boy said softly, astonished to be speaking with this great and famous general. The boy grabbed an armful of wood to carry back to his own tent and turned to leave when Washington spoke again.

  “What is your name, son?”

  “My name is Abraham,” the young boy replied. “Abraham Lincoln, General.”

  Washington smiled as the tall young lad ambled back to his own tent carrying a huge armful of wood. And in many years to come, that tall, seven year old lad would go on to become the sixteenth President of the United States. In this midnight moment at Valley Forge, unknown to most historians, two of America’s greatest Presidents met each other before either had ever served as the elected leader of our great republic.

  Washington was also blessed with help from his wife during this difficult time. Martha Washington made the arduous trip from Mount Vernon to Valley Forge and went immediately to work cooking and d
oing laundry. She cared for the sick and wounded and even knitted socks that were distributed to thankful soldiers, most of whom applied them quickly and eagerly to their frosty penises.

  A dejected Washington wrote that “unless some great and capital change suddenly takes place, this Army must inevitably...starve, dissolve, or disperse.” Soldiers deserted by the hundreds, and later by the thousands. Slowly but surely, George Washington’s Continental Army was disintegrating before his eyes.

  Letter after to letter to Congress went unacted upon, until at last, in January of 1778, several Congressional representatives visited the Valley Forge camp to inspect personally the deplorable and abhorrent conditions. They were shocked and amazed that any men could endure such want and privation.

  By February, Congressional intervention secured funding and supplies flowed freely to the Continental Army. But sadly, help had arrived too late. Over 2500 soldiers had perished at Valley Forge. Thousands more were sick and unfit for duty. Many thousands more had deserted, intending to take their chances on the road rather than await the death-lottery that Valley Forge had become.

  Astonishingly, although Washington had arrived here in December of 1777 with about 10,000 soldiers, he now had only a meager 11 soldiers fit for duty. Only 11. This meant that Cornwallis had more soldiers guarding his baggage train than George Washington had in his entire army. It meant that Jesus Christ actually had more apostles than Washington had active soldiers. Now, it seemed, there was no hope for American freedom.

  Chapter 52

  Springtime in Valley Forge

  General Washington made plans to move his 11 remaining soldiers out for march in the springtime campaign that he knew was coming, and made preparations for the surrender of his army, which was really just a formality at this point.

  The warm breath of spring gently kissed the countryside of Valley Forge this day and found a depressed George Washington smoking weed on a rocking chair outside his headquarters with his aide Reebock. There was perhaps a small tear in George Washington’s eye.

  “Well, we fought da good fight, mon,” Reebock said before taking a long, slow drag on his blunt. “The odds were too great against us.”

  “Yes,” Washington admitted. “Perhaps so.” Reebock handed him the extra-large, hand rolled blunt and Washington, too, took a long slow inhalation of his finest home grown marijuana. “This shit does help a bit, I have to admit,” said the General.

  At that moment, the chief surgeon of his command, Dr. B.F. Pierce, came out of one of the medical tents and ran immediately to General Washington.

  “It’s astounding,” Dr. Pierce said, “simply astounding!”

  “What’s up, Doc?” Washington asked.

  “Our sick soldiers,” Dr. Pierce explained. “Nearly all 2,500 who were sick are now active and fit for duty! It must be the recent stretch of warm weather, coupled with my prescribed regimen of regular bleeding that has acted as a restorative.”

  From across the compound of Valley Forge, soldiers by the hundreds began emerging from their tents and cabins, warming themselves in the delicious, spring sunlight as they dressed in their uniforms.

  “God be praised!” Washington nearly shouted. He knelt on one knee, unsheathing his sword and held it point down as he silently said a prayer of thanks. Just then, Washington was alerted to some problem by the barking of Lord Buster Farnsworth, who had just now come out of hiding in the woods. The small terrier and army mascot was barking and cavorting furiously.

  “What has Lord Farnsworth so agitated?” Washington asked.

  Reebock had already grabbed the telescopic spyglass and was peering across the horizon.

  “Look at this, mon!” Reebock exclaimed as he looked through the glass again and then handed it to his Commander. Washington grabbed the spyglass and his heart leapt for joy as he peered through it. On the horizon, as far as the eye could see, were hundreds and thousands of American troops, all converging upon Valley Forge!

  These were the soldiers who had deserted during the intolerable winter conditions at Valley Forge. But with the coming of Spring, these men headed back to army, and back to the command of George Washington. They were returning and re-joining the Continental Army.

  So, too, there came newly enlisted soldiers, boys and men who had previously sat upon the sidelines of history but had now decided to join the battle for freedom and independence. For days and weeks they came to Valley Forge, from all the states, building and rebuilding the strength of this Continental Army, until at last there were nearly 13.000 troops fit for duty under George Washington’s command.

  With this influx of soldiers, Washington knew that there was still hope for victory in the Revolutionary War.

  Chapter 53

  A Death in the General’s Family

  Washington sent his wife Martha home with thanks for her assistance, while his son John-Poopy remained with the army, still sick and unable to serve. Washington was now a busy man and occupied every waking hour with plans for his offensive against Cornwallis and the British. But as summer approached, the army physician Dr. Pierce again came to speak with the General.

  “Please come with me, Sir,” said the Doctor in all seriousness. He walked Washington to a small log cabin across the camp and stood outside with the General for a moment before going in.

  “It’s your son, General Washington,” Dr. Pierce explained. “He is gravely ill.”

  “With constipation, still?” asked Washington.

  “No, Sir,” replied the Doctor. “I’m afraid it’s much more serious than that.”

  “Diarrhea? Dysentery?” asked the General.

  “No, Sir,” replied Dr. Pierce. “I’m afraid John-Poopy Washington has been…bitten.”

  “Bitten?” exclaimed Washington in surprise. “By a zombie?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid so, Sir,” Dr. Pierce replied. “It happened during the Battle of White Marsh in December. It was a small bite and we hoped he might pull through.”

  “But I didn’t know,” Washington said. “I thought—“

  “He didn’t want you to know,” admitted the doctor. “He said you had enough to worry about already. And there was nothing you could do, in any case. He’s inside this cabin, Sir, but he hasn’t long to live.”

  There were times in his stepson’s life when George Washington was frustrated and angered with John Poopy. But none of that seemed to matter now. Washington had watched John grow from an inappropriately crapping small child into an inappropriately crapping young adult officer in the Continental Army. And although John was only his stepson, and therefore not loved as much as a biological child would be, Washington still cared deeply for this ever-shitting crapstorm of a young man.

  Washington was shocked when he saw the condition of his stepson as he entered the cabin. John was pale and emaciated, much as Washington’s own father had been after being bitten so many years ago.

  “Father, I’m sorry,” John said to the General as he entered.

  “Oh nonsense, John, my brave soldier,” Washington replied. “Any one of us could have been bitten.”

  “No, not that,” John whispered. “I mean about the constant crapping. “

  “Oh, that,” Washington said. “Well, I know you can’t help it, son. I remember our slave Beyonce once told me… How did she put it? I think she said that your constant uncontrolled defecation is caused by irritable bowel syndrome as a result of a genetic predisposition and is nearly impossible to treat prior to the advent of modern pharmaceuticals,” Washington said as he lovingly held his son’s pale, cold hand.

  “Thank you for understanding, father,” John replied. “It’s so hard to hold it in, and especially when sick. I feel even now like shitting myself.”

  “Well, my son,” said Washington smiling. “Perhaps just this once, it would be all right if you... um…did that here.”

  In just a few seconds, General George Washington could hear and smell that the dying stepson he called John-Poopy had once again cra
pped himself, this time on his own deathbed. And although repulsive and offensive in the highest degree, it seemed somehow appropriate and fitting for his stepson’s last act on earth.

  “My goodness but that smells extraordinarily offensive,” Washington noted, laughing, waving his free hand in the air in the feeble effort dissipate the noxious odor.

  “It’s good that we can still laugh about it,” John-Poopy said laughing weakly with a smile. “Don’t cry, father,” he said, noticing tears streaming down his stepfather’s face.

  “No, I’m only crying because of the horrible stink,” George Washington said still laughing and gagging while waving his hand in the air.

  “It is a fitting end for me, father,” John-Poopy replied. And then he slowly closed his eyes, stopped breathing, and passed away. Mercifully, as he was no longer breathing, the noxious ordeal was over for him. John-Poopy Washington, stepson of George, had crapped his last crap.

  Dr. Pierce entered the cabin just after John-Poopy had expired and gagged slightly from the stench. Per Washington’s previous instructions, Dr. Pierce knew, as did all the Doctors of the Continental Army, how to prevent a “zombie bitten” patient who died from becoming a re-animated zombie himself. Pierce made certain that John Poopy was truly deceased, then grabbed a bayonet and thrust it repeatedly into the young lad’s skull, spraying both himself and the General with a liberal spattering of blood.

  “OK, OK,” Washington said after the ninth bayonet thrust. “I believe we’re safe now.”

  “Just making sure, General,” replied the doctor. “I can’t tell you how many times we thought one of these was dead before it hopped up back to life.”

  Washington was forced to flee the enclosed cabin lest he be overcome by the fecal fumes, but he found himself surprisingly grief-stricken by the loss of his stepson. Washington ordered the body of his stepson cleaned (by a British prisoner) and shipped back home for burial.