by Tony Roberts
Three days later they stumbled into the town of San Augustin, ejecting what few defenders there were there. The land around was hard and tough; much of it was from an old lava flow the locals called the Pedregal, and it was along here that the engineers took an interest. General Scott and his staff officers discussed the best route to take now they had avoided El Penon, and it was agreed they would get the engineers to cut a road through the old lava flow to the west and march the army through there towards the town of Contreras.
Word came that Santa Anna had flown into a blind panic and had stripped the fortress of men and guns and marched them towards the Pedregal from the north, setting up the main part of his force to the east and a smaller unit under General Valencia to the west. He then changed his mind and ordered a retreat but Valencia, probably fed up with Santa Anna’s theatrical displays, ignored him, vowing to fight the Gringos where he stood with every breath he had, rather than strut around the countryside.
Case and his men were sent in the night to the east, as part of a diversionary force. The heavens opened and within moments they were all soaked, the downpour making it impossible to hear anything more than a few yards away. It was also pitch black and lamps had to be used to show the troops the way to their positions. Case walked, head down, listening to Jimmy’s colorful descriptions of the “fuckin’ rain, the fuckin’ war, the fuckin’ country and the fuckin’ Mexicans.”
Daylight brought progress. While General Worth’s division, of which Case was part, made a feint to the east; General Scott and the main part of his army marched along the newly cut road through the Pedregal. Santa Anna retreated further to Churubusco and ordered Valencia to retreat as well. Once again Valencia disobeyed and prepared his force to resist the approaching Americans. Worth’s division was ordered to march west and join in on the attack on Contreras the following morning.
For Case, the attack was an anti-climax. He took part in the faked frontal attack, shooting wildly and making noise. The Mexican’s attention was diverted from a sneaky piece of work by Scott who moved his main attack through a ravine and out onto Valencia’s rear. The Mexicans panicked and ran, leaving 1,000 casualties, 800 to be captured together with 20 guns and a herd of mules, all for the loss of 100 of Scott’s force. Santa Anna was purple with rage and ordered General Valencia to be shot. He then realized that he was next on the menu for General Scott and ordered that both the bridge at Churubusco and a fortified convent called San Mateo to be held at all costs.
Case and his unit were gathered with the others to attack across the bridge, right into the teeth of artillery and musket fire. The bridge was a killing field and Case pulled a face when he saw what they would have to cross to get at the defenses. The ground was barren of any cover and they’d have to run fifty yards to the bridge, then cross it under fire and then smash through the barricades the Mexicans had erected at the far end.
“It won’t be enjoyable this,” he muttered to his men. “Don’t stop once you’re running, not even to help anyone who’s fallen. Keep going and don’t run back!”
They weren’t in the first attack. They watched as Worth sent in the first wave. Cannons blasted at them, sending deadly balls skidding through their tightly packed ranks, smashing men aside. The Americans couldn’t spread out as the bridge funneled them, presenting a target too big to miss. Musketry erupted as the first man got to the stone bridge and the soldier staggered and fell, joined by others who were hit by both musket and grape shot.
The watching men cursed as the carnage continued. “Can’t we attack somewhere else?” Kenny demanded nervously, fingers twitching on his musket.
“Possibly,” Case replied, “but I don’t think we have the time. General Worth wants a quick victory. So he sends us in a frontal assault. They always cost lives.”
The first attack was shattered and the survivors fell back, disheartened by the piles of dead and wounded lying on the bridge and its approaches. The line of men alongside Case and his buddies grew tense as they knew it was their turn next. Captain Jameson looked around to check for the signal, nodded when he saw it, and drew out his sword. “Fourth infantry, let’s take that bridge! Ready boys?”
A mutter ran through the ranks. The sergeants bellowed at the soldiers in rage. The ranks yelled in response. Captain Jameson swallowed nervously, then swung his saber down in a flash. “Chaaaaarge!”
The American line roared and burst forward, erupting from the line of bushes they had been standing behind, bayonets catching the afternoon sun. Case roared in rage, pumping adrenalin through his system. He made for the bridge at an angle, cutting in from his left, watching the guns as smoke billowed from their muzzles. Suddenly he veered left and ran at an angle away from the bridge, coming to a sudden halt along the riverbank, away from the carnage. Jimmy and Kenny followed, wondering why he wasn’t pushing his way onto the tightly packed bridge.
Cannon balls crashed into the soldiers, knocking three away in a mist of blood, opening gaps that were quickly closed as fresh men took the place of those killed or wounded. Cursing in fear Case went down on one knee and loaded the rifle, trying to make as small a target as he could. A round shot smashed into the riverbank by his side, sending clods of mud flying into the air, and a man running past him cursed and clutched at sudden muck on his face.
A musket ball spat past his head and he cursed again. Ahead, a cannon aiming right down the bridge blasted canister as the Americans got over halfway, stumbling over the bodies lying on the bridge, sending two more toppling to join those already fallen. Case was ready to fire and he looked across the river and up on the rise that the cannons were sited on. Kenny and Jimmy were shooting at the Mexican soldiers behind the barricades across the river, oblivious of what Case was aiming at. He took aim, and fired. A Mexican grunted and slid backwards behind the barricade. Case reloaded as fast as he could, crouching low close to the bridge wall while shots smashed into the packed soldiers pushing their way along the corridor of death that the bridge had become.
The smell of sweat and blood filled the air and Case sighted up, picking out a gunner on the slope above the barricade who was peering along the barrel prior to sending more death onto the milling soldiers. The Minié rifle had a low muzzle velocity so the bullet it fired would arc more than a ball from the faster velocity from a standard musket. That meant that at the range he was shooting he’d need to aim slightly higher. But against that he was shooting uphill, so that negated that to some degree. He calculated the distance. Three hundred yards, more or less. Case relaxed, raised the barrel, held his breath, and fired. The gunner, having just stood to put the smoldering taper to the touchhole, spun round as the musket ball smashed into his rib cage.
Jimmy slid up to Case, blood oozing from his shoulder. “Bloody hurts like hell,” he gasped.
Case pulled the wounded man close to the wall. “Don’t put your head above the line of this wall or it’ll be shot off. I’m going to pick off these gunners.” He lined up his next shot, and saw the shot blast into the loader’s thigh, causing the man to scream and fall over, flapping his arms in agony.
More shots rattled past, striking the stonework, and the third wave poured onto the bridge, wading over the fallen, now piled two or three deep. The survivors of the second wave were shooting back but they couldn’t make headway.
Someone must have organized the new attack because they sent in a volley that crashed into the barricade, splintering it and hitting a few defenders, before running along the bridge and making for the blockage at the end. The Eternal Mercenary spotted another man bending to pick up the fallen match. He squeezed the trigger and the new gunner clutched his stomach and folded over tiredly.
“Nice shooting, Corp!” Jimmy said in admiration.
“You seen Feisler, Jimmy?”
“He went down further along the bridge,” Jimmy said, ramming another ball down the muzzle.
Case cursed the suicidal attack and looked for another target. The Mexicans were frantically trying to
stop the Americans from crossing but slowly the attackers neared the barricade, paying a terrible price in casualties. More men lined the riverbank and began pouring fire into the defenders. Up on the slope the gunners reloaded frantically, the green flag of the San Patricios limply hanging from a pole stuck into the ground next to two cannons. “Bet Quinn is up there,” Case muttered, spotting another man running to pick up the fallen match. The gun was primed and if it fired, it would take out the advancing troops who were rushing the barricade.
Case waited until the man had to lean out from behind the cannon, then the rifle roared and the gunner jerked back in pain and fell onto his back. With a yell the Americans slammed into the barricade, kicking it over and lunging in with the bayonet. “Get back and see the surgeon,” Case ordered, getting to his feet. He ran down the bridge, dancing over the fallen, and joined the throng of men battling with the Mexicans. The cannons now had to wait or they’d take out their own men. Screams of rage and pain filled the air as the two sides pushed and shoved each other. Case added his weight and the attackers suddenly were through. With a roar they fanned out, seeking new targets, and the Mexican infantry scattered in fear.
Case ran up the hill up to the cannon he’d been shooting at, and took a quick look at the Mexicans. Two were dead and the others feebly moving. Looking round he saw another cannon send a blast into a knot of men, both American and Mexicans. The green flag hung above this gun and Case recognized the man who had fired the shot. “Quinn!”
The big Irishman looked up and his eyes widened in recognition. He pulled on one of the loaders’ arm and pointed at the approaching man. The loader pulled a pistol out from his holder and Case went down on one knee and shot him through the chest from twenty yards. The man crashed to the ground and Case got to his feet and ran on, bayonet pointing at Quinn. “You fuckin’ bastard!” Quinn yelled and picked up an iron bar that was used to steady the gun’s wheels.
A second loader came at Case from the left, rammer raised, and Case sprang forward, sending the bayonet through the man’s heart. Quinn roared in anger and struck, but the bar hit the dying rammer as Case swung the man round on the end of his gun. Dropping the rifle and its grisly load, Case grabbed Quinn by the throat with one hand and pushed him back. “Now you piece of traitorous shit, you’re going to die!” He wrenched the bar out of Quinn’s surprised hand and flung it away, before closing his other hand round the Irishman’s throat.
Quinn took hold of Case’s arms and tried to pull them off him, confident his strength would overpower his opponent, but for the first time in his life, he could make no headway. Case’s arms bulged, bands of muscle and sinew like iron, and his gritted his teeth as his fingers sunk deeper into Quinn’s throat. Quinn knew fear and batted at Case’s arms, his mouth opening in a silent plea, but he received no mercy. Case’s arms shook with effort as Quinn sank to his knees and his face turned red, then purple. His tongue protruded and with one final shake Quinn’s shade left him and Case was left holding a corpse.
He let the Irishman fall to the ground and he sat down, exhausted. He looked round and saw the Mexican army fleeing for their capital, a mere four miles away. The dead lay in piles along the bridge and along the riverbank, and he shook his head at the stupidity of the attack. A man came limping up towards him and Case saw it was Kenny. He waved and as he got closer Case could see his right leg was bloody.
“Get that seen to before it turns bad!”
“Yup, will do. Saw Jimmy making his way to the surgeon. Feisler got killed though.”
Case sighed. “And Hamble and Hughes?”
“They’re okay. We lost too many today.”
“Yeah we did. But they lost more and we’ve crossed the last river before the outer defenses of their capital.”
The Mexican army had lost another 3,000 and now the way was open for the Americans to advance right to the city’s gates.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
But they didn’t march on the city. General Scott had exhausted his army in the two battles on the same day and needed time to restore strength. Santa Anna also needed time to strengthen his defenses and so both agreed to a truce. Prisoners were to be exchanged, but since there were hardly any American prisoners this suited Santa Anna enormously. Scott though didn’t want hundreds of Mexican prisoners eating up his precious supplies.
Arrangements were made to buy food and supplies from Mexico City but when the US wagons entered the capital the citizens and elements of the army attacked them. Scott demanded an explanation but all Santa Anna did was to say sorry but take no action. The American army had to make do with what they had. While the Americans rested and got most of their wounded back in fighting shape, Santa Anna fortified the approaches to the city and recruited more men to fight the enemy at their gates. Scott realized after a couple of weeks Santa Anna had been taking him for a fool, so he ended the truce and prepared to resume the attack.
Case was pleased both Jimmy and Kenny were fit to return and the small group of friends were once more reunited. Word was that the army was to march on the south west approaches, and in the way stood the Molina del Rey, the King’s Mill, which was producing most of Santa Anna’s cannon. Once again General Worth was chosen to take the position. Case wasn’t too happy, given that Worth’s last attack had been a suicidal frontal assault on prepared positions.
The army marched towards the industrial complex, and soon it came into sight; to the left was an old abandoned flour mill, and to the right stood the walls of Casa Mata, another fortified industrial building. Bristling with muskets, bayonets and cannon, it looked like a death trap for any attacker. Case was appalled when General Worth announced another frontal assault. Worse, he wanted a forlorn hope of 500 volunteers to go in and clear the way for the rest.
“Dumb stupid tactic,” he grumbled to the others. “All that will achieve is a bigger body count. Frontal attacks only result in more dead than any other. General Scott uses the flank attack and that’s what we ought to do here.”
“Well go tell him, Corp,” Kenny grinned, cleaning his musket. “You want to volunteer for the forlorn hope?”
Case’s reply was short and to the point.
They watched on as the 500 volunteers rushed at the enemy, screaming and hollering, and they were scythed down by grapeshot and musket fire. Incredibly, the officer in charge, Major Wright, led the survivors into the ranks of the defenders and the Mexican lines began to collapse. At that moment a counter charge from Santa Anna shattered Wright’s men and the survivors, less than half of them, fled back to their own lines. Wright was not amongst them.
Growls of anger rose from the waiting American soldiers. General Worth, sickened by the butcher’s bill, ordered an artillery barrage at the defenders, followed by an all-out attack by every last man in his division. Case rose up with a weary, resigned sigh. “Alright, guys,” he said, “take your positions.” He watched as the reduced section got ready, eyes fixed forward on the mill, directly ahead. The walls were crumbling under the barrage but the defenders were not moving. Captain Jameson walked ahead of the men and pointed his saber at the waiting defenders. “Men of the United States,” he boomed, “your objective lies in front of you. One determined charge will break the enemy. You have proven yourselves more than their equals so far. Get amongst them and they cannot withstand your valor and strength. You know that. So do they. For the freedom of Texas and the Union, for-ward!”
The men set off, following their captain. All along the line the soldiers gritted their teeth, fearful of the inevitable artillery blast they’d receive as they neared the enemy lines. The bodies of their comrades lay scattered over the ground, some moving feebly and moaning, others still in the permanence of death. The men stepped over the bodies and fixed their eyes on the Mexican lines, less than one hundred yards distant. The American artillery stopped firing now, lest they hit their own men, and the Mexicans stood up and raised their muskets.
“Company, halt!” Jameson snapped, seventy yards fr
om the Mexicans.
The men stopped and raised their guns. “Aim low,” Case muttered audibly to both Kenny and Jimmy, on either side of him. The three waited for what seemed an eternity. The Mexicans, unable to stand the suspense, fired their muskets. They had been shaken by the attack of the Forlorn Hope, and much of their shot went high. A few Americans fell, clutching wounds, but most of them remained untouched. Two thousand soldiers aimed as one, in two lines.
“FIRE!” the order was repeated all the way down the lines by all the company officers.
A volley of shots poured out from the attackers, smashing into barriers, walls, guns and flesh, sending scores of Mexicans spinning or falling. Jameson bared his teeth and waved in encouragement. “Now, boys, let’s get them!”
The deep-throated roar from the Americans filled the air and they dashed forward, right into a volley of canister fire from the Mexicans. Hamble, the giant Texan, staggered and clutched his stomach, sinking to the ground. Others around them fell, blood pouring from wounds. The attackers rushed forward, bayonets thrusting towards the enemy. Case ran hard, yelling like a demon, his two comrades close behind. The fear of the volley of cannon fire filled Case’s head and he gave vent to his emotions, screaming madly. He kicked the first Mexican out of the way that crossed his path and his rifle parried a stab from an enemy officer. Case followed up by slamming the rifle butt into the officer’s face. He was now through the enemy lines and into the mill. The long disused rooms now echoed once more, but this time it was life and death as men grappled, stabbed, punched, kicked and shot each other in a frenzy.
Case skewered one Mexican through the chest and, pulling the blade out with one angry movement, battered a second aside with a flurry of blows from butt and stock. Jimmy and Kenny stayed close to their corporal, the three forming the point of the American thrust. The Mexicans were driven back through the mill yard by yard, their retreat marked by bodies.