by Wiles, David
In what is considered by some historians to be one of his greatest military accomplishments, George Washington managed to skillfully withdraw his forces from New York and save the greater portion of his army from destruction. Had the British concerned themselves with the destruction of the Continental army, rather than the conquest of geographical territory, things might have gone quite differently. But as it happened, Washington’s army still lived and was free to fight another day.
Washington encountered a similar situation in September of 1776 as his army lay deployed on Harlem Heights, watching the movements of British Generals Howe and Cornwallis. By October, behind hastily erected earthworks, Washington’s army once again found itself pressed upon by the overwhelming tide of zombie soldiers thrown against it.
Determined to withdraw the greater portion of his army to New Jersey, while leaving roughly three thousand troops behind to defend New York, Washington made good his escape. But the remaining American troops were hopelessly outmatched against a combination of five thousand living and zombie British soldiers.
The remaining American soldiers fought valiantly to defend the New York post they had christened “Fort Washington.” They inflicted many hundreds British casualties, but the tide of the British attack was too swift and too powerful.
From his nearby New Jersey vantage point, Washington watched in sadness as wave after wave of zombie soldiers overran the entrenchments, and seized Fort Washington, capturing nearly three thousand American soldiers. The Americans were bound and marched off as traitors to prison cells in New York. Colonial officers were sent to prison ships in the harbor and many died there from the fearful conditions of neglect.
In a final insult, the American flag that flew so defiantly just that morning over Fort Washington was cast down upon the ground, and in its place was raised the Union Jack, the flag of the British Empire.
“Don’t look back,” Washington said to Reebock as he turned away and gave the order for his army to march away. “Our day will come,” Washington added.
Chapter 48
Washington Writes Home to Martha About Crossing the Delaware, Crossing Again, and Re-crossing It a Third and Fourth Time
From-General George Washington, Commander, Continental Army
To- Mrs. Martha Washington, Mount Vernon, Virginia
My Wife Martha- 1 February, 1777
My dearest snuggle-muffin! How my heart aches at our current state of separation during this circumstance of revolutionary war. I miss you so! My Betsy Ross flagpole is raised in full salute each morning when I arise, with impure thoughts of you. We have been too long apart. As the army is settling into winter quarters in Morristown, perhaps you might consider a visit here and stay a while? Both George and John Thomas would be pleased to see you. ;-)
I have told you before of my great fear of losing this war due to the expiring enlistments of soldiers in our army. We thus lose many hundreds and hundreds of soldiers with each passing month, and still more due to illness or desertion. I feel our cause is lost and the game is nearly up.
We did have some recent success. When I withdrew the army from NY, we made a noble crossing of the Delaware River, using it as a natural barrier between us and the British to prevent their attack. The river was cold and icy, and the British had filled the waterway with hundreds of bobbing zombies, anchored in place, with their arms and heads floating above the icy stream. They could not freeze to death in the frosty river, being dead already. There was much trepidation amongst our soldiers at this ghastly sight as we crossed, these zombies with only their heads and arms visible, snarling and grabbing at us in our longboats, trying to bite and capsize us.
The zombies continued to molest us as we crossed. At one point, one of the creatures even grabbed my boot and tried to bite me. But with a swing of my sword, its head was removed and impaled upon my sword, which I held aloft and raised up, much to the delight of our troops. And our brave oarsmen beat back these snarling creatures as they paddled, allowing us safe passage.
Just after Christmas of 1776, we crossed back again over the Delaware river and into Trenton, and thereby surprised and attacked the ale-sucking German mercenaries who were there encamped, hungover after their Christmas carousing. In battle, we killed a few and captured over 900 Hessians, as well as a shitload of cannons and horses. We thus withdrew back yet again across the Delaware with great success.
My subordinate commander, General Cadwalader, was very lately arrived at the unoccupied Trenton we had just previously left. And not wishing to leave him undefended, we once again crossed the Delaware, for the fourth time, to join forces with him. But by this time, that fucker Cornwallis had arrived near Princeton with 8,000 troops, including many zombies as well.
The terms of enlistment for nearly half my army was due to expire at year’s end, and on Dec 30th, I pleaded with them to remain on, and render great service to their country by beating back these British shitbags. To my surprise and delite, over half the troops that were set to depart remained to fight on!
On January 2, Cornwallis pressed against our position at Trenton, nearly trapping us, but as night fell, he stupidly stopped the attack and waited until morning to recommence hostilities. We were later told he wanted a good night’s rest and a lovely breakfast before “whipping the Colonial rabble.” Yeah, right, like I was gonna stay there, nearly surrounded, and wait for my ass to get handed to me!
In the night, we silently withdrew and marched around to Princeton, to the British rear, and made good our escape. The morning skirmishing there escalated into a full battle, where I personally led troops against British forces in Princeton, which led to their hurried withdrawl. We had us a fine fox hunt chasing down the retreating British in their flight!
Our actions here have thus far preserved the Continental Army and the fight for freedom. The British have generally withdrawn from New Jersey, but the approach of summer will no doubt lead to a resumption of the fighting.
We can only hope in the providence of almighty God, and the continued stupidity of that fucknut Cornwallis, to guide our destiny.
I remain forever, your loving hunny-bunny,
Georgie
Chapter 49
A Grumpy Cornwallis Laments His Failures
Lord General Cornwallis was pissed. The riff-raff patchwork of vagabonds that be believed comprised the Continental Army had remained a thorn in his side well into the new year, and he had come to despise the name of George Washington. Cornwallis had failed to defeat or capture Washington’s army when he had the chance at Trenton, and the remainder of the Winter and Spring of 1777 was uneventful. Now, in the Summer of 1777, Cornwallis received reports of two other Revolutionary War battles in August which did not involve either himself or Washington.
In the minor battle of Battle of Oriskany, New York, the Colonials lost nearly 400 killed and nearly 80 wounded or captured, which represented over half of the American soldiers that were deployed there. British losses were minor, with under a hundred killed and a lesser number wounded or captured.
The Battle of Bennington, New York, however, was a stinging defeat for the British, with their force of 1,400 soldiers suffering losses of over 200 killed and 700 captured! The American force of nearly 2400 suffered only 70 killed or wounded, with no prisoners captured.
Cornwallis slammed his fist on his desk in anger over this loss and then put quill and ink to parchment before summoning his aide Smithers into the office.
“Yes, General?” Smithers said upon entering.
“Issue these new orders to all officers under my command,” Cornwallis barked. “Read them over now, so there is no confusion.”
“By order of General Cornwallis,” said Smithers reading aloud, “All American soldiers and infantrymen captured by British forces will be deemed traitors to the crown and will be immediately executed for conversion into zombie soldiers of his Majesty’s Royal Command.”
“Go on,” Cornwallis said.
“Any Colonial off
icers captured in battle will still be imprisoned, rather than executed,” Smithers continued. “Though they will still be given their three beatings daily whilst incarcerated.” Smithers made a motion as if he wanted to say something.
“Did you have a comment?” Cornwallis asked.
“Well, General,” Smithers asked, “will not an order such as this …antagonize the enemy?”
“I certainly hope they shall be antagonized,” Cornwallis replied haughtily. “I truly do. We have thus far been too lenient and forgiving with this Colonial rabble. I’m done going easy on them.”
Chapter 50
The British Fail to Win the Battle of Brandywine
By Stopping for Tea and a Picnic Lunch
By September of 1777, Washington had smartly deployed his troops in a highly defensible position along Brandywine Creek, near Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania. He correctly surmised that Cornwallis and the British would come after him, and he wanted to deploy his army to provide the best possible defense. Using the creek as a natural barrier, he surmised, the British would have great difficulty in a successful frontal assault. And in this supposition, General Washington was correct.
What Washington did not realize, however, was that the British and Cornwallis had no intention of making a frontal assault upon his position. But they wanted Washington to think that a frontal assault was impending.
In reality, Cornwallis decided to split his forces, sending General Knyphausen and a large contingent of zombie soldiers to make just the frontal assault that Washington expected, inducing Washington to leave the rear and flanks of the Continental Army exposed.
British General Howe, at the orders of Cornwallis, executed a secret flanking maneuver, after over ten miles of march, crossing well north of Washington’s position and circling back, with the intent of attacking from above and behind Washington’s line of defense.
British forces under Knyphausen began attacking Washington in the frontal assault he hoped for, with Redcoats and zombies making a grand demonstration of a direct attack. Cries of “aim for the head,” and “don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes” echoed across the defensive lines of the Continental Army. Shooting was accurate and deadly with hundreds of British soldiers and zombies slain. For minutes and then hours, the British pressed across Brandywine Creek and were repelled. But something did not feel right to the intuitive Washington.
During the creek side assault, Washington had been receiving repeated reports of large British troop movements to his north, reports Washington largely dismissed. But as the day wore on, the major assault at Brandywine never materialized, and later hearing cannon fire from the north, Washington knew something was up.
Washington and his aide Reebock found an aged, local farmer by the name of Joseph Brown, and requested that he personally guide the two men on the quickest route to the sound of the northern cannon fire.
“I decline to participate,” the smug old Brown told the two men. “I still have the sense that the Good Lord give me that, whenceupon I hear cannon fire, I goest the OTHER way.”
“It is of critical importance,” Washington implored the old farmer, “that we reach the site of the battle as quickly as possible.”
“As I say,” Brown stubbornly replied. “I decline to participate.”
“General Washington?” Reebock asked his commander. “May I make a more forthright request for assistance?”
“By all means,” General Washington replied.
Reebock drew his sword in a swift motion and held the blade firmly against farmer Brown’s neck.
“I will slit your god-damn snapping-turtle throat, unless you help us,” Reebock said forcefully. “And I ain’t hardly kiddin neither, you grouchy ol’ fuck.” And with the sharp blade of this angry black man’s sword already drawing a slight flow of blood from the pressure against his neck, Joseph Brown experienced a sudden and enthusiastic burst of American patriotism.
“I have reconsidered,” Brown said truthfully. “And it would be my pleasure to guide General Washington northward by the most expedient route.”
“Very well, then,” Reebock replied while sheathing his sword. “Lead on.”
The three men mounted their own horses, with farmer Brown taking the lead. “I’m gonna take us there the fastest way I knows. It’ll be up to you and yours to keep up.”
Brown spurred his horse, causing it to leap forward and accelerate like a rocket. Washington and Reebock followed closely behind, riding faster and faster, at nearly impossible speeds. Brown rode like a demon possessed, jumping small creeks and streams, fences and bushes, boulders and fallen trees. For a mile they rode, then two, then three!
“Farmer Brown may snarl like a snapping turtle,” Washington shouted to Reebock over the hoofbeats of their horses. “But he rides his horse like a whirlwind!”
“Jeezus Christ, mon,” Reebock exclaimed, “but I didn’t know horses could gallop dis fast! I can’t hardly keep my ass in dis saddle!”
“Ride onward!” George Washing shouted excitedly to Brown while galloping at full speed right behind him. “Ride on, you crazy old son of a bitch, ride on! Yeee-hahhh!”
In the fourth mile, Brown pulled his horse to a stop, and wheeled about as Washington and Reebock dismounted. Cannon fire and explosions raged all about them. “You’re here,” Brown said simply. “And you call ME crazy!” Brown said looking about at the carnage of explosions and flying cannonballs. “And now I shall take my leave of thee, and good luck, General,” Brown added.
“With due thanks,” replied Washington as Brown rode off.
Washington stood on a rock outcropping about two hundred yards from where the British artillery continued to fire at the scattered American scouts and troops. He looked through his spyglass at the approaching British soldiers and zombies.
“Is it bad, mon?” Reebock asked.
“Well,” Washington replied. “We are completely and entirely fucked.”
“Dat bad?” Reebock asked.
“Yes, it’s that bad, or worse,” Washington said honestly. “We have been flanked. Our cause is hopelessly lost.”
From his position, Washington could see that Cornwallis and Howe had out foxed him once again. Through his telescope, Washington could see well over six thousand British Redcoats and zombies closing in upon his unguarded flank. And he did not have the time to stop them. There was nothing to be done. The Continental Army would be destroyed.
Just then, from a patch of shrubs ahead, emerged a picket line of ten zombie soldiers, which came right at Washington and Reebok, who sprang into action. The General had his sword unsheathed and slicing forward in a second, beheaded two of the zombies instantly. Reebock thrust his sword through the skull of a third creature just as Washington spun his sword about, cleaving the heads of two more zombies in half with a single stroke.
Reebock struggled to kill one creature, missing its head and impaling the neck of the zombie on his blade as it snarled and bit at him. Washington killed this zombie, and two more, slashing with lightning speed. Reebock drew a long dagger and plunged it into the eye of another zombie, just as Washington beheaded the last of the creatures.
Both men paused a moment to catch their breath amid the heap of motionless zombie corpses.
“You are a truly a kick-ass zombie slayer!” Reebock stated. “What do we do now?”
“Zombie slaying is not enough,” Washington admitted. “I suppose once the fighting is done,” Washington said dejectedly, “I shall have to surrender to Cornwallis and Howe.”
Washington grabbed his telescopic spyglass and pointed it once again towards the approaching British forces of General Cornwallis. But what he now saw was beyond belief. As Washington watched, the cannon fire slackened, and then ceased. And then came a sight that made General George Washington’s heart leap for joy. The fucking British were stopping the attack for tea and a picnic lunch! It was an incredible, fantastical stroke of good fortune!
Washington had to look again to m
ake sure. And again. But at each glance, the sight remained the same. The British officers were directing the soldiers to cease their advance. Washington could see the British officers unrolling picnic blankets across the grassy hillsides, and collecting water in tea kettles from the small stream at the base of the hill they occupied.
The British zombie soldiers were also stopped by bugle command and held in reserve at the base of the hillside. The attack, which just moments ago was poised to outflank and demolish the entire Continental Army, was suspended to allow the British to enjoy their 4PM tea time.
“Can you believe these clueless, arrogant, tea-slurping cocksuckers?” George Washington exclaimed. “They had but to advance to destroy our entire army, and instead they stop for a tea and a picnic lunch.”
“Have they given us a chance?” Reebock asked hotly.
“Yes, indeed!” Washington exclaimed as he scribbled notes on a small piece of paper with a tiny pencil. “If we move quickly,” he added, handing Reebock the notes. “Take these to company Commanders and have them redeploy 80% of troops to this new location. I will remain here to see to troop and artillery placements.”
“Yes, Sir,” Reebock said, jumping back on his horse.
“And Reebock,” Washington implored his former slave. “Hurry!”
“I’ll be back in a flash, mon,” Reebock said as he spurred his horse and rode away.
As Reebock rode off, the few hundred American scouts and pickets that were already assigned here rallied to George Washington, who stationed them in a defensive line about 300 yards from where the British now picnicked. This handful of men would never stop thousands of British, but if reinforcements could be brought up in time, there was still hope.
Anxious moments passed as Washington waited for reinforcements to arrive, but the British picnicked on, and within 20 minutes, regiment after regiment of fresh, American troops poured in behind Washington, who placed them as best he could along the northern perimeter of his position.