CSS Appomattox: A Thomas Devareaux Alternative History Military Adventure (The Thomas Sumter Devareaux Series Book 1)

by Chris Stoesen

  The survivors quickly pointed out to where the Confederates had gone and a hasty blockade was made of the river mouth. This would make life difficult for them as they no longer had a path to obtain supplies and reinforcements. They had a reduced platoon of men with two functional Gatling guns and some explosives.

  Devareaux had the men and equipment moved as quickly as possible further into the interior. He was certain that German patrols would begin to converge on their position once the stricken ship was discovered.

  In a happy coincidence, two sailors from the ship were found by the spotters that Devareaux had left on the beach. They happily surrendered for a bite of food and a sip of water. They acknowledged that the ship they fought was indeed the SMS Zieten.

  Once they were brought to Devareaux, they found a marine who spoke German. In the interrogation, they learned that they had gotten extremely lucky. The Germans thought that they were just fishing boats and did not expect any resistance. Now that the Germans had this setback, their patrols will not be as lax.

  Devareaux and his party moved closer to the city of Humacao. A base was established on a hill far enough away to not be in direct view of a town or road, but close enough that men could reach the town within an hour. The marines established a perimeter and scouts were sent out.

  The men named their base Camp Manassas. The second day after raising the Stars and Bars over the camp, they came in contact with Capitano Felippe Rosalles of the Spanish Army. He was leading a guerrilla unit commanded by Tenente Allejandro Pena also of the Spanish Army. These two officers were dispatched to raise a guerilla force here in the Humancao province. He explained, through Pena, that the province of Humacao was divided. The northern half was in German hands. The region closest to San Juan was fully in their control. The mountains were not really held by anyone. The Germans had not attempted to push down to the city of Humacao as of yet. He figured it was just a matter of time.

  Capitano Rosalles admitted that he was having difficulty raising troops in the area. Most of the people just wanted to be left alone. His was a meager force of 30 men. Most were armed with old fowling pieces and the occasional rifle. These men would need better equipment and some training before they could become an effective fighting force.

  In the center of the camp, the headquarters tent did not do much to reduce the heat of the day. At the small table, Rosalles, Devareaux, Benjamin and Pena sat. Pena was effectively earning his keep as the interpreter for the Confederates.

  “Captain Rosalles, I would like to use your force as a supporting unit for my men. We would equip them with the spare rifles and ammunition that we brought with us. They will operate in conjunction with my men to raid the German lines.”

  They waited for the man’s response. The Spanish officer frowned and shook his head. He spouted off a string of rapid fire Spanish. Once he finished, Devareaux turned his head towards Pena.

  Inwardly he smiled. His cousin was a fire and brimstone preacher in a backwoods church. His words came to him that he remembered.

  “And who can give us an interpretation to the tongues spoke here?”

  Probably not the same thing, but in this heat, you had to get your fun where you could find it. He nearly laughed out loud, but stopped himself in time.

  “The good captain says that he welcomes the weapons that you offer, but he does not see how a force as small as ours could stand against the Germans. He does not want to see his men used as cannon fodder while we sit back in safety.”

  Devareaux rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  “Tell him that we are fighting with his men and not behind them. We will take all the risks that his boys will. We are not asking them to charge forward and be reckless. I want to ambush the Germans and make their lives miserable, not ours. Tell him we already suffered losses in getting here. I don’t want either of us to lose more men if we can avoid it.”

  Again, as if watching a tennis match, all eyes turned to the Spanish officer as Pena translated Devareaux’s words to him.

  Again the Captain was hesitant. Devareaux reached behind his chair to a canvas covered item. He tore the canvas covering off of it to reveal one of the three remaining Gatling guns that they managed to save. With a flourish, Devareaux pointed to the gun.

  “I would like to train your men on how to operate this weapon. We would integrate your men with our crews. They also would learn how to fire rockets and use explosives. We can make a difference, but not without your help. We need you. We need the help of the people of Puerto Rico!”

  Once translated, this left the Capitan speechless for the first time. He seriously thought about the offer and finally nodded his acceptance and again began to fire off rapid fire sentences at Devareaux.

  Pena this time asked a question back to the Spaniard without interpreting to Devareaux first. The Spaniard nodded and thumped his chest.

  “Well, sir, he says he will do it if we relocate to his camp. That is where their families are and it will prove that we are there to help them.”

  “Pena, is that all he said?”

  “Sir, I am trimming out the useless posturing. Much of what he is saying is in flowery speech and does not really mean anything. I am giving you the root of it.”

  Delacroix nodded.

  The negotiations continued for over an hour. Finally, they ironed out the arrangements. Captain Rosalles agreed to all of the principles that Devareaux had originally laid out. Captain Rosalles left the following day. He was only a figurehead and a staff officer. He headed toward the interior to rejoin General Morales. Tenente Pena was the true leader of the handful of men. Pena believed in the mission and was convinced that Devareaux was not just making wind but intended to do something. Once these details were ironed out, the men moved into the Spanish camp and began to train the guerillas.

  Chapter 28: Meet the Germans

  The training of the militia troops was rudimentary at best. They were trained in the basics of the use of the bayonet and how to fire the German Rifles that the Confederates brought with them. What surprised him was the absolute glee and fanaticism that the Puerto Ricans took to the Gatling Guns. They turned out to be natural gunners. He had to do everything in his power to curb their enthusiasm since they only had a limited supply of ammunition.

  Devareaux did not train them in any normal drill. He believed their survivability would be based more firing from ambush than from massed volley fire. His marines took local guides for each squad. They identified movement patterns of the German troops as they moved deeper into Humacao province. Through hilly paths and dirt tracks, they identified an ideal point to launch an ambush against the advancing German troops.

  These scouting missions were excellent on the job training for the militia. Indeed, it helped orient the Confederate marines as well to the local climate and terrain. After three weeks of scouting, Devareaux and Benjamin worked out their first combat mission.

  The attack would be carried out by a squad of 12 marines supported by 10 militia men and a militia operated Gatling gun out to execute the first ambush.

  The target was ideal. They identified a supply route that wound through a narrow hilly trail. The supply trains passed through the hills once every three days to support the lead regiment pushing through to the city of Humancao.

  Once in place, the Gatling was positioned on top of a rock and camouflaged with foliage. It had an excellent field of fire as it was right at the bend in the main road. The militia and marines were positioned on the hillside above the road. Benjamin decided to lead the first ambush personally.

  Sergeant William Fitzpatrick was his second in command. Sergeant Fitzpatrick took another puff on his cigar. He held the cigar close under his campaign hat to keep the slight drizzle of rain off of the cigar. Everything was damp. Mist rose up from the foliage all around the men. He blew the smoke down onto his rifle that lay in front of him. He was prone and the man furthest to the west on the road. It was his shot that would trigger the ambush. He saw in the distance
the first figure on horseback coming towards him on the road.

  With a curse he stubbed out the cigar into the wet earth and pushed his head down closer to his rifle and waited. The rider continued to approach. The man was resplendent in his uniform. The man was an aide of some kind due to the gold braids on the uniform. He had a pencil thin cigar in his mouth and rather rakish moustache. He watched him as he passed bold as brass and oblivious to the threat so near to him. Fitzpatrick longed to bury his bayonet in the man's chest to wipe the smug look off of the officer's face. He rode past unharmed as the sergeant exercised his patience.

  Some 100 yards behind him came the beginning of the convoy. The beginning of the convoy was a unit of foot infantry. There were at least 12 men in two ranks of six marching in line. Their rifles were slung and they would have looked impressive were they on a European battlefield, but here in Puerto Rico, they looked hot and tired. Sweat soaked the neckline and armpits of their uniforms. Even with the heat, they maintained their strict pace. Behind the infantry was a string of donkeys that were heavily laden. The twenty donkeys and their burdens were not nearly as precise as the soldiers had been. The soldiers filed past Fitzpatrick’s position. Now was the nervous part. He knew his marines had the discipline to allow this first target to go by but the militia was another situation all together.

  The militia was placed closest to the Gatling gun if they did open fire early, it would do the least amount of harm to the plan. He knew the gunners would be anxious to try out the gun on a live target. The soldiers would be so close by the time the Gatling opened fire that he knew the militia would have to support them or they might be in trouble. Fortunately, Benjamin was down there to help sort that out.

  Another 12 man squad of infantry was following the donkeys and behind them was a pair of carts. This was the target that Fitzpatrick was looking for. He slowly picked up his rifle and took a solid prone position. He allowed the first cart to pass and lined his sights upon the head of the horse. He loved his Vetterli. It was a tack driver and he had won several camp contests before he was reassigned to this Signals Bureau crap. One assignment is as good as any other for a marine, as long as he got to shoot.

  The horse passed by his position. He tracked the horse and continued to squeeze. When the trigger broke it was a slight surprise and the carbine jumped back into his shoulder with the familiar kick. He smiled as he watched the horse drop as if it had been poleaxed. The top of the animal's head was gone. It was a clean kill. The driver tumbled out of the cart as the horse fell and jerked the cart forward and down unexpectedly.

  The soldiers paused for a moment before realizing what the shot meant. Further down the trail shouts could be heard and a mounted officer rode forward towards the stopped cart. As he hauled on his reigns to see what was happening, the chatter of the Gatling gun started.

  ...

  Benjamin squatted next to the gunners and muttered as quietly as he could.

  "Espere a que se, Espere a que se."

  Wait for it, wait for it. It was really the only Spanish that he had learned so far since he had to repeat it so much. He drummed his fingers on his pant leg. The soldiers were getting almost too close for the Gatling gun to be effective. If they got any closer, they would be past the effective distance of the gun and they could charge him. At twelve to six, he was badly outnumbered and he did not trust the militia's accuracy to support them.

  Benjamin raised his hand to get his men ready to fire. He might have to launch the attack early. Then the shot rang out. He slashed his hand downwards. The only problem was that all of the gunners were looking at the Germans and not at him.

  He whispered to the team.

  "Fire."

  There was still no reaction from the militia men. He started to shake with frustration and slapped the nearest gunner and whispered louder.

  "Fire. Fuego. Whatever, just shoot them."

  The gunner just looked shocked at first, then once he realized what Benjamin was saying he grinned like a six year old on Christmas morning. He jabbered something and started to operate the crank. Shots began to ring out.

  The formation had halted from the first shot that rang out. The soldiers were confused. One of the German NCOs was beginning to recognize the danger for what it was and unslung his rifle from the back of the formation of 12 men. He decided wrongly. He should have been ordering his men instead of sorting himself out first.

  The first rounds of the Gatling gun caught the lead soldier in the right hand column directly in the chest. The heavy 45-70 government round tore through and slammed into the body of the soldier immediately behind him. The gunner slowly walked the rounds upwards as the bodies of the stricken soldiers began to fall. The first string of 30 rounds had torn through the column of six men and left every one of them killed or seriously wounded. The spare gunners were moving with alacrity and already had the next magazine loaded as the gunner swung the weapon to engage the second column.

  The left hand column was quick to react, they began to run up the hill to find cover. This was directly into the face of the militia who promptly stood and fired on the rushing Germans. The sudden volley of ten guns stopped the Germans in their tracks. Amazingly, not a single German soldier was hit by the militiamen.

  The militia men worked the bolts on their rifles in an attempt to load their weapons. The Germans were amazingly traveling with unloaded rifles as well. They now had their weapons unslung and were attempting to load. It appeared to be an absurd race between the clumsy militia and the German soldiers.

  The Gatling gun swung back towards the now scattered Germans and began to walk through their ranks, but without the devastating effect that it had achieved on the first pass.

  …

  Corporal Anthony Hunt was waiting with the main body of marines in the foliage. With hand signals, the identified their primary target, the second group of German soldiers that was in front of the carts and behind the donkeys. Each had taken a bead on a soldier. They waited for the first shot. Hunt had told his men not to fire until the Gatling gun had opened fire first.

  The soldiers were slow to react after the first shot was fired. Their NCO started to shout something and the men were beginning to disperse. Their tight ranks were gone, but they had not left the road.

  When the Gatling gun finally opened fire, his men were ready. Eleven shots rang out from the marine Vetterli carbines in a ragged volley as each man shot at his picked target.

  The initial shots from the marines killed three of the Germans outright. Another four fell screaming. Several men apparently had selected the same target as one suffered three distinct hits. Each man ejected their spent rounds and rammed home new cartridges and searched out for new targets. The follow up shot came less than a second after the first in most cases. After the second shot, none of the twelve Germans remained in the fight.

  Hunt’s men immediately searched for threats. Sporadic shots were fired at the drovers herding the donkeys. Several of the drovers threw themselves to the ground while at least three fled directly away from the firing. The lead cart’s driver threw his hands in the air and surrendered. The one who was thrown from his cart attempted to hide himself behind the body of his dead horse.

  Hunt scanned the road and looked beyond the stricken cart and cursed under his breath.

  “Shit, is nothing simple?”

  The carts were followed by more donkeys and beyond them were a final group of twelve soldiers. These soldiers were now beginning to advance using the donkeys for cover.

  …

  Fitzpatrick saw the advancing soldiers a second ahead of Hunt. This would be no turkey shoot. Keeping low, Fitzpatrick crawled to link back up with Hunt and his men.

  …

  Benjamin was proud of the Gatling crew. These were the first shots that they had fired in anger yet they were moving with confidence and a natural grace that he had only seen with experienced veteran crews. The second firing pass had cut through the left hand rank of men, wounding most
and killing a few. With the men as dispersed as they were, he was impressed at how many they managed to hit.

  As soon as the second pass was finished, the crew scrambled to reload. In the short pause in firing, the militia charged. Benjamin’s heart dropped. He stared in disbelief as the ten militia men charged the Germans with fixed bayonets. There were still four men who were functioning. One raised his rifle and calmly fired taking one of the militia men high in the chest. The other three Germans fixed bayonets to meet the charge. They fought with frenzy like men who assumed no quarter would be given.

  Training was the key. The German drill was far superior to anything that Benjamin could teach in just two weeks. The militia scrambled back away from the Germans leaving three more of their men dead at the German’s feet.

  This was the opening that Benjamin needed. As soon as the militia were clear the Gatling gun opened fire again. The four German survivors were quickly cut down.

  The loader positioning a fresh magazine on the Gatling gun suddenly pitched over. A group of German soldiers far down the road were advancing and firing on the Gatling gun position.

  Benjamin put his hand on the gunner’s shoulder and started giving him orders.

  “Slow fire, very slow. Aim your shots.”

  He was unconvinced that the young man had heard him. But sure enough, the young gunner started a slow crank that was putting shots out in twos and threes with a pause between to re-aim. The donkey that was to the left of the advancing Germans jumped and toppled over, knocking the German off of the road. The German soldier lost his rifle as his arms pin wheeled to grab on to anything to halt his fall.

  At that distance, it was decent shooting from the gunner. He realigned his sights and started on the next soldier. These shots passed to the right of the soldier based on the puffs of dirt kicked up behind the man. The German turned and began to retreat. Another pair of shots was fired and the soldier threw his arms out to his sides and toppled forwards.

  At this point the marines had begun to engage these Germans as well. This group chose discretion and decided to call it a day. They ran from the field and looked for cover to hide from the rifle shots that chased them away.