Against All Odds

by Drew McGunn

  AGAINST ALL ODDS

  Book 6 of the Lone Star Reloaded Series

  A tale of alternative history

  By Drew McGunn

  All rights reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s overactive imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or locales is coincidental. Fictional characters are entirely fictional and any resemblance among the fictional characters to any person living or dead is coincidental. Historical figures in the book are portrayed on a fictional basis and any actions or inactions on their part that diverge from actual history are for story purposes only.

  Copyright © 2019 by Drew McGunn

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recordings, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright holder. Permission may be sought by contacting the author at drewmcgunn@gmail.com

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  V1

  Contents

  The Story So Far

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Notes

  About the Author

  The Story So Far

  There’s a scene from William Goldman’s Princess Bride, where the intrepid hero Wesley asks, “Who are you? Are we enemies? Why am I on this wall? Where is Buttercup?” To which the Spaniard, Inigo replies, “Let me explain… No, there is too much. Let me sum up.”

  After four books, there is too much to explain, so allow me to sum up. Our intrepid hero, Will Travers, veteran of the Second Gulf War, finds his mind and soul cast back through time to 1836 into the body of William Barret Travis. With only weeks to avoid a martyr’s death at the Alamo, Will contemplates fleeing from San Antonio de Bexar but realizes he can’t abandon men like James Bowie and David Crockett to die at the old Spanish mission. Instead, he crafts a plan that is both daring and a little bit crazy to defeat Santa Anna long before the Mexican dictator can consolidate his army. Will manages to scrape together nearly every Texian soldier west of the Brazos River and meets Santa Anna on the Rio Grande River where Texian arms bleeds Santa Anna’s vaunted Vanguard Brigade, before strategically retreating to the Nueces River, where the Texians destroy much of the Mexican army and capture the hapless dictator.

  Once independence is secured by treaty with Santa Anna, Will joins with other famous Texians like Sam Houston and David Crockett to form a constitution for the nascent republic. He helps the constitutional convention craft a document avoiding the worst of the Southern slave codes, and which allows a path to citizenship for the Cherokee.

  After narrowly surviving an assassin’s bullet, Will takes command of the entire army of Texas. But he has barely begun to transform the army when the frontier erupts into violence as the Comanche ride out from the Comancheria and attack Fort Parker, on the edge of the Texas frontier.

  Despite an early defeat at the hands of the lords of the Great Plains, Will eventually drives the Comanche to the peace table. In the ensuing years, he refines both the tactics his army uses as well as its weapons.

  Despite a fragile peace between Texas and Mexico, the treaty signed by Santa Anna has never been enforced until President Crockett orders Will to take the army to secure Santa Fe and Albuquerque for the Republic, in accordance with the treaty from six years before. The army is more than eight hundred miles away when Santa Anna sends a force under Adrian Woll to capture the Alamo.

  Total annihilation at the Alamo is only stopped by A. Sidney Johnston’s arrival with every army reservist he can scrape together, while Will is still hundreds of miles away with the regular army. After burying the dead, Texas prepares for total war with Mexico.

  Total war is expensive, and a long campaign will destroy the fragile republic. Will has every expectation of a quick war. The Mexican commander is rash and headstrong, but before the campaign can begin, he is killed in a freak accident and his cautious second-in-command, Juan Almonte takes charge and changes the Mexican strategy to one of defense.

  Almonte forces Will into several pitched battles, where the Texian army’s skill, tactics and superior weaponry are pitted against Almonte’s defense in depth and tactical retreats. Months drag by, and inflation and debt eat away on the Homefront as Will’s Texian army grinds down Mexico’s Army of the North.

  Santa Anna, exasperated by the glacial speed of the campaign, sacks Almonte for failure to produce a victory and takes command, as he brings north another twenty thousand men. In a battle that dwarfs every previous conflict between the two nations, Santa Anna tries to overwhelm Texian defenses only to come up short. In the ensuing retreat, the dictator once again falls into Will’s hands.

  Meanwhile, back in Austin, President Crockett resigns his office and turns over command of the Republic to his vice president, Lorenzo de Zavala and heads into the west with a column of Texians, which includes Will’s son, Charlie, who runs away from home to have an adventure. Crockett easily defeats the lightly defended garrisons of Mexican California, but before he can enjoy the fruits of his labor, he is gunned down, and Will’s son is kidnapped.

  After learning of the kidnapping of Charlie Travis, Will resigns his commission, placing family above country. In a race against time, Will follows the kidnappers’ trail across the continent, following them from California, across the isthmus of Panama to South Carolina, where he and a few intrepid Texas Rangers rescue his son and kill the kidnappers.

  After Will brings his son back to Texas, he focuses on his business interests until the annexation faction, in the person of Richard Ellis, inherits the presidency upon Lorenzo de Zavala’s untimely death and begins to roll back the advances made over the past decade. Fearing for a future in which Texas becomes entwined with the peculiar institution of the American South, Will comes to realize if he wants to stop the rush to annexation, he had no choice but to run against Ellis for the presidency.

  Banking on his own popularity, Will wins on an anti-annexation platform and charts a path designed to slowly kill slavery in Texas by championing a bill that requires all children born on or after January 1, 1852 to be born free. This enrages the plantation owners in East Texas and they rebel against Will’s administration, plunging Texas into civil war.

  Chapter 1

  24 October 1851

  G.T. Beauregard listened in silence to the officer in butternut who sat beside him during the carriage ride from Beaumont. General Peyton Wyatt’s golden hair was streaked with silver. The forty-seven-year-old former quartermaster general of the Republic of Texas was the highest-ranking member of the army to recognize his loyalty lay with his family and friends from the South.

  “Your Louisiana boys are a sight to behold, G.T. Such colorful uniforms and their flair for drill are a credit to your state.”

  Beauregard wasn’t sure if he was mo
re irritated by the casual familiarity the Texian general took or the unspoken ‘but.’ Beauregard set aside the feeling, “I detect a ‘but,’ Peyton.” Two could play at being overly familiar.

  Wyatt said, “Say what you will about President Travis, but his idea about uniforms that blend better into the background makes a lot of sense. When he and I led the campaign against the Comanche, our boys fared better because of our butternut uniforms.”

  As the carriage dipped into a chuckhole, Beauregard repressed a smile as Wyatt’s broadbrimmed black hat slid over his eyes. “Perhaps. But the only enemy we’ve been faced with is the occasional stray slave. The pageantry of our uniforms scares the hell out of a few runaways.”

  He found it galled him less than he expected. The fact was the Texian battalions in their butternut brown were harder to see, especially when they were deployed in their open formation.

  The carriage topped a low rise, and from his seat, Beauregard could see the army encampment. More than four thousand men were camped on the coastal plain west of town. He had no idea what kind of a general Wyatt would be when forced to face President Travis’ army, but he was apparently a skilled Quartermaster. The rebel camp was orderly, and rows of tents were neatly spread across the plain. Several companies were at drill in a field. The rhythm of the training felt wrong. The men were deployed in a thin line, spaced further apart than even a skirmish line. It seemed profane; infantry should be massed together to make their musket fire more devastating.

  When he said as much to Wyatt, the Texian responded, “Massing men with the Sabine rifle is overkill, G.T. Most of your men are armed with muskets, accurate to a hundred yards if you’re lucky. Your average man will fire three aimed shots in a minute. One of my riflemen can fire six or more aimed shots in a minute, at targets as far away as four hundred yards. The open order tactics let us cover more terrain with a single battalion while putting out the same rate of fire as a couple of your regiments.”

  Beauregard frowned. Even from a half-mile away, watching the Texian reservists go through their drill, it was clear Wyatt had a point. “I wish you’d been able to secure more of your Sabine rifles, Peyton. Quite a few of my men are armed with rifled muskets, but many of these volunteer companies carry the old model eighteen-twelve from the Springfield Armory and the like. I’d like to get my hands on more of your breechloaders.”

  As the carriage rolled to a stop before a large canvas pavilion, Wyatt climbed down and said, “Then the instructions from the provisional government should please you, G.T.”

  Later, the two officers stared at the map of eastern Texas. Their conversation was broken by the sharp blast of a train whistle nearby. Over the din, Wyatt said, “More supplies?”

  “You’ve got friends across the south, Peyton. More volunteer companies are being mobilized in Mississippi and Alabama. Those who can’t physically come to your aid are contributing supplies.”

  “Keeping us in food and clothing’s important. I can’t imagine how difficult it’d be without the rail,” Wyatt said.

  Beauregard dipped his head in agreement, “All the more reason for us to finish Fort Jackson and Fort Austin at the mouth of the Sabine River. Ships trying to run those forts, chock full of heavy artillery, will get blown to bits.”

  Wyatt said, “We can import the guns, but a quicker way to acquire them is to take the weapons foundry at Trinity Park. Most of the army is spread out between San Antonio and the Pacific coast.”

  Beauregard had heard of Trinity Park. Along with Houston, the town was the industrial heart of the Republic. Capturing either of these towns would put a dent in President Travis’ ability to wage war, once he realized John Wharton, Texas’ Secretary of State, was never going to be able to force a peaceful resolution. He studied the map and traced a line from Beaumont to the Trinity River. It was only forty miles. From the Trinity River, less than two hundred miles separated his army from their target in Austin.

  “Damned shame the militia still loyal to Travis has torn up as much of the track as they have. We could be there in a few hours were it not the case. Now, it’ll take a couple of days to reach them. Peyton, what do we know about the defenses in and around Trinity Park?”

  Wyatt turned away from the map and let his eyes drift to the west. “Precious little. There are a couple of companies of reservists between West Liberty and Trinity Park. Maybe two hundred men. Right after Travis was sworn in, we formed a battery of artillerists there, but never received the funding for any field artillery.”

  Wyatt’s eyes hardened as he stared into the distance. “A few folks who arrived from the Trinity River the other day said Ben McCulloch is there. On paper, he’s responsible for all of Texas’ reserve battalions. Damn him. He’s just as much a Virginian as me. He knows Travis’ Free-birth bill is insanity. He should have joined us, but he seems to have misplaced his loyalty.” He turned back to Beauregard, “When it’s time to advance, I want to be there with my men.”

  Beauregard traced his finger along the map. As a West Point graduate, the provisional government had elevated him to command the joint Texas-Louisiana army. While Wyatt had commanded troops, it had been years ago. He’d spent the last decade as a paper-pusher in the Republic’s army. It would be impolite to decline the request, but as Beauregard studied the map, he decided the Texian rebels could be best used on the flanks. His men would capture the town. When newspapers reported on the victory, it would be his name in the headline.

  ***

  Captain Jesse Running Creek felt his breath escape when he stepped onto solid ground on the east side of the Trinity River. The iron and wooden bridge behind him was solid but raised high above the river to allow steamships to pass below. The township of Liberty, once the seat of government of its namesake county, boasted a dilapidated riverfront, where boats could be loaded with cotton or other goods and hauled down to Galveston for shipment to the world’s markets. Nowadays railroads carried the loads once transported by steamships. The docks were empty. Any boat plying the Trinity had been commandeered by his men over the past few hours.

  Jesse waited until his riding companion joined him before remounting. As General Ben McCulloch climbed into the saddle, he said, “Compared to West Liberty, Liberty Township looks like a one-horse-town, where the horse has died.”

  Jesse chuckled. “The mills and factories are either in West Liberty or farther up the river at Trinity Park. Progress left this town to fend for itself.”

  The two officers guided their mounts around scattered burned railroad ties as they left the elevated railroad bed and entered the town. A wide street separated a few buildings along either side. The railroad ran alongside Main Street all the way through town, straight as an arrow. Jesse amended the thought. The railroad bed still ran through town. Every railroad tie had been burned between the river and a few miles east of town. Every iron rail had been collected and taken to Trinity Gun Works where they were being melted down and turned into small arms and field pieces for the army.

  While most of the homes in town appeared to be occupied, a few were clearly abandoned. Those men had evacuated their families, deciding that being on the road between two rival armies was bad for their health.

  When Jesse said as much, McCulloch replied, “I hoped and prayed those fools in Beaumont would see some reason. John Wharton wasted too much time trying to talk sense into them. And what kind of thanks do we get for not crushing them under our bootheel?”

  Jesse felt his lips curl into a frown. “Who’d imagine the governor of Louisiana would allow so many of their men to filibuster with our rebels?”

  One of Jesse’s special Rangers, Corporal Ellington, emerged from the shadows of one of the abandoned houses, rifle carried at the ready. “Hey, Chief,” the nickname grated on Jesse. Since the revolution more than fifteen years earlier, thousands of Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, and Creek had made their way to Texas. He was hardly the only Cherokee in the regular army, but as captain for one of the army’s special Ranger companie
s, formed initially and trained by Jack Hays, he had risen further than most. Still, he mused, chief was a better nickname than some he’d heard.

  The Ranger continued, “Sadler and Allen are past the edge of town. Beyond that, we got no perimeter this side of the river.”

  As hope faded for a peaceful resolution to the constitutional crisis created by the rebel government in Beaumont, Jesse had been ordered to take one of his platoons from the Alamo and move it to West Liberty. Once there, he’d taken one of the platoon’s three squads and placed it at the bridge over the Trinity River between Liberty Township and West Liberty. The squad consisted of three 4-man rifle-teams, one of which was on the east side of the river.

  As they rode past the sentry, McCulloch said, “Those brown and green patches your men are wearing on their jackets makes seeing them in the trees difficult, Captain.”

  Jesse turned to his companion whose butternut jacket was unadorned with the camouflaged patches his Army Rangers wore. “Imagine what it’ll be like for the rebels when they run into my Rangers.”

  McCulloch turned grim. “There’s only forty miles between here and Beaumont. This peace is just the calm before the storm. If the rebels move against us, we’ll have just days to react. Dammit, but I wish the president had given me permission to mobilize more of our reserves.”

  Jesse offered, “The last time we mobilized all the men for war, it nearly destroyed the country. Maybe President Travis is just trying to avoid tipping over the apple cart.”

  “Perhaps, Captain. But it’s worth remembering that we’re the poor sods in the apple cart. If it tips over, we’re the ones who’ll fall out. I don’t need to tell you neither General Johnston nor President Travis have seen fit to support us with more men. I’ve got four companies of reserve infantry, you and your platoon, a platoon of Marine reserves, a battery of militia artillery from Trinity Park and a few more odds and ends. Your Rangers have confirmed the rebels and their allies could move against us with six battalions. A bit more than four hundred men against thousands.”