The British forces faltered as the Indians surrounded them and began the massacre. The scene was horrific; the Brits were scalped as they fell on the battlefield. The Indians filled the air with the sounds of their whoops and wails, further adding to the terror.”
“Psychological warfare at its best,” Wade interjected.
“Without a doubt it was. So, the Indians had learned to aim for the British officers. The British had no noncommissioned officers. If one fell in battle, there was no man trained to step in and take his position. A fallen officer left a void that could not be replaced. Out of eighty six British officers, twenty six were killed and thirty seven were wounded. After Braddock was shot in the lung, the majority of the forces broke and retreated.
The battle had been going on for hours at this point. Washington’s had two horses shot out from under him, but he keeps grabbing another and to galloping up and down the ranks. He’s shouting out orders and rallying men to hold their positions and to continue the fight. While the other men are cowering or retreating outright, he is the focus of the battlefield.
The Indians know he’s obviously an officer, so they focus their attack on him, but they can’t hit him. Wide-open shots and they just can’t kill this man. They’re in complete disbelief. Realizing something is amiss, the chief calls off the attacks against Washington. He realizes that this day is not the day Washington is to die; the Great Spirit has a plan for this man.
Washington continues to hold the line while the wounded escape. When he finally falls back, the Indian warriors set about scalping the dead and drinking the rum in the supply wagons, rather than pursuing the British. Washington’s bravery and the scouts’ frenzy was all that saved the remaining troops.
Washington later wrote to his brother and said that he found four bullet holes in his coat that day. He couldn’t explain how he wasn’t hit, other than Providence. Never, not then or ever, was he wounded in battle.”
The room was silent for a few moments.
Wade rubbed his scalp uncomfortably and finally replied, “That’s a really powerful story, but Jackson, we have to decide what we’re going to do.”
“I just spent five minutes telling you what we’re going to do.”
Confused and frustrated, his most senior aide and trusted friend threw his arms in the air and exclaimed, “You’re not making any sense; what are you talking about?”
The senator crossed the distance to the two men with a purposeful stride. He looked each man in the eye before continuing, “We hold the line; we rally as many as we can. We give this wounded nation an opportunity to regroup. We don’t dismount, we don’t flee. I’ll live like Washington or die like Braddock, but I’ve no other option before me. Now leave me, I need some time to myself.”
Chap ter 23
Reese
Austin, Texas
The road to Austin had been a taxing, five-hour drive; much longer than it should have taken him. The battered, GMC Suburban was not in as good of condition as Reese had originally surmised. It had overheated twice during the trip. He had eventually managed to exchange it for an old Dodge pickup that had been on the side of the road just east of Wyldwood. The pickup smoked fiercely and emitted a loud knocking sound from under the hood if he drove it over 50 mph, but so far it had not failed him.
The first checkpoint had been at the outskirts of Valle Del Rio. Reese was glad he had exchanged the bloody and battered SUV for the old truck. He did not need anything that would raise suspicion and slow his journey even more. He had flashed his government credentials at the checkpoint and after a few minutes of private discussion between the sentries, and a radio conversation with their superior, he had been allowed into the city. He hated to flash the badge because of the possibility of alerting Washington to his location, but he had no other choice.
As he made his way through the city, he was amazed at the damage it had sustained. It appeared half of the city had been burned to the ground. Everywhere he looked, there were soldiers: on the roofs, at intersections and blowing past him in heavily-armed convoys. Austin apparently had it much worse at some point. With the National Guard now purposefully visible at every street corner, order seemed to have been precariously restored.
He circled the capitol grounds before making his move. Reese noticed that the governor’s mansion had been completely gutted by a structure fire. It was not the first time the mansion had been burned. Less than ten years ago a Molotov cocktail nearly destroyed the mansion. The arson was believed to have been perpetrated by a radical, anarchist group that also had planned to attack the Republican National Convention that same year.
As he finished his lap around the capitol, he turned off of East 11th Street and onto the capitol’s south drive. He was immediately met by several well-armed guardsmen at the gate. He slammed the truck into park and hung both arms out of his window, while smiling politely at the soldiers as they approached. The first sentry snatched the credentials from Reese’s right hand and scrutinized them warily. The second man kept his carbine aimed at Reese.
“You’re CIA, huh?”
“Yes sir; Reese Byers, Special Operations Group within the Special Activities Division of the CIA.”
The soldier scanned the truck. “I presume this is not official business?”
“Actually it’s strictly business. I’m here to see the governor.”
“I thought guys like you traveled in better style than this,” The soldier said as he continued to scrutinize the badge.
“Look guys, I seriously don’t have time for this. Please tell the governor that Agent Byers is here to see him.”
“The governor is in a meeting, sir.”
Reese was exhausted and irritable from the long drive and lack of sleep. He snapped back, “Well interrupt the meeting kid. I don’t think you understand the urgency of the situation.”
“I don’t think you understand the urgency of my post, sir. You’re not getting through this gate.”
“Listen here you little-“
The second soldier stepped in between the two men and tried to diffuse the situation before it escalated further.
“Sir, excuse me for a moment; what he means is that we need you to sit tight for a few minutes. We need you to keep your arms fully outside of the vehicle at all times. We’ll radio the capitol and if the governor knows who you are, they’ll send an escort out for you. Until then, like I said, please sit tight.”
“Thank you, that’s all I asked.”
The first soldier shot an angry scowl at the second man, but he ignored it. The second soldier was obviously quite used to his partner’s poor behavior. Reese continued to hang out of the truck as instructed as he watched the second soldier walked back behind the gate and radio the capitol. After several minutes of waiting, the man returned and said, “Governor Baker said to send you through without escort. Pull straight ahead and park in front of the steps. He’ll be waiting for you at the entrance.”
The first soldier stood in astonishment as Reese shot him a wink and a smile as he pulled the battered truck through the gate. Reese drove past the statues and fountains that dotted the green along the edge of the entrance drive. As he parked in front of the towering Italian Renaissance Revival styled structure, Governor Baker stepped out and exclaimed, “Special Agent Reese Byers, government spook extraordinaire; how’ve you been?”
***