Custer at the Alamo by Gregory Urbach Read Free Book Online Page B

think Grant was jealous, afraid of the glory I’d win defeating the French. Had he decided differently, I’d have whipped the Mexican army into shape and overthrown Maximilian in three months.”
    Though I did not reveal my thoughts to Cooke, I have often wondered what might have happened next. Would I have remained in Mexico? Become a general and entered politics? Certainly under my guidance, this army of peasants crossing the river would not be such a rabble.
    “What’s our plan, sir?” Cooke asked, his Winchester held ready.
    Bouyer had his old buffalo gun, Butler carried the Sharps. The Indian lads carried muskets and arrows. Combined with my Remington hunting rifle, we could boast a good punch.
    “Tom and Keogh will be the hammer. We are the anvil,” I announced, the cold rattling my teeth.
    Bouyer looked at me with an expression bordering on insubordination, then looked at Cooke, Butler and the two young braves.
    “Gen’ral, we sure is one mighty small anvil,” he said, spitting from a chaw of tobacco.
    “Be sure to make every shot count,” I replied.
    It was really only a guess, but I’d used this plan against the Rebs in the Shenandoah. Not with just six soldiers, of course. I was hoping for similar good fortune now.
    After digging into our new position, I studied the Mexican army as they boarded rafts and attached logs to help float the remaining wagons. A dozen long ropes were keeping the rafts from floating away as soldiers on the far shore pulled the lines in. All was quiet on the hill beyond the river, which was good. Tom was waiting to strike with maximum advantage, and I expected nothing less from him. Keogh would arrive soon and need no explanations. He had once raided deep behind enemy lines with General Stoneman. Though fond of drink, as are all the Irish, Keogh was not a drunk like Reno.
    “Something’s happening, Gen’ral,” Butler said, having taken the forward position.
    I crawled up to the edge of the draw but didn’t need my field glasses, for the river was less than a hundred yards to my left.
    “The second cannon is finally up on the sand,” I observed. “Looks like the officers will make camp once the freight wagons are over.”
    “There’s two hundred soldiers on the other side. Only a hundred left on our side. The rest are just helpers, not even armed,” Cooke said, always a good judge of such things.
    “I’m surprised they’ve got so many women traveling in their train. Even old women. This is a small town, not a troop movement,” I observed with contempt. Not that wives occupying officers on campaign was unusual. Libbie had often traveled with me during the war. The rank and file were expected to leave their women home.
    “Aim for the non-commissioned officers first,” I ordered.
    “Hey, that’s not fair,” Sergeant Butler objected.
    “War’s not fair, Jimmy. Especially this kind of war,” I replied.
    Hardly a minute later, gunfire opened on the far side of the Rio Grande. I saw an officer in gold braid topple from his horse. Two sergeants went to his aid only to be wounded. Then another uniformed soldier dropped, the commonly dressed peons being ignored.
    For just for a moment, the entire enemy army appeared to freeze. Birds had burst from the trees at the first shots, horses had bucked, and startled soldiers were looking in every direction. Then a young soldado shouted the alarm, echoed by a dozen others. Sergeants ran to their squads, tightening the chinstraps on their tall shako hats. Infantry reached for their muskets. Officers rushed to issue orders. The sandy riverbank became a mass of confusion.
    As a full volley was fired from the low ridge, a troop of dragoons rode forward, drawing pistols. Their striking red jackets were trimmed in blue and highlighted by white cross straps. Most carried long wooden lances and wore silver helmets dressed with black plumes. For light cavalry, they made a marvelous spectacle, but forming as they did was not an