Oh Boy ...

Source

Not only am I in the midst of doing my taxes (Feds are done Little Rhody is in work) but I had a recent notice that my driver's license needed renewal.

So I went on line last week to do it and, much to my chagrin ...

Okay, it wasn't that I didn't know the magic word (but I love that clip so ...) as much as it was a question of me needing a new photo for my license. The one on my current license being rather old. I still look like that, but older, and with a mustache.

So ...

Little Rhody now has you make an appointment for this sort of thing, absolutely no walk-ins. Which I'm okay with. It certainly has sped the process up and you don't have a room full of people waiting to be seen. Getting angrier as the clock ticks.

Now the last time I went was as a walk-in (shortly after the conclusion of the Pleistocene Epoch I believe it was) and as the office was in a brand new building, the employees were all rather in a good mood. (Take note you cheap-ass corporations with your shitty facilities, happy workers are more productive ...) And, as I asked one of the clerks, "So what happened to old Mrs. 'I Hate Everybody'?" - "Oh, she got fired two years ago, too many complaints about her attitude."

So yes, at least on my side of Little Rhody (the East Bay) we've got that going for us.

At any rate I was in and out in less than fifteen minutes, the folks working there were great and I was happy.

Until I remembered the construction on the bridge which connects Aquidneck Island with my hometown. Fifteen minute delay going to the island, and knowing the traffic flow, it would be at least twenty minutes going back. So I opted for a different bridge (Sakonnet for those who must know, vice the Mt. Hope Bridge, also known as the bridge of "Our Lady of Perpetual Repairs). Took more time but was way less deleterious to my blood pressure.

So yeah, I'm good with that.

Now back to the dadgum taxes ...

Yes, It's That Time of Year ...

Source

There will be a brief pause in the action, a day maybe two, while I fill out my tax forms.

Federal and State.

I owe, I owe, it's NOT off to work I go.

Getting used to retirement also involves doing one's retired income taxes for the first time.

Adjustments will need to be made, but all in all ...

The "damage" ain't as bad as last year.

Oh well, I just wish those creatures in Congress wouldn't waste so much of the money we give them. But waste it they do ...

Always have ...

Probably always will.

Leopard can't change its spots.

Too Dearly Bought¹ ...

Battle of Bunker Hill
Don Troiani
Source

Seamus looked down the slope once more, the regulars looked to be ready to come up the hill again. He was ready, his musket was loaded and though he was very thirsty, he felt that one more repulse like the first one and the redcoats might just call it a day.

From the top of Breed's Hill, he could just see the northern tip of Boston to his south. He could see Copp's Hill from where the British cannon had been firing earlier. They had ceased fire some time ago, no doubt to prevent hitting their own men.

Source

Billowing smoke from the fires in Charlestown occasionally obscured his view, but Seamus knew that the redcoats would be coming up again. He heard the drums begin anew, signaling yet another advance.

Though his mouth was parched, he suddenly had an overwhelming urge to urinate.

"Steady lads! Steady! Keep your dress, eyes to the front!"

Sergeant Andrews was theoretically in charge of the grenadier company, what was left of it at any rate. Rebuilt to a strength of 43 men after the battles of Lexington and Concord, the first assault had left 17 men of the regiment dead or dying in front of the rebel redoubt.

His company and another equally depleted company from the 5th Foot had been amalgamated for the second assault. They were now under the command of an officer Andrews had never seen before, a man named Marston. Andrews assumed he was the company commander of the men from the 5th they'd been grouped with for this second assault up the hill.

As he looked to the ranks, he sorely missed Corporal Holloway. He had no idea of his friend's fate. In the confused retreat down the hill, he had lost track of Thomas. He was sick to his stomach over that. God forbid his friend was still up on that bloody hill.

Corporal Tom Holloway groaned as he regained his senses, the smell of blood, burnt powder, and other things best not mentioned filled his nostrils. His head ached badly, he wasn't sure why.

He was lying some twenty yards down from the rebel earthwork, he could hear the colonials shouting encouragement to one another as he also heard the beat of the army's drums coming from down the hill towards the water.

He tried to think of how he'd gotten here, it had all happened so fast. Then it came to him in a blur. He remembered the billowing powder smoke of the first rebel volley and he vaguely remembered that the head of the man in front of him had seemed to explode, then his memory went blank.

Slowly, trying not to garner attention from the earthwork, Tom brought his hand up to his head. His thick hair felt gritty and slippery, when he brought his hand back down to examine it, he saw that it was bloody. Some jelly-like substance was on his fingers as well, then he saw the bits of bone amidst the blood. He'd been hit, and knocked silly, by a part of the man's skull, the man who had been hit to his front. He knew one could get killed just by flying bone and bits of shattered equipment on the battlefield. He knew how close he'd come to death.

As he lay there amidst the bodies of his slaughtered comrades, Corporal Tom Holloway emptied his stomach of that morning's breakfast. He began to shake uncontrollably.

The drums thumped and Andrews' company stepped off as they had before, the ranks were steady, unwavering, these men were trained to act as automatons, not as humans with free will. When the drums beat and the officers bellowed their commands, the line advanced. It was what they did, it was what they trained for, they knew no other way.

"Hawkins, dress your bloody line!" Andrews bellowed at one of his grenadiers.

"I'm doing my best ..."

"SILENCE IN THE RANKS!" Captain Marston barked from where he marched behind the men.

Andrews watched, Private Hawkins had probably stumbled in the long grass, or stepped on uneven ground, they weren't high enough on the hill yet to be stumbling over bodies and equipment, but they were getting close. Not ten yards to his front, Andrews saw a grenadier lying on his back, vacant gaze, glassy eyes, the man's chest torn open by musket fire.

Andrews shuddered.

On top of a building, Elizabeth Arnold couldn't see very much of what was going on across the Charles. Smoke from gunfire and the burning town of Charlestown were obscuring things enough so that even at a distance of less than a mile, details were nearly impossible to make out.

She and her employers had fled to Boston not long after the regulars had been to Concord. Ephraim and Rebecca Hamilton were loyal to the King and they were terrified of their fellow Americans now. There had been threats made after the battle which drove Mr. Hamilton to move his family and possessions to Boston.

"Bloody rebels can't get to us here, Mother. We're under the protection of the Royal Navy and the King's troops now."

Turning he had yelled at Lizzie to be gentle with a box of dishware she had been transferring from a wagon to the house they were renting not far from Boston Common.

"Damn it, lass! Those cost a fine penny, came all the way from London, they did!"

Rebecca Hamilton had chimed in immediately, "Mind your language, Father. What if the children were about?"

She had managed to slip away from the house under the pretense of discovering what was happening across the Charles. Many had seen the soldiers head down to the riverfront and board the boats to cross over to what the regulars called "Morton's Point." She was from the area and knew that the place was actually "Moulton's Point." She was a distant relation of the Moulton family.

She heard the rattle of drums from across the way and saw the red line of the soldiers begin to go back up the hill. She remembered the sergeant who had been kind to her, and his friend the corporal, whose name she couldn't remember. She hoped fervently that the two men, and their companions of course, were all right.

"Be careful over there, Allen, you and ..." then his name came to her, "... Tom. Be careful."

Will Hensley could hear the drums from across the way, from their position near the shingle they could see the left flank of the redoubt on the hill, but not the slope leading up to it. The light infantry had yet to make another attempt on their position, but the detritus of their first attack was still there to their front.

One of the soldiers had gotten very close to the improvised defenses before being cut down. Will dearly wished that he was still home in Derry as he studied the corpse sprawled not fifteen feet from him.

The man had been hit and had lived for a brief time. He had cried out for help, which his comrades couldn't provide and which his enemies cared not to provide. Will had been sickened by the death which lay before him, he had watched this English soldier die, so far from home.

Will was wondering if he would ever see New Hampshire again when his company commander cried out, "Here they come again, boys!"

Andrews was not forty paces from the rebel earthwork when he spotted Tom. He wondered if his friend yet lived when Tom had popped up and dashed down into the ranks.

"Was wondering if you fellows was gonna leave me up here!"

Captain Marston hadn't noticed Holloway rejoin the company but at that moment the rebels were up and leveling their muskets once more.

The shock of the volley staggered the company. More men went down, Marston was bent over, advancing as if walking into a gale-force wind. "Come on, lads! At them!"

Then another volley rippled down the line, more redcoated bodies littered the hill and the British Army once again reeled and fled back down the hill.

Seamus reached into his pouch, his hand came out with a single cartridge.

"Sergeant! I have no more ammunition!"

A number of men echoed that call up and down the line.

"Steady lads, I doubt they'll come back up this way. Load up what you have. If they come on again, one more volley should see the end of it."

Hensley and his company were falling back. He wasn't sure who had given the order nor did he care. Anything to get away from the stench of the dead lying on the field.

"Dinnae get yer hopes up, boys. We're just falling back to the neck, then we'll head back up to the earthwork to reinforce those lads. The light boys are done wi' us for the day, I'm thinking. Our fire was too hot for them!"

They hadn't reached Charlestown Neck when an officer, claiming to be from General Putnam² stopped them and redirected them up onto Bunker Hill proper.

"Old Put needs you boys up there," the officer had shouted, pointing up the slope, "in case the boys forwards on Breed's Hill need your help!"

So they had gone up the hill, and had no further participation in the struggle around the earthwork being assaulted by the soldiers of the Crown. Will Hensley didn't mind, he'd seen enough of war for one day.

Sergeant Andrews was angry, enraged that they were being fired upon by the colonials and enraged that his officers had no better plan than march straight into the colonials' massed musket fire.

"Jaysus, Allen, the bastards want to 'ave another go." Corporal Holloway had hissed at him.

"We can't just leave them there, Tommy, sittin' atop that hill, taunting the King like this. We take this hill, we take or kill as many of them as we can, then this war will die aborning. Leave them there and the bloody thing will drag on." Andrews hadn't meant to sound so angry, Tommy looked almost hurt at the tone.

"Sorry, Tommy, I didn't mean to bark at ye, but we can't let this defiance stand. Can we?"

"I suppose yer right, Sarge," Holloway paused in mid-sentence, something was afoot.

"Fall in, lads, one more thrust and we'll have them off yon damned hill!"

Captain Marston was bloodied, his hat was gone, his face was filthy, and the man was forcing the company to line up by sheer force of will.

It helped that the men were angry, they were embarrassed that they'd been forced down from the hill twice already, "by a damned mob of civilians," as one junior officer had said. All of Boston was watching it seemed to the men who looked back across the Charles, there was a very visible crowd along the river's edge and atop the roofs of Boston.

Andrews looked at Holloway and shrugged, "In for a penny ..."

"Battalion will ADVANCE!"

Battle of Bunker Hill
E. Percy Moran (PD)

Seamus fired his last round, the redcoats were within spitting distance now, more of them had fallen which seemed to only enrage the survivors. When the fire from the redoubt had sputtered out, the redcoats seemed to snarl and with guttural yells, came on at bayonet point.

"Better run, laddie, we've got nothing left."

Seamus' sergeant had tugged at Seamus' sleeve before taking off at a run himself. As the redcoats came over the parapet, American discipline had faltered, then collapsed. Everyone was trying to get out through the entrance to the rear of the redoubt when it was an easy enough climb over the walls of the earthwork itself. But the men remembered where they had entered the work, so they flowed to what they perceived as the only exit.

Many died because of that error.

The Redoubt, Battle of Bunker Hill, June 17, 1775
Don Troiani
Source

"What do ye think the butcher's bill will be, Sarge?" Holloway's left sleeve was bloody, a musket ball, probably fired by one of his comrades, had nicked his upper arm. It was bloody and rather painful but was, to be honest, a minor wound.

They were still in the redoubt, the colonials had been driven from the peninsula, even more falling as they crowded over the neck back to the mainland. Cannon fire from Royal Navy warships controlled access to the peninsula, they had been firing continuously as the Americans had scrambled to safety.

"I dunno, Tommy, I'd say over a thousand of our lads fell today. The hill is covered with the bodies of our regiments. What do we have left, maybe a dozen of the lads?"

"About that, of the lads who marched to Concord, not a handful are still with the colors."

Holloway looked into the sky, the stars were starting to appear, "Think this will be the end of it?"

Andrews looked into the gathering gloom, campfires could be seen in the distance, all around Boston. "There are a lot of those militiamen out there, Tommy. I think I was wrong when I said 'we take the hill and that'll be the end of it.' I don't think that lot out there are ready to quit. Not just yet anyway. Certain as the sun will come up tomorrow, we're in the middle of a war now, Tommy."

Holloway shook his head, "Damned nuisance, that, I'd rather fight the Frenchies than folks who were, up until a few months ago, fellow subjects of our good old King George."

Andrews looked at the ground beneath his feet, "Aye, but for now this is still English soil."

"But for how long, Sarge? For how long?"

¹ "The General’s returns will give you the particulars of what I call this unhappy day—I freely confess to you, when I look to the consequences of it, in the loss of so many brave Officers, I do it with horror—The success is too dearly bought." General Sir William Howe,  commanding the regulars, after the Battle of Bunker Hill.

² General Israel Putnam, nominally in command of the American troops during the battle. 

Wake

 

 

 Had a bit of a surprise this past week.  With respect to the accident, I was feeling pretty good.  Neck is still a bit sore, but a universe less pain than it had been.  Had an appointment on Thursday last and thought I'd be cleared to drive.  

Not so fast, juvat.  

Doctor: "Regarding AFlu (Atrial Fluctuation) when you passed out and were ambulated to the hospital, your heart rate was in the 120 Beats per minute range, a very dangerous rate. Surgery to Ablate the heart and install a Monitor.  That treatment worked and those symptoms are fine".

juvat: "So I can Drive?" Big Smile on my face!

Now for the REST of the Story! 

Doctor: "I'm sorry.  Because you had Syncope  (passing out) during the episode we now need to address the AFib  (Atrial Fibrillation in your heart)"

juvat: "Huh???? What's that entail? Hospital admission.""

Doctor: "No, the AFlu treatment required an "all in" Heart operation, to install a heart beat regulator.  This procedure is much less complicated.  We'll insert a catheter through the vein in your leg and use a bit of electricity to bring the rhythm back to normal.  You'll only be in the hospital for a couple of hours."

juvat: "Wonderful (sarcasm).  When will I be able to drive?"

Doctor: "3 more months. Syncope requires a full 6 months, without any incidents ,to release you to drive."

juvat: "Yay!"  Sarcasm is definitely in full scale drip mode.

So. Things are just splendid in juvat land.  Can't wait til Summer.

Anyhow,  on with the show!

 

Wake Island

So, There I was…* In receipt of orders to depart my hardship tour at CinCPAC headquarters, Camp Smith Hawaii, and proceed to what to what would be my final assignment in the Air Force.  Others referred to the next location as Fort Fumble, still others the Puzzle Palace.  I, with the true force of loathing, referred to it as the Northern Virginia Penitentiary for Wayward Fighter Pilots. Yes, some folks refer to it as the Pentagon, they are either non-Military types or if they are military, have sold their soul for their careers.  In other words, people I have no use nor any respect for.  But, now that I have gotten that off my chest, I will cease and desist with that digression vector and discuss where I PCS’d from.

But Juvat, you were assigned to Camp Smith, didn’t you PCS from there?  Technically, yes, but I actually left from Wake Island.  So, let’s get to that bit of oddity.

Back in the first term of Billy Jeff, before Monica, the United States actually attempted to enforce Immigration Laws.  (I know, I know.  How very Racist of us!).  As part of that enforcement, the US Coast Guard would board suspicious ships that were approaching the 12 mile limit.  Boarding them before reaching that limit was important, especially off the West Coast, because, even then, Liberal Judges would issue an injunction prohibiting their deportation until they had a chance to plead their case.  Those proceedings were always delayed and delayed….Thus ensuring that the Democrats had additional voters that Justice was served.

The problem is complicated by what the USCinCPAC Commander (he was the ranking 4 Star in all the Pacific services, and was Navy) at the time referred to his Area of Responsibility (AOR) as the “Tyranny of Distance”.  It’s a 6 hour plane ride from SFO to HNL, and depending on the winds, a 10 to 12 hour plane ride from HNL to Tokyo.  The USCG intercepts a ship carrying illegal aliens.  What does it do with them?  If they bring them ashore in the States, they’re home free.  Taking them all the way back to their home country ties up that Coast Guard asset for a long time.  An option is to find a Non-US territory that is willing to take them in until the illegal alien’s country of origin makes arrangements to recover them.  The US had some limited success in paying some friendly Pacific Island nations to do exactly that.  

China, of course, was the primary starting point of the illegals.  After a few ships were intercepted, (I am under no illusion that all, let alone most, were intercepted, so let’s settle for a “few”), China changed the game by insisting that the “refugees” were repatriated from “US held territory”.  They did this knowing full well the problem of bringing them into the US.

My job at CinCPAC HQ was to provide an augmentation team and train them in Joint Task Force planning and operations.  I drew my team from the Combat Commands on the island (PACAF, USARPac, CincPACFlt and MARFORPAC).  When activated, we’d deploy to one of the designated three star billet commands in the Pacific.  At the time, those were 7th Fleet, 3 MEF and I Corps.  We’d join with their Command Staff and become a JTF.  The concept worked pretty well, at least in exercises.

It’s around the 1st of July when I get called in to the CincPAC J-3s office, a Marine 2 star.  He tells me to ready the team and that sometime during the next week we’d be deploying.  No idea when or where, or to whom as yet.

I get the notification process started and prep the initial briefing.  Seems that a small Chinese fishing boat had been intercepted off the coast of California with 118 illegals aboard.  The State Department was negotiating with the Chinese for their return, but the Chinese were insisting that they be returned from US Held Territory.  Saipan and Tinian were not going to be acceptable.  Hawaii with its very Democrat infested liberal court system was definitely not an option.  We considered Midway, but discovered that also fell under the Hawaii’s District Court.  Finally, we found that Wake Island was an “unincorporated territory” of the United States. 

According to a Citation in Wikipedia (a source renowned throughout the world for its accuracy) an unincorporated territory is one "where fundamental rights apply as a matter of law, but other constitutional rights are not available".  Bingo.

The boat and escort are directed to Wake Island.  The JTF is to be created with the main manpower coming from one of the Army Battalions from the 25th ID.  They would include an infantry company, and some MPs.  A BG from the Division would be the CJTF.  My team would be the JTF staff.  PACAF would provide medical and dental support and personnel.  CincPacFlt would provide construction support.

The yellow line is 4500 miles long

It was going to take the boats about 2 weeks to transit and Wake’s facilities were not ready for a few hundred people to arrive.  It had been hosting a small team that supported launch activities from Kwajalein.  So there was some rudimentary facilities, a small clinic, dining hall and airport support.  The rest we’d have to bring or repair.

I’m sitting there looking at this operation knowing that I’m PCSing from this unit I’d trained. I also knew it was going into what was their first “real world” operation. I wanted to go, bad!  But I also knew that I had to be in DC by the end of August.

We have our initial meeting with the CJTF and he starts laying out the command structure.  I’m taking notes as fast as I can write.  He tells the Army Lt Col Battalion Commander he’s the Ground Forces Commander.  Lays out the Support Command structure and then starts on the JTF staff.  He looks at my replacement  (AF) who’s just been selected for O-6 and has been shadowing me for about a week and tells him he’s going to be the Chief of Staff.  Then looks at me and says “LtCol Juvat, you’re going to be my J-3.” (COO in civilian terms.)  I tell him about the PCS and he says “do you want to stay or go with us?”

“I want to go.”

“You’re in.”

Now, I’ve gotten most of the pre-PCS paper work done, but we’re now approaching that point where Physics is involved.  Physics being the actual moving of People and things.  To further complicate matters, my wife has already PCS’d to DC.  Fortunately, we had a live-in Nanny, who took care of my kids.  I deployed about 3 days later, while gone, she handled the movers, the clearing of quarters, the shipment of cars and the transportation of two unaccompanied minors. Talk about stepping up!  Kim, if you’re reading this, I still have a hard time believing you pulled it off.  And, even after all these years, thanks does not begin to express my gratitude.

The operation has two critical areas that are needed for success.  We have to restore facilities so they are fit for human habitation and we have to find enough Chinese linguists to communicate with the illegal aliens.  The first is constrained by time and the second by availability.

Wake had several buildings that had served as barracks in the 60s, so on arrival we selected the one in the best shape as the dorm for the illegals.  Best shape should really be least worse.  But the engineers got to work and by the time the boat arrived, the plumbing, lights and electricity all worked.  Bedding had been replaced.  It wasn’t the Hilton, but it beat the cargo hold of a fishing boat.  

We also had to come to terms with what we were going to do about the Enforcers.  They were a group of 10 men who were charged with bringing the illegals to the US.  The Coast Guard told us we would have to keep them separated from the rest of the group.  So we restored a separate facility and surrounded it with concertina.

To the best of my recollection, Top Left was the building housing the illegals, top right was for the enforcers and bottom was JTF operations.  

The boat and escort arrived.  We’re using the marina and a WWII landing craft to transport the illegals and their enforcers ashore.  The illegals are brought ashore first,  and given a quick in-processing, basically asked their name and given a quick medical check for anything serious. Then they were given a bus ride around to the other side of the island and checked in to the barracks.

This was high tide.  Low tide and the boat was 5 or 6 feet lower.
Source

We handled the enforcers a little differently, upon advice from the Coasties.  We’ve selected low tide for when this would happen as we didn’t want the enforcers to have a chance to scope out the arrival facilities.

The Coast Guard had kept them bound and on deck for essentially the entire trip.  Upon inspecting the fishing boat and hearing the stories of their actions, I’d have been tempted to troll for sharks with them.  I was not alone having similar temptations for them like that...by a long shot.

At low tide, the water level in the marina put the landing craft below the dock, so the occupants couldn’t see anything behind the edge.  We had a greeting party that took the names at the front.  That greeting party had been told at the first sign of resistance to move out of the way.  

Sure enough, we’d brought 3 or 4 of them up the ladder, hands bound in front, feet free when one of them starts to do the kung fu stuff.  The greeting party moved away, leaving the Bruce Lee wannabe face to face with a squad of infantry, bayonets ready in a cordon around the docking area.  Problem solved.

By now the illegals are in their dorm and have eaten.  The enforcers are in their area, have eaten and it’s getting dark.  Shortly after dark, I get a call saying we’ve got a fire in the enforcer’s area.  That was one of the scenarios we’d gamed out.  The security team had sheets of plywood and breached the concertina with them.  Again, with bayonets out, they herded the enforcers into one corner of the concertina away from the fire while another team put the mattress fire out.  

After the fire was out, we confiscated all the fire starters and cigarettes.  We also took away the remaining mattresses and put them back in their smoke damaged rooms.  It was quiet from then on out.

Things got pretty boring at that point.  The illegals were getting their three hots and were getting medical and dental care.  Their trip across the Pacific had been hellish.  Stuffed in a 500 square foot fish hold with a 55 gal drum for a toilet.  They’re only time on deck was when they were brought up to “entertain” the enforcers.  All of them were used that way.  Grandmothers, Grandfathers, Girls, Boys the entire group. 

Their medical condition reflected that abuse as did some of their dental problems. 

As I said, routine set in and the highlight of discussion was when was China going to accept them back.  It was about the 10th of August when the CJTF calls me in and says I should take the next 141 back.  

We had been redeploying the stuff and people we no longer needed and I now fell in that category.  I handed off the J-3 responsibilities to a Navy Commander who’d been in that shop.  She was very sharp and I wasn’t worried about the job not getting done.  As far as I can tell, she was the first female J-3.  Well done, Darah!

I flew in the 141 from Wake to Travis, hitched a ride from my Aunt to SFO and from there flew to Washington Reagan.  Met up with my wife and kids and the following Monday reported in at the Northern Virginia Penitentiary for wayward Fighter Pilots and began my sentence.

On August 12th, the Chinese relented and sent a DC-10 to pick up the illegals.  Transfer to the airliner went without a hitch.  And JTF Prompt Return was over.  

Later, when I transferred from the Air Staff to Current Ops on the Joint Staff, I worked next door to the Pacific section. The guy we had communicated with from Wake was still there.  I asked him what had happened to the Chinese when they had arrived in Beijing.  He said the illegals were sent home.  The enforcers were knelt down on the tarmac and shot in the back of the head.

Good.

A few months later, I received a memo saying that I was authorized to wear the Humanitarian Service Medal for participation in JTF Prompt Return.  I had a few rows of brightly colored cloth on my uniform when I retired.  That was the only one that gave me any satisfaction.

On a side note, if I ever decide to move to Rhode Island , I’m eligible for Veteran’s property tax relief.

* Standard Juvat Comment!

The Bloody Hill, Act I

The Battle of Bunker Hill
Howard Pyle (PD)

By the time Sergeant Andrews' company landed on Morton's Point, the afternoon was already well along. Andrews' shirt was drenched in sweat and it ran in rivulets down his face from under his bearskin cap. He had no idea where Captain Mims had got off to, once again it was Corporal Holloway and himself getting the men in line.

The grenadiers from the various regiments in the town had been grouped together, as they had been for the march to Concord. They were in the center of the force commanded by Sir Robert Pigot, off to the right Andrews saw that the light infantry, under the command of Sir William Howe, were preparing to advance down the northern side of the Charlestown peninsula.

The troops on the left flank of Pigot's line were taking fire from the town of Charlestown, a number of men were already down and Andrews wondered why they didn't clear Charlestown first before assaulting the hill before them.

"Damn it, Sir, we need to suppress those militia firing upon us from the town."

"Sir William has sent a dispatch to Admiral Graves, asking for him to shell the town. That should be happening at any moment ..."

As soon as the lieutenant dispatched from Sir William finished his explanation to Sir Robert, they both turned as they heard a loud bang from the direction of the harbor. HMS Somerset had a cloud of powder smoke floating up into her rigging from a single cannon shot.

"Oh, there! I believe they're firing carcass¹, Sir Robert."

Sir Robert looked where the lieutenant was pointing and as he did so, the projectile hit the roof of a building which was immediately engulfed in flame.

"Please give my regards to Sir William, Leftenant. As soon as the town is burning, we shall advance." Sir Robert Pigot was somewhat concerned that they were burning towns now, but the colonials had brought this upon themselves, hadn't they?

Seamus McTeague's hands were very sweaty, the day was hot and he was tired. They had been up all night preparing the earthwork which he now stood behind, waiting with his comrades as they watched the regulars landing on the shoreline below.

Though they'd been under cannon fire for a large part of the morning, it had been mostly ineffective. For the one man who'd been hit though, the British guns had been very effective. He hadn't seen that, only heard about it from a fellow from a neighboring town.

The cannons had stopped for a while. Only to start up again as one of the British ships standing just off the town of Charlestown had opened fire. Not with a full broadside but with only a few guns firing at the town. Once Charlestown was in flames, the cannon fire had stopped altogether. Now they waited.

At one point there had been a mild panic when one of the officers had realized that their left flank was completely open. The regulars could advance upon the narrow beach running along the northern side of the peninsula with no danger from the redoubt upon the hill. He had seen a group of men head that way, Connecticut men under an officer named Knowlton.

After those worthies had built up a crude wall, they were joined by two regiments of New Hampshiremen, which his sergeant had told him.

"Good lads, one of their commanders, Colonel John Stark, he's an old Indian fighter. I've heard good things about the other man as well, Colonel Reed. Both 'em saw action against the French and the Indians. They'll give the redcoats what for."

The Whites of Their Eyes
Ken Riley (PD)

"Here they come lads! Make every shot count!"

The men from New Hampshire saw the regulars getting ready to move forward, light infantry from the look of them. They were in a column, there wasn't room on the shingle for them to deploy into line. The New Hampshire men lined the crude wall, perhaps fifteen men across, not enough room for a long line, but as each rank fired, the next could come up and fire. As they were lined up rather deep behind the wall, the regulars would be shredded by musket fire.

Will Hensley, from Derry, New Hampshire, watched as the redcoats advanced, they weren't quite within effective musket range yet and they seemed not to notice the crude wall crossing the beach from the water to the embankment not far from the water's edge. Will was in the front line, ready to open fire.

He saw that the light infantry had quickened their pace, only to slow when one of their officers noticed the wall in front of them, that man had just raised his sword to shout a command when the New Hampshiremen received their own command ...

"FIRE!"

The light infantry were staggered, their front rank had fallen, nearly to a man, all dead or badly wounded. They fired a ragged volley, which went over the heads of the New Hampshiremen before taking another volley from the wall. This one sent them reeling back down the way they had come.

One of the men raised a cheer, only to be silenced by Colonel Stark.

"Save yer breath, lads. They'll be back, we've won the first round but this fight is just starting!"

The drums rolled, Captain Mims, who had just rejoined the company, reeking of alcohol, raised his sword and ordered, "Company will advance!"

As Sergeant Andrews stepped off, he glanced to his left, the men's alignment was flawless, it was if they were on the parade ground. Many of the lads were anxious for the chance to repay the colonials for Lexington and Concord and today was that day.

As the ground rose, Andrews realized that the nearly waist high hay would cause problems. Many of the men began to curse and stumble as the long grass caught the buttons of their gaiters. It also concealed the unevenness of the ground itself, Andrews nearly spraining his ankle as he stepped into a hole and nearly fell.

The drums thumped as the line slowed, dressed itself, then continued up the hill. The sweat was pouring down Andrews' face as they advanced, now not only his shirt but his waistcoat was drenched as well.

Ahead he could see the earthwork, the colonials were there, low to the ground, only their heads and their shoulders visible. Of course, their muskets could also be seen now as they got closer. Andrews drew in a deep breath, before he could shout to the men, a rippling fire exploded to their front.

Andrews heard the balls zipping and hissing through the air, he was splashed with blood and bone particles as the man beside him was hit in the head. He could hear the thumps of lead impacting flesh as he took another step, then stopped.

The men wavered, then fled back down the hill the way they had come, except for Captain Mims, the drunken fool was still advancing, sword held high, his back to his company as they abandoned him.

"Captain, come back, the men are fleeing!"

Mims stumbled, then turned around, the sword falling from his hand as the life fled from his body. His chest was bloody from the two musket balls which had driven into him. His body was dying but his brain refused to believe it.

"Sergeant, help me ..."

Mims stumbled again, this time falling to his knees. The colonials were firing again, this time individual shots as they fired at the fleeing soldiers. Andrews heard the whizz of a ball passing very near his head.

He knelt and caught his captain as the man fell face down into his arms.

"Sir?"

Andrews turned Mims face to the sun, no use, the captain was gone.

Andrews fled down the hill in shame, his company had fallen apart and he'd left his captain behind, dead on that bloody hill.

Seamus watched in amazement as the regulars broke and fled back down the hill. One of the men nearby started to raise a cheer but was silenced by his sergeant. Seamus couldn't believe his eyes. This was the most feared army in the world?

He reloaded his musket, feeling in his pouch, he realized that he didn't have much in the way of ammunition. He also felt some concern at his lack of a bayonet. He had nearly wet himself upon seeing the line of redcoats advancing in near perfect order, their firelocks shouldered, their bayonets fixed and gleaming in the hot sun.

But they had run, was the battle over now?

He heard the shouts from down the hill, down by the water more regulars were landing, those who had been repulsed were reforming. As the lines reformed and the drums began to thump again, Seamus felt incredibly thirsty.

"Sarge, is there any water?"

Sergeant Ishmael Thomas shook his head, "Somethin' else the officers seem to have forgot, lad. What little we had is gone. How are you fixed for powder and shot?"

"I don't know, Sarge, another fifteen shots perhaps, then I'll be needing more."

"Well, if it comes to that, take it from the dead."

Seamus looked around, there were no dead on their side. Looking to his front he saw numerous redcoated bodies sprawled some twenty yards down the slope. Some of them still moving, many of them unmoving, their glassy eyes staring, unseeing, into the deep blue of the Boston sky.

"From the regulars?" he asked incredulously.

"As the battle ripens laddie, we'll lose some of our boys, get it from them. If worse comes to worse, we'll go forward and get it from those lads down the slope. But if they come on like they just did once more, I doubt they'll have the stomach to keep at it. See 'em off one more time, and we might win this just like we won back in April."

Seamus looked towards the water again, out of the smoke from the burning town and the smoke from their last volley, the redcoats appeared once more. The lines were shorter but the redcoats were coming on as if they hadn't been hurt at all.

"Get ready, boys! Here they come again!"

¹ Carcass shot was a form of incendiary. Very flammable, they would break open upon impact, dousing the surroundings with the burning material from the shell itself. Typically composed of a mixture of saltpeter, sulfur, rosin, sulfide of antimony, tallow and turpentine.

FWIW: On this date in 2012, I posted for the first time here on the Chant. It's been fourteen interesting years. I pray I can continue for at least another fourteen. God willing ...

Between Concord and Breed's Hill ...

Source

Sergeant Andrews sat up, gasping. A bad dream lingered, musket smoke in the trees, blood on the road, his friends dying all around him, a young beautiful woman her, arms soaked in blood to the elbows, offering him bread ...

"Jaysus!"

Corporal Holloway stirred beside him. Andrews looked over at his friend, saying a silent prayer of thanks that Tom had made it through. Holloway, his thick hair tousled and filthy with dirt and powder smoke, opened his eyes.

"Dreaming again, Sarge?"

"Aye."

Andrews stood up, stretching, he wasn't as young as he used to be, getting close to 50 as near as he could reckon.

He'd made it through Braddock's campaign in '55, had been nearby when General Braddock's corpse had been buried in secret, no one wanting the savages of the forest to dig him up and desecrate the body. He'd been a young man standing on the Plains of Abraham in '59, he'd seen the corpse of General Wolfe carried from the field. In all, he'd seen too much.

The horror of the march back from Concord was nothing like that on the Monongahela, but somehow worse. There it had been natives and Frenchmen killing them, now it was their fellow Englishmen. For Andrews considered them so, he'd been in America for a long time now, they dressed like Englishmen, for the most part, and they talked like Englishmen. It was akin to being attacked by a member of the family.

"Sarge?"

Rolling his head from side to side, getting the kinks out of his neck and back, he looked at Holloway, "You're awfully chatty this morning."

"Did yesterday really happen, Allen?"

"Yeah, Tommy, it did, it happened. I wonder what's next?"

Seamus McTeague sat at the kitchen table, his grandmother had prepared a meal for him. He had spent the night of the 19th in the fields close to Boston, he had seen the mighty British Army stagger back to the protection of the guns of the Royal Navy, his company had pursued no further.

Early on the morning of the 20th he and his mates had been roused and sent back towards Lexington. The locals were recovering their dead for burial in their churchyards, the fallen redcoats were buried in pits beside the road, one to four men in each hole.

It was as if the British column, in its flight from Concord had shed men like a dog sheds fur in the spring. A dead man here, two there, a lot of wounded as well. The locals treated the wounded soldiers no differently than they treated their own wounded. Though the militiamen tended to get treated first.

His grandfather wasn't speaking to him, he'd told the old man about witnessing his father's death, Angus had stormed off, he needed to see that for himself. Upon his return he had looked once at his grandson, then turned away, his face pale.

"I didn't kill him, Gran, why's he so angry at me?"

"It's not you he's mad at, Seamus. But your Da' was the last of your Gran'da's sons, your uncles died when they were but wee lads, and you're an only child. With your Da' gone, and this war starting, your Gran'da thinks it's the end of his line. He's not angry so much as sad. And not a bit terrified as well."

Seamus nodded, then said, "I'm to report back to my company tomorrow, Friday I guess."

"You guess?"

"Yeah, my day's are all jumbled up now, happens when you don't sleep."

"Aye, now finish up your food, go wash your face and hands then it's off to bed wi' ye."

"Aye, Gran. I will."

More than a month had passed, it was now late May. Reinforcements had arrived to bring British strength in and around Boston up to around 6,000 men. But the militia had massed outside Boston, rumor had it that there were near 20,000 militiamen out there. The town was effectively under siege, but more due to inaction on the British side than anything else.

Three new generals had arrived with the reinforcements, Clinton, Howe, and Burgoyne. They were itching to break out of Boston and teach the colonials a lesson. As General Burgoyne had allegedly said, "We need room to stretch out, we need to push these rabble away from the city."

Andrews shook his head as his new captain related that to him, "Sir, those lads out there may not dress as nice as us, may not fight in neat lines like us, but they do know how to fight. We'd have a chance if they stayed out in the open, but behind a wall, or a tree, they're tough to kill."

Captain Roderick Mims laughed, "Ah Sergeant, I fear you've been too long here in the colonies. Once we get organized and get everyone healthy after that dreadful sea voyage, then we shall scatter the colonials to the four winds."

Andrews sighed, then nodded, "Whatever you say, Sir. I'm just a simple sergeant."

Mims smirked, "Quite."

Back at the bivouac he'd related his conversation with their new commander to Holloway.

"Howe? William Howe? Brother of Admiral Howe?" Holloway had asked.

"The very same, brother to George Howe as well."

"Don't know the man."

"Died in the last war, killed near Ticonderoga. The best of the three brothers I always heard, now we'll never know."

The British Army in Boston awakened on the morning of the 17th of June to discover that the colonists surrounding the town had been busy. They had raised an earthwork on Breed's Hill across the Charles River next to Charlestown.

Though General Clinton had noticed the works being prepared in the night, he couldn't convince either General Gage or General Howe to prepare an immediate attack for when the sun rose.

One British ship, the Lively had opened fire on the works around 4:00 AM, but an angry Admiral Graves, commanding the naval forces around Boston, had told them to cease fire. He hadn't ordered such a thing, desist immediately he had signaled.

General Gage, after assessing the situation, countermanded Admiral Graves and had every gun he could bring to bear, some 128 cannon, open fire on the colonial earthwork. Orders went out to muster the troops, they would go in shortly.

As they marched to the waterfront, Corporal Holloway expressed the opinion that the last time they'd taken a boat out of Boston, the colonials had torn them to red ribbons. Now they were dug in on a hill above them.

"I don't like this, Sarge."

"Neither do I, Tommy, but we took the King's shilling and it's time to pay the piper, so to speak."

"At least we're bombarding the bastards first." Holloway remarked.

Andrews didn't have the heart to point out that much of the gunfire was having no effect on the works, the range was either too long, or the elevation of the hill wouldn't let the guns elevate high enough to hit the works up there.

But like his friend, Sergeant Allen Andrews of His Britannic Majesty's grenadiers also had a bad feeling about this. A scant two months from the battles around Concord and Lexington and they were about to have another go at the colonials.

He remembered telling his captain how tough the colonials were with cover to their front. He shuddered at the thought of it.

Time to say a little prayer he thought, as the sailors began pulling on their oars to take them over to Charlestown neck. He noticed as well that the heat was building.

It's going to be a hot day, Sergeant Andrews thought, in more ways than one.