George Washington Zombie Slayer (20 page)

In reality,
Cornwallis decided to split his forces, sending General Knyphausen and a large contingent of zombie soldiers to make just the frontal assault that Washington expected, inducing Washington to leave the rear and flanks of the Continental Army exposed.

British General Howe, at the orders of Cornwallis, execute
d a secret flanking maneuver, after over ten miles of march, crossing well north of Washington’s position and circling back, with the intent of attacking from above and behind Washington’s line of defense.

British forces under Knyphausen began attacking Washington in the frontal assault he hoped for, with Redcoats and zombie
s making a grand demonstration of a direct attack. Cries of “aim for the head,” and “don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes” echoed across the defensive lines of the Continental Army. Shooting was accurate and deadly with hundreds of British soldiers and zombies slain. For minutes and then hours, the British pressed across Brandywine Creek and were repelled. But something did not feel right to the intuitive Washington.

During the
creek side assault, Washington had been receiving repeated reports of large British troop movements to his north, reports Washington largely dismissed. But as the day wore on, the major assault at Brandywine never materialized, and later hearing cannon fire from the north, Washington knew something was up.

Washington and his aide Reebock found a
n aged, local farmer by the name of Joseph Brown, and requested that he personally guide the two men on the quickest route to the sound of the northern cannon fire.

“I decline to participate,” the smug old Brown told the two men. “I still have
the sense that the Good Lord give me that, whenceupon I hear cannon fire, I goest the OTHER way.”

“It is of critical importance,” Washington implored the old farmer, “that we reach the site of the battle as quickly as possible.”

“As I say,” Brown stubbornly replied. “I decline to participate.”

“General Washington?” Reebock asked his
commander. “May I make a more forthright request for assistance?”

“By all means,” General Washington replied.

Reebock drew his sword in a swift motion and held the blade firmly against farmer Brown’s neck.

“I will slit your
god-damn snapping-turtle throat, unless you help us,” Reebock said forcefully.  “And I ain’t hardly kiddin neither, you grouchy ol’ fuck.” And with the sharp blade of this angry black man’s sword already drawing a slight flow of blood from the pressure against his neck, Joseph Brown experienced a sudden and enthusiastic burst of American patriotism.

“I have reconsidered,” Brown said truthfully. “And it would be my pleasure to guide General Washington northward by the most expedient route.”
              “Very well, then,” Reebock replied while sheathing his sword. “Lead on.”

The three men mounted their own horses, with farmer Brown taking the lead. “I’m gonna take us there the fastest way I knows. It’ll be up to you and yours to keep up.”

Brown spurred his horse, causing it to leap forward and accelerate like a rocket. Washington and Reebock followed closely behind, riding faster and faster, at nearly impossible speeds. Brown rode like a demon possessed, jumping small creeks and streams, fences and bushes, boulders and fallen trees. For a mile they rode, then two, then three!

“Farmer Brown may snarl
like a snapping turtle,” Washington shouted to Reebock over the hoofbeats of their horses. “But he rides his horse like a whirlwind!”

“Jeezus Christ,
mon,” Reebock exclaimed, “but I didn’t know horses could gallop dis fast! I can’t hardly keep my ass in dis saddle!”

“Ride onward!”
George Washing shouted excitedly to Brown while galloping at full speed right behind him. “Ride on, you crazy old son of a bitch, ride on! Yeee-hahhh!”

In the fourth mile, Brown pulled his horse to a stop, and wheeled about as Washington and Reebock dismounted.
Cannon fire and explosions raged all about them. “You’re here,” Brown said simply. “And you call ME crazy!” Brown said looking about at the carnage of explosions and flying cannonballs. “And now I shall take my leave of thee, and good luck, General,” Brown added.

“With due thanks,” replied Washington as Brown ro
de off.
              Washington stood on a rock outcropping about two hundred yards from where the British artillery continued to fire at the scattered American scouts and troops. He looked through his spyglass at the approaching British soldiers and zombies.

“Is it bad, mon?” Reebock asked.

“Well,” Washington replied. “We are completely and entirely fucked.”

“Dat bad?”
Reebock asked.

“Yes, it’s t
hat bad, or worse,” Washington said honestly. “We have been flanked. Our cause is hopelessly lost.”

From his position, Washington could see that
Cornwallis and Howe had out foxed him once again. Through his telescope, Washington could see well over six thousand British Redcoats and zombies closing in upon his unguarded flank.  And he did not have the time to stop them. There was nothing to be done. The Continental Army would be destroyed.

Just then, from a patch of shrubs ahead, emerged a picket line of ten zombi
e soldiers, which came right at Washington and Reebok, who sprang into action. The General had his sword unsheathed and slicing forward in a second, beheaded two of the zombies instantly. Reebock thrust his sword through the skull of a third creature just as Washington spun his sword about, cleaving the heads of two more zombies in half with a single stroke.

Reebock struggled to kill one creature, missing its head and impaling the neck of the zombie on his blade as it snarled and bit at him. Washington killed this zombie, and two more, slashing with lightning speed. Reebock drew a long dagger and plun
ged it into the eye of another zombie, just as Washington beheaded the last of the creatures.

Both men paused a moment to
catch their breath amid the heap of motionless zombie corpses.

“
You are a truly a kick-ass zombie slayer!” Reebock stated. “What do we do now?”

“Zombie slaying is not enough,” Washington admitted. “I suppose once the fighting is done,” Washington said dejectedly, “I shall have to surrender to Cornwallis and Howe.”

Washington grabbed his telescopic spyglass and pointed it once again towards the approaching British forces of General Cornwallis. But wh
at he now saw was beyond belief. As Washington watched, the cannon fire slackened, and then ceased. And then came a sight that made General George Washington’s heart leap for joy. The fucking British were stopping the attack for tea and a picnic lunch! It was an incredible, fantastical stroke of good fortune!

Washington had to look again to make sure.
And again. But at each glance, the sight remained the same. The British officers were directing the soldiers to cease their advance.  Washington could see the British officers unrolling picnic blankets across the grassy hillsides, and collecting water in tea kettles from the small stream at the base of the hill they occupied.

The British zombie soldiers were also stopped by bugle command and held in reserve at the base of the hillside. The attack, which just moments ago was poised to
outflank and demolish the entire Continental Army, was suspended to allow the British to enjoy their 4PM tea time.

“Can you believe these
clueless, arrogant, tea-slurping cocksuckers?” George Washington exclaimed. “They had but to advance to destroy our entire army, and instead they stop for a tea and a picnic lunch.”

“
Have they given us a chance?” Reebock asked hotly.

“Yes, indeed!” Washington exclaimed as he scribbled notes on a small piece of paper with a tiny pencil. “If we move quickly,” he added, handing Reebock the notes. “Take these to company Commanders and have them redeploy 80% of troops to this new location. I will remain here to see to troop and artillery placements.”

“Yes, Sir,” Reebock said, jumping back on his horse.

“And Reebock,” Wa
shington implored his former slave. “Hurry!”

“I’ll be back in a flash, mon,” Reebock said as he spurred his horse and rode away.

As Reebock rode off, the few hundred American scouts and pickets that were already assigned here rallied to George Washington, who stationed them in a defensive line about 300 yards from where the British now picnicked. This handful of men would never stop thousands of British, but if reinforcements could be brought up in time, there was still hope.

Anxious moments passed as Washington waited for reinforcements to arrive, but the
British picnicked on, and within 20 minutes, regiment after regiment of fresh, American troops poured in behind Washington, who placed them as best he could along the northern perimeter of his position.

After finishing his third jelly donut with a final sip of Earl Grey, Cornwallis gave the order for the
British to restart their advance. The bugles blew and zombie and living soldier alike advanced forward to find several thousand Continental Army soldiers now positioned at the crest of the wooded hill before them.

Cornwallis was chagrined.
How could these Americans have repositioned thousands of troops in the time it took for a picnic lunch and tea? It was inconceivable! Cornwallis nonetheless ordered the British to continue the assault.

The
newly positioned Americans fought bravely but were still seriously outnumbered. British zombie troops poured forward, forcing the Americans to spend precious ammunition and powder. Washington noticed that his own men were firing too soon, often hitting the zombie soldiers in the chest or arms or legs, to no effect. As such, it would take two of three shots to fell one zombie, until it was finally shot in the head.

The American lines broke but were quickly reformed several hundred yards back. That newly r
eformed line broke again, but was again reformed. The zombies could push the Americans back, but the Continental Army soldiers, now experienced fighters, would withdraw, and reform their lines of defense.

But it was a bad spot for the Americans all around. Back at Bran
dywine Creek, Knyphausen intensified his own attack and began pushing against the under manned American defenses, until the soldiers remaining there were forced to withdraw. The American troops with Washington in the northern part of the battlefield could now see their own comrades withdrawing from Brandywine Creek, and were forced to join their friends in retreat.

As nightfall approached, Washington’s army withdrew in good order against the ferocious onslaught of the British and the relentless zombie regiments thrown against them.

As evening arrived, the British, short of supplies and ammunition, and with soldiers exhausted from two days marching and fighting, decided against the continued attack of Washington’s Army.  Pursuit and extended battle were simply not practicable at this time.

The Battle of Brandywine was certainly not a British loss, but then again
, neither was it a British win. The Americans were beaten… but not defeated. Washington lived to fight on, as did the Continental Army.  Cornwallis, fucktard that he was, had once again missed a golden opportunity to crush the American rebellion and end the conflict entirely.

In a battle that could have resulted in the complete annihilation of the Continental Army, Washington lost only 300 killed and 600 wounded, with an additional 400 captured. Cornwallis lost less, roughly 600 killed or wounded. And as he held possession of the field at the end of the battle, Cornwallis was deemed the
technical winner of the Battle of Brandywine.

But who the fuck cared? Cornwallis held a hill and a creek and a ten mile patch of land that no
one gave two shits about. He failed yet again to defeat Washington and stop the rebellion. Instead of savoring the sweet strawberry sundae of victory, Cornwallis had to suck the stale shitsicle of another missed opportunity.

Now, the Revolutionary War would continue.

          
Chapter 51

George Washington and the Continental Army

at Valley Forge

September 177
7 closed out with American Generals Horatio Gates and Benedict Arnold fighting in the Battle of Saratoga against British General Burgoyne. It was a battle that accomplished little, except for a few hundred more soldiers on both sides being killed or wounded. Washington and the army fought a minor battle at White Marsh in December and the commander knew it was time to find a suitable winter encampment.

With the colder weather fast approaching, Washington withdrew the main body of his troops to winter quarters in a place called Valley Forge, Pennsylvania
, roughly 20 miles north and west of Philadelphia. It was a winter that would test the courage, determination and resolve of all who remained encamped there.

Valley Forge was a heavily wooded area, which provided vast numbers of trees for the construction of log cabins
which would be used to house Washington’s soldiers. By February 1778, there were nearly 2000 small cabins constructed across the encampment. But adequate shelter was the least of their problems.

The real issue was the lack of food, clothing and supplies that always seemed to follow the Continental Army like a bad stink follows a hobo in summertime. There were never adequate supplies provided to the Continental Army,
and the rank and file soldiers suffered accordingly.

Perhaps as many as 2000
of Washington’s troops didn’t even have shoes and were forced to stand barefoot guard duty in the muddy, ice covered pathways and roads that crisscrossed the camp. The amputation of frostbitten toes was becoming commonplace and infection, illness and disease were ever-present. It was during this period of harsh suffering that two terms never before used became part of the American vocabulary.

It was a medical
reality that at several points during the winter, it became so cold that many soldiers on guard duty actually had their testicles frozen solid and turn blue from the cold. It was from this experience that the phrase “blue balls” was coined, although it later acquired a different meaning. Once frozen solid and blue, sad soldiers had no choice but to “snap off” their own frozen nutsacks and discard them. Colonial America could sometimes be a cruel and demanding homeland.

Soldiers who failed to remove and discard their “blue balls” had the dead testicular tissue later thaw out and become
gangrenous and “blackballed.” Their now useless nutsacks literally turned black. These soldiers faced excruciatingly painful, life-threatening infections and were literally “blackballed” from active military service until they healed or, in most cases, died.

Soldiers grew sick by the hundreds and then by the thousands, bed bound and unfit for duty.  E
ven Washington’s ever-shitting son, John, grew sick with severe constipation.

A
nimals in Valley Forge also fared poorly as hundreds of horses either starved or froze to death. Horses were later eaten, along with any chickens, cows and pigs that could be scavenged or foraged from the local countryside. Sadly, the army even attempted to eat its canine mascot, a terrier they had named Lord Buster Farnsworth, before the pooch smartly hid in the woods.

There were also instances of great bravery and courage at Valley Forge. During one powerful winter storm, at about midnight, Washington could hear the distinct sound of an axe chopping wood above the howlin
g winter wind. And this went on for over an hour. Although everyone in camp was short of firewood, Washington was astonished that any soldier would venture out in this bitterly cold snowstorm to chop wood.

Washington eventually put on his great blue wool coat and walked over to the woodpile where, to his astonishment, he found a single, seven year old boy chopping wood. The tall, lean
lad was amazing with his axe, swinging with bold clean strokes and chopping wood faster than most grown men. An enormous pile of freshly chopped wood grew next to the lad and soon stood higher than the boy himself.

“I think that’s enough wood for now,” Washington said as he approached the boy, placing his own scarf around the boy’s neck. “You have done a great service to your country.”

“Thank you, General,” the shivering boy said softly, astonished to be speaking with this great and famous general. The boy grabbed an armful of wood to carry back to his own tent and turned to leave when Washington spoke again.

“What is your name, son?”

“My name is Abraham,” the young boy replied. “Abraham Lincoln, General.”

Washington smiled as the tall young lad
ambled back to his own tent carrying a huge armful of wood. And in many years to come, that tall, seven year old lad would go on to become the sixteenth President of the United States. In this midnight moment at Valley Forge, unknown to most historians, two of America’s greatest Presidents met each other before either had ever served as the elected leader of our great republic.

Washington was also blessed with help from his wife during this difficult time.
Martha Washington made the arduous trip from Mount Vernon to Valley Forge and went immediately to work cooking and doing laundry. She cared for the sick and wounded and even knitted socks that were distributed to thankful soldiers, most of whom applied them quickly and eagerly to their frosty penises.

A dejected Washington wrote that “
unless some great and capital change suddenly takes place, this Army must inevitably...starve, dissolve, or disperse.”  Soldiers deserted by the hundreds, and later by the thousands. Slowly but surely, George Washington’s Continental Army was disintegrating before his eyes. 

Letter after to letter to Congress went unacted upon, until at last, in January of 1778, several Congressional representatives visited the
Valley Forge camp to inspect personally the deplorable and abhorrent conditions. They were shocked and amazed that any men could endure such want and privation.

By February, Congressional intervention secured fun
ding and supplies flowed freely to the Continental Army. But sadly, help had arrived too late. Over 2500 soldiers had perished at Valley Forge. Thousands more were sick and unfit for duty. Many thousands more had deserted, intending to take their chances on the road rather than await the death-lottery that Valley Forge had become.

Astonishingly, although Washington had arrived he
re in December of 1777 with about 10,000 soldiers, he now had only a meager 11 soldiers fit for duty. Only 11. This meant that Cornwallis had more soldiers guarding his baggage train than George Washington had in his entire army. It meant that Jesus Christ actually had more apostles than Washington had active soldiers.  Now, it seemed, there was no hope for American freedom.