When the Yanks came to Mexico

A shell exploded so close to Lt. Marus Kaplan, the blast shook him and his men to their bones. His ears rang with a deafening echo.

“Damn it all!” he shouted, but the words sounded distant. He very nearly made a joke about going deaf, until he looked to the men behind him in the earthworks. Fear paled the faces of the stunned men. Despite the continued ringing, Kaplan put on the straightest face he could muster.

“Those Mexican boys got nothing on you, lads!” he shouted instead of the jest.

Several of the nearest men let out a cry of determination.

“We’ve got them surrounded, and General Taylor is tightening the noose as we speak!”

Kaplan knew the words were mostly true. The U.S. forces under Major General Zachary Taylor had indeed managed to outflank the Mexican troops in the city of Monterrey, but they’d only managed to partially cut off the main enemy force. That meant there was still a small, and desperate, defense standing against them.

Of course, it wasn’t up to Taylor to tighten the noose. Kaplan knew it didn’t matter much who the commander of this army was. The victory depended entirely on the men in the earthworks.

Men in dirty and ragged Army uniforms formed up along the trench, ready to fight when the word came down. Kaplan knew he was just as dirty and worn down, but he did his best to project the strength needed in every officer. In the back of his mind, he wondered how he looked with the dark red beard he was sporting. He’d never let it grow before coming to Mexico.

Regardless of the conditions, Kaplan and his men had a job to do.

On his order, Kaplan’s men returned fire from their trench, unleashing a volley into the enemy forces dug in across multiple buildings and streets of the burnt-out city.

“Keep the fire on them!” he cried. “We hold them here. We have to hold this position, and keep them here!”

The men yelled a war-cry in agreement.

“Pour on the fire!” Kaplan ordered. “We will fight here until they break! Or Hell freezes over!”

Despite the young officer’s strong words, victory proved difficult. After several days of intense fighting, Monterrey, and the Mexican forces holding it, still refused to fall without a brutal fight. The lingering pain in Lt. Kaplan’s ears proved as much.

The U.S. Army’s drive to cut off the main enemy force from supply or retreat had hit a stonewall. And in the ensuing combat, the two flanks of the American force now found themselves trying desperately to connect over hostile territory.

A musket ball streaked past Kaplan’s head with a terrifying pop. He instinctively ducked – despite knowing if it had been on target, he’d already be dead. One of his men did scream and collapse as another bullet found it’s mark.

Thanks to his constant drilling, several men grabbed the wounded soldier and carried him to behind the line, while the rest were already reloading their firearms in preparation of another volley.

“Sir, this is my final round!” a soldier near Kaplan exclaimed. Several others echoed the problem.

“Damn it all…” Lt. Kaplan swore in a whisper. In a louder voice, he answered the men. “Load your weapon, and make every shot count! Then we’ll worry about getting more ammunition.”

Dutifully, the man did as ordered, but that didn’t help the Lieutenant’s peace of mind. In just a few minutes, they’d be completely out of ammo, smack in the middle of enemy territory.

What the hell am I going to do? Kaplan thought. We need help.

As if summoned by magic, another U.S. officer rushed up to the position on horseback. The rider was wearing the markings of a fellow Lieutenant. But this wasn’t just another officer. For the first time all day, Kaplan smiled.

“Sam,” Kaplan said with a salute.

“Marus,” his friend replied in earnest. “There are multiple companies along the line running low on ammunition.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that situation, sir,” Kaplan said with a smirk.

Sam nodded with a gruff sound. “Of course. How bad are your men?” When he learned just how scant their arms were, the young man continued. “Well, I know General Worth’s forces across the city should be well-supplied, with a surplus we could make use of.”

Several Mexican muskets fired at them from a nearby building.

“Easier said than done, Sam,” Kaplan said. He stared across the enemy-held territory to the U.S. forces on the other side. “I suppose we could send someone back the long way around the city.”

“That would take too long.” Sam looked out to their distant countrymen.

The multiple blocks dividing them seemed impossible to cross without an army. “How in the hell would you expect a messenger to make that journey?”

Now it was Sam’s turn to smirk. “A messenger?” he cried in mock disappointment. “No, this request I only trust myself to deliver.”

“Wait… say that again?” Kaplan asked, but Sam didn’t bother to answer.

The other Lieutenant studied the ruined No Man’s Land. Ahead was a bombed-out street past rows of buildings filled with enemy soldiers. “I don’t think I will,” Sam said. Without another word, he drove the horse onward in an outright gallop.

“Lieutenant!” Kaplan shouted as the man rode out into the city. “Sam! Sam, what the hell are you doing?” His friend didn’t hesitate for a moment. Damn it… Kaplan turned to his men. “Give the Lieutenant some covering fire!” he shouted. “Aim at the buildings. Make those bastards duck for cover!”

The soldiers enthusiastically answered the order, and fired.

With the fire support on his back, Sam rode forward through Monterrey. In a moment of incredible horsemanship, Sam kicked both legs over the saddle, and hung low on the side of the horse away from the enemy as the animal rushed forward.

“My God…” Lt. Kaplan whispered at the sight.

“That man is mad!” a soldier Kaplan knew as Brooks exclaimed.

Through firing and smoke, Sam rode steadily all the way to the friendly forces on the opposite side of the battlefield.

“Yes, he is,” the officer said. “But it seems to have worked… whatever it is he’s planning to do.”

“Whatever madness it is, I hope it lasts!” Brooks added.

After Sam’s charge across the battlefield, the fighting returned to the normal firing between American earthwork and Mexican building. Most of the Yankees were soon out of rounds completely, and Kaplan could only pray the enemy wouldn’t figure it out soon.

Then, in a sight as mad the first, Sam rode back.

Once again, leaning completely on the protected side of his horse, the young Lieutenant rode through the crater-filled ruins. Now he had several large bags flung over his shoulder, and more on the saddle. The baggage didn’t seem to bother his precarious position, nor the horse’s.

As the animal leapt over the defenses into Kaplan’s position, the American men let out a cheer. Sam flew off his horse with the biggest smile.

“What the hell did you do?” Kaplan asked.

Sam opened the bags, revealing the desperately needed ammunition. Some were filled with buck and balls, while another was filled with percussion caps for the muskets.

“I also passed along detailed explanation of our position, and our situation,” Sam said. “General Worth and General Taylor aim to get us the assistance we need, and cut off the enemy once and for all.”

Lt. Kaplan could only shake his head in amazement. “It’s no mystery why the boys call you Uncle Sam,” he exclaimed. “You’re trying to win this war all by yourself!”

***

The prediction proved to be remarkably on point in the coming days. With the troops rearmed, and the Generals with a better understanding of the tactical situation, the Americans closed the noose around Monterrey. Surrounded and battered to exhaustion, the Mexican officers surrendered the city in exchange for being allowed to withdraw their forces further south.

“It has been a great victory,” the regiment commander exclaimed to Kaplan and the unit officers after word of the surrender came down. “The greatest American battle since Andrew Jackson drove the Redcoats into the sea at New Orleans!”

The men cheered and toasted to Yankee bravery and determination.

Kaplan could only imagine the celebrations across the United States, with over-the-top stories of glory and honor repeated in countless newspapers. I wonder how large the crowds cheering in the streets will be?

But here at the front, Kaplan soon felt rather underwhelmed by the claims of conquest. The disputed Texas border had been settled, that was true. And a foothold to open the rest of northern Mexico to invasion, including Alta California and Nuevo Mexico, had been secured.

But it had all seemed so… one-sided. Dare he even think the word… ‘easy.’ Only the lack of ammunition had challenged them.

When he later said as much at the regiment office, the Colonel let out a crackling laugh.

“Lieutenant, no soldier should wish for a war to be more difficult and dangerous,” the wrinkled old bulldog said. “This war has a long way to go, and we should pray to the Lord God for as a quick and effortless a victory as possible.”

“Of course, sir,” Kaplan quickly responded. “That was foolish of me to say.” Despite the undeniable wisdom of the man’s words, Kaplan still suffered from an unexplained sense of dissatisfaction.

The dilemma still hung heavily on his mind when he left the Colonel’s office, but no answer for the melancholy came to him. Instead, a different sort of message arrived in the coming days. This was not, however, a song from an angel, but a note from a U.S. carrier.

“A summons?” Kaplan looked at the man questioningly. “For me?”

“Yes sir,” the carrier answered with a sharp salute. “You’ve been personally summoned to General Scott’s headquarters, to receive a new assignment.” He handed the document to Kaplan.

“General Scott? The General Scott?” In a rush, he opened the order and read it’s contents.

He read them a second time, just to make sure.

The carrier was correct. The orders called for First Lt. Marus Kaplan to meet with General Scott for a mission of vital importance. After dismissing the messenger, Kaplan rushed to his Colonel to confirm everything.

The old commander sighed heavily when he read the orders. He returned them with a sad expression.

“I certainly won’t argue with the Commanding General. If he needs you, then you must answer the call.” He handed the orders back.

“Yes, sir,” Kaplan said. A thrill shot through him when he agreed. This is what he was waiting for. His great melancholy would certainly end here. Whatever cause needed his attention would be accomplished. After several heartfelt goodbyes, he left the men he’d fought beside and made his way to the Texan coast.

The U.S. Army headquarters was located in a large, beautiful townhouse near the sea. Several artillery pieces stood at the ready around the property. The towering white columns along the great porch draped in the Stars and Stripes made an impressive view as Lt. Kaplan rode up.

“Wow…” he said.

“It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?”

“It really is–” Kaplan began. His response was cut short when he saw the horseman next to him was none other than Sam, the hero of Monterrey. “What are you doing here?” Kaplan grabbed the fellow officer’s outstretched hand with a firm grip.

“I’ve been summoned by General Scott,” Sam said.

“Strange… so was I…” Kaplan pointed out.

The men shared an inquisitive glance. It was strange for two officers to receive such a summon, especially when it pulled them away from their men so soon before a new major campaign.

After General Taylor’s great victory in northern Mexico, the Army was preparing to invade the southern region of the country, striking at Mexico City itself. Adding to the gravitas of the upcoming campaign, General-in-Chief Winfield Scott had come down from on high in Washington to personally lead the operation.

The implication of their summoning, and who was behind it, was not lost on either man.

“I’d rather be with my men,” Sam said as they dismounted. Kaplan enthusiastically agreed. Whatever reason they’d been called away, it surely wasn’t as important as the great upcoming invasion.

Despite the reluctance, they did as the ordered. They would report for duty.

There was a buzz of activity through the entire building. Professional and enlisted men ran through the halls and busy rooms. Marus caught snippets of conversations about fuel for the ships, logistics for supplies, ammunition, and winter uniforms, the possible location of Santa Anna's army, and whether the cavalry's horses had enough feed. Everything the general staff of an army needed to know.

It was overwhelming.

The two Lieutenants were led through this organized chaos to an office in the back of the house. Inside, behind a desk covered with documents, sat Winfield Scott, Commanding General of the United States Army. He rose when he finally looked up from the current report and discovered the young men.

"Ah, I appreciate the timely arrival, gentlemen," Scott said.

"Of course, sir," Sam said with a salute.

Marus echoed the sentiment. He couldn't help but notice that despite the hectic nature of the Headquarters, the General's uniform was immaculate. It was perfectly pressed and impressively sharp-looking. He quickly stifled a laugh. General 'Old Fuss and Feathers' was certainly living up to his nickname.

"Now, we must not waste a moment," General Scott said. He grabbed a folder of papers and motioned to a man standing in the adjacent room. "Captain, please come in here, and close the door behind you."

An officer some years older than Marus obeyed the order. He didn't recognize the man, but Sam seemed to, given how he straighten up even more than when he’d addressed the General. Marus could see that the Captain had an undeniably aristocratic air about him.

Certainly a southerner, he guessed. Perhaps a plantation owner?

When the door shut, the noise of the mad rush outside died out, leaving just the four men in the quiet office. The silence was somehow even more tense.

General Scott opened the report and read through it. He sighed loudly.

“I find myself in an unfortunate – and if I’m being honest, a troublesome – predicament,” the General said. “On the eve of a campaign that will decide this war for all time, I cannot stand distractions.” He closed the report with noticeable frustration. “But here we are. I pray you men can bring this… issue to a quick and conclusive solution.”

It seemed like Old Fuss and Feathers was stalling, which didn’t seem like the commander Marus Kaplan had heard about.

“Anything you need, sir,” Sam replied without hesitation.

“Good,” General Scott said. “It seems a Texan officer, Colonel Peter Bell, has lost a slave.”

“Sir?” Marus asked.

“He’s lost a slave,” Scott continued. “To be blunt, a servant of his was tempted to make a run toward Mexican-controlled territory. It seems he decided to take the chance. The slave is now somewhere between the armies, and Colonel Bell is demanding we locate the slave and return him.”

Marus felt a stone drop in his stomach.

“What does this have to do with us… uh, sir?”

“I’m tasking you two men to track down this runaway, capture him alive, and return him to Colonel Bell,” General Scott answered.

Both Lieutenants voiced their disagreement in the same breath.

“Gentleman!” the high-born Captain said in a stern voice. “If you please,” he added more softly.

"Thank you," Scott said.

"General," Marus said, now in calmer tone, "is this truly something worth our efforts? As you said, we're on the eve of the most important campaign of the war. Surely, we are needed with the army. With our men."

It sounds like an enormous waste of our time, he wanted to add. The runaway was probably long gone. But Marus thought it wise to keep that part to himself.

“And sir..." Sam spoke up. “I don't... feel I am the right man for this assignment. I have reservations about the institution of slavery. My own father is a staunch Abolitionist.”

The remark made Marus give his friend a surprised look. The moral argument hadn't even occurred to him. He simply saw the whole situation as a logistical waste. But morally?

“This is not about the moral debate, Lieutenant,” General Scott sighed. “I'm not comfortable with it either, but this is the situation we are in.” He sat down with a grunt, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want you men to listen carefully here.” He spoke so softly, both men had to lean in closer to hear.

“The Missouri Compromise has been definitively proven not to be as steady as we would all care to believe,” Scott said. “Texas has joined the Union as a fully Slave-holding state, and if we start this relationship with the people of our newest state in a negative way, it could make things very difficult across the South. And during a time of war, possibly even dangerous.”

His Chief-of-Staff nodded in solemn agreement.

Marus couldn’t argue with the terrible logic of it.

“But General, surly there are other men whose sympathies more align with Colonel Bell’s,” Sam argued. “I know several southern officers who would…”

A sharp stare from Scott stopped the conversation dead. “I have assigned this task to you two,” he said in a stern growl. “The Captain will provide you with any additional information you require.” Scott waved them all out of his office with growing discomfort.

The lieutenants both gave him a salute, and followed the Captain out. As the office door closed behind them, Sam leaned over to Marus.

“I've heard General Scott is adamantly anti-slavery, despite being from Virginia.”

"Ah. It sounds like you’re not a supporter, either," Marus said.

“None of that should matter, gentlemen,” the aristocratic Chief-of-Staff said. He walked behind his own desk, and wrote a note. “We are soldiers at war. We do what we must. And what our commanders require of us.”

He collected a folded document, and handed it over to Sam.

“This is the information we have,” he continued. “The slave’s appearance, location when he escaped, and the possible routes across the Rio Grande he will likely attempt.”

Sam opened the paper, and read through it. “And what’s his name?”

“What?”

“His name,” Sam repeated. “What is the man’s name?”

The Captain seemed confused by the question. When his wits returned, he check the notes.

“The slave’s name is… Aaron.”

“Hmm,” Sam grunted, and continued studying the report.

“Speaking of names,” Marus said, trying to break the obvious tension in the room, “mine is Marus Kaplan. I don’t think I’ve had the honor, Captain…?” He held out his hand.

The Captain took it. “Lee. I am Robert E. Lee.”

Even Marus recognized the name. The Army’s Golden Boy. “Oh. Well, it is truly an honor to meet you, sir. And this is Sam. Well, that’s what we all call him.”

“What?” Sam asked, finally pulling his eyes away from the document. “My apologies. What happened?”

“We’re making introductions, Sam. This is Robert E. Lee,” Marus said.

“Oh,” Sam said, shaking the Captain’s waiting hand. “It’s a privilege to meet you, Captain Lee. I’m Ulysses S. Grant.”