October 11, 1875 - outside Durango, Jalisco province
Dust clouds were a pretty common occurence this far south of the Rio Grande, but Corporal Billy Watkins had never seen one as large as the one that seemed to be sitting on the southern horizon.
It was odd, the young Alabaman thought to himself as he peered at the cloud more intently, trying to see anything that could be raising such a ruckus. The resupply wagons always came in from the north. Nothing had ever come in from the south before. He supposed it was possible, the mountain roads and paths out here were primitive at best, treacherous at worse, and he wouldn't be surprised to hear of a rockside or avalanche closing a road or two.
He had just about decided that it wasn't worth looking south anymore when the ranging shots from the Mexican artillery, drug up into the hills and hidden under cover of nightfall smashed Watkins' forward observation point, and began sowing confusion in the siegeworks of the Army of Louisiana.
----------------
"General Bragg, General Bragg!"
The courier's eyes were bloodshot and wide with fear, his cap missing, his uniform torn and burned and bullet marked. His ride back from the rapidly collapsing defensive lines had been harrowing, and he clung to discipline tenuously.
Bragg looked up from the hastily assembled maps and reports adn waved teh courier forward, reading the scrawled dispatch quickly. A note of disgust crept into his voice as he spoke to his staff, gathered round a table.
"Rutgers reports the Mexicans concentrated artillery fire along his whole front and advanced under it. By the time his boys could even look up to shoot the spics were already on them. He reports the outer and secondary lines have been abandoned...he is withdrawing towards our position as we speak."
The flurry of aides to reposition small markers and jot down new positions was an ironic counterpoint to the thundering of artillery fire, now creeping closer to the headquarters.
"Damned Mexicans must have sixty, seventy guns up in those hills....they're pinning us down everywhere and rushing the lines. Our rifles can't do much good in a melee like that."
There was no reaction to his thinking out loud, and Bragg turned away, his eyes scanning the right flank. Clouds of dirty grey smoke hung over the battlefield, and he could see banners from the Confederate units streaming back towards his position, hastily forming a new defensive line.
The artillery fire continued in volume and intensity, and reports kept streaming in of concentrated artillery fire followed by mass charges against the Confederate lines. Mexican losses were figured to be heavy, but some Confederate untits were already reporting a loss of half of their strength. Bragg knew enough to know he had to consolidate what strength he had left, and not let it bleed away in the stretched out siegeworks.
Turning back to his aides, he barked out orders, and soon riders struck out, riding hard and fast, gathering the remaining scraps of Confederate strength together as Bragg's siege collapsed.
.
