Road to Liberty: Battle of Saratoga

At Saratoga, men won the battle in blood. Victors claimed the credit with ink. And I, the man who many say played a decisive role in victory, would follow a dark path, live the rest of my days as a pariah, and forever be called Turncoat. The British plan was simple. March south, seize the Hudson River Valley, split the colony, but a loss at Bennington had smashed their forages and stripped their supply. And after the Redcoats retreated from Stangwicks, Lieutenant General Burgoyne and his men were alone, hungry and vulnerable. We threw up strong works at Bemis Heights, blocking the road to Albany. Major General Horatio Gates held the line. As his second-in-command, I pushed our light troops forward to sting the enemy before they reached it. He favoured caution, I favoured pressure. Burgoyne tried to turn a left at Freeman's farm. I sent men to hit him before his columns formed, fighting seesawed all afternoon, volley so close you could taste the powder. At dusk, the British still stood on the field, but blood towed the whole story. About 600 British down, roughly 300 of ours. We had blunted his edge and I knew if I had more men to send to Freeman's farm, we could bring a much quicker victory. Gates denied my request. In the ensuing days, he began to leave me out of meetings. I asked more troops, he continued to deny me. Then he took Morgan's riflemen from my command, not for strategic reasons, but to teach me a lesson. Out of supplies and options, Burgoyne struck again, sending a strong detachment to test our men at Bemis Heights. If they broke through, the road to Albany reopened. Gates again wanted to wait, but that was something I could not do. I looped toward the Bremen stronghold, held by the German mercenary Hessians. Our men surged through the smoke. The Hessians waved, the position cracked, and in the push, a shot smashed my leg. But the preach was made. By nightfall, the British fell back in disorder, campfires left to fool our eyes. Roughly six to seven hundred British casualties that day, but fewer than two hundred for us. And by morning, short on food and ammunition, Burgoyne had nowhere left to go. He asked for turf. About fifty-eight hundred laid down their arms, the first British army to surrender in this war, and the world finally looked our way. News crossed the Atlantic, the impossible had become likely. In Paris, Benjamin Franklin turned Saratoga into treaties. France stepped from shadow to ally. But the victories went without problems. After Saratoga, some praised Major General Gates as the man to lead us all. Brigadier General Conway put it in writing. He pushed to replace Washington as the commander-in-chief with the man who took credit for my leadership. Washington was now fighting a battle on two fronts, and I was dealing with feelings of betrayal. While Congress weighed heroes by headlines, I healed. But my destiny was forever changed. Gates took the sword, Washington took the burden, and I took the scar. Saratoga decided our future, and chose its heroes.