Brandon Herrera and the Battles of Saratoga

The autumn of 1777 cast a golden haze over the Hudson Valley, but the American Revolution teetered on a knife’s edge. General John Burgoyne’s British army, battered by the loss at Bennington, pressed south from Canada, aiming to capture Albany and sever New England from the colonies. By September, his force of 7,500 redcoats, Hessians, Loyalists, and Native allies camped near Saratoga, New York, facing General Horatio Gates’ growing American army of 9,000 Continentals and militia. The victories at Trenton, Princeton, and Bennington had swelled Patriot ranks, but Burgoyne’s disciplined troops remained a formidable threat. Among Gates’ forces was Sergeant Brandon Herrera, the “Jersey Jester,” whose knack for explosive chaos had become a campfire legend. Now, with the fate of the Revolution at stake, Brandon’s ingenuity would face its greatest test.

Since Bennington, Brandon had been tinkering relentlessly, scavenging Hessian powder and iron scraps to craft his latest weapon: the “Saratoga Scorcher.” This was a tripod-mounted launcher, cobbled from a repurposed musket barrel and wagon axles, firing clusters of foot-long iron darts—each tipped with a small gunpowder charge and wrapped in pitch-soaked cloth for incendiary effect. “It’s like a hornet’s nest with a bad temper,” Brandon explained to Elias, his loyal Virginian comrade, as they tested it in a clearing. The Scorcher’s tripod, braced with leather cords, held a rotating drum that could loose six darts in rapid succession, ignited by a single flintlock pull. “Aim it at a redcoat line, and they’ll scatter like leaves in a gale,” he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

On September 19, 1777, the first clash erupted at Freeman’s Farm. Burgoyne, desperate to break through, sent 3,000 men under General Simon Fraser to probe the American left flank, entrenched at Bemis Heights under Colonel Daniel Morgan’s riflemen and General Benedict Arnold’s aggressive leadership. Gates, cautious and methodical, preferred to hold the fortified heights, but Arnold urged a bold strike. Brandon, attached to Morgan’s sharpshooters, hauled his Scorcher through dense woods, Elias lugging a satchel of darts and grenades. “These trees’ll hide us ‘til we sting,” Brandon whispered, setting up near a ravine overlooking the British advance.

As Fraser’s redcoats marched in tight ranks across the open farm, Morgan’s riflemen opened fire, their long rifles picking off officers with deadly precision. The British charged, bayonets gleaming, but faltered under the hail of lead. Brandon seized the moment, angling his Scorcher toward a Hessian grenadier company advancing in support. He struck the flintlock, and the drum spun, launching a salvo of flaming darts. They streaked through the air, shrieking like banshees, and burst among the Hessians, igniting coats and scattering men in panic. “Burn, you mercenary dogs!” Brandon shouted, reloading as Elias handed him fresh darts. The chaos gave Arnold’s men time to charge, driving Fraser’s line back in a bloody melee.

The battle raged for hours, a brutal back-and-forth across the farm’s fields. Burgoyne’s artillery pounded American positions, but Morgan’s sharpshooters and Arnold’s relentless assaults held firm. Brandon darted through the fray, lobbing clay-pot grenades from Bennington to disrupt British formations. One exploded near a cannon, toppling its crew and silencing the gun. Elias, now a crack shot, covered him, felling a Loyalist skirmisher with a single bullet. “You’re gettin’ too good at this, lad,” Brandon grinned, ducking as a musket ball splintered a nearby tree.

By dusk, Burgoyne held the field but at a steep cost—600 casualties to the Americans’ 300. The Patriots withdrew to Bemis Heights, their morale high. Brandon’s Scorcher had left its mark; redcoats whispered of a “devil’s harpoon” that set men ablaze. Gates, though, clashed with Arnold over strategy, sidelining the fiery general. Brandon, undeterred, spent the next weeks refining his Scorcher, adding a crude sight for better aim.

The second battle came on October 7 at Bemis Heights. Burgoyne, his supplies dwindling and reinforcements under General Henry Clinton stalled far south, gambled on a desperate assault. He sent 1,500 men, led by Fraser again, to probe the American left. Arnold, defying Gates’ orders, rallied troops to meet them. Brandon, with Morgan’s riflemen, positioned his Scorcher on a wooded ridge overlooking the British advance. As redcoats emerged from the trees, their drums beating, he fired a salvo. The darts screamed, bursting in fiery sprays that shredded a Hessian line. “That’s for Freeman’s Farm!” Brandon yelled, as soldiers fled, some beating out flames on their uniforms.

Morgan’s sharpshooters targeted Fraser, felling the British general with a single shot, shattering enemy morale. Arnold, charging on horseback, led a furious assault, overrunning British redoubts. Brandon and Elias followed, the Scorcher’s tripod dragged through mud. Near a key redoubt, Brandon spotted Hessian artillery priming cannons. He aimed his Scorcher, loosing a final cluster of darts that exploded among the gunners, toppling the pieces. “No thunder for you today!” he hollered, drawing his saber to join the melee. Elias, wielding a musket, guarded his flank, their partnership seamless amid the chaos.

The British lines collapsed. Burgoyne’s army, battered and surrounded, retreated to their camp, pounded by American artillery under General Henry Knox. On October 17, Burgoyne surrendered his entire force—5,800 men, with 600 killed or wounded. American losses were lighter: 150 dead, 300 wounded. The Patriots seized muskets, cannons, and supplies, a haul that would sustain the fight.

In the aftermath, as British prisoners stacked arms under autumn leaves, Gates addressed his victorious troops. “Your courage has turned the war’s tide,” he declared. “The world will see America’s resolve.” He turned to Brandon, whose Scorcher stood scorched but proud. “Sergeant Herrera, your fiery darts lit the path to victory. Take this British officer’s watch as a token of our gratitude.” The silver timepiece gleamed, a symbol of time running out for the Crown.

Brandon saluted, grinning. “Much obliged, General. Just keepin’ the redcoats warm!” The men roared with laughter, dubbing him the “Saratoga Scorcher.” As the army marched south, Brandon faded into the ranks, already sketching a new gadget—a “Valley Forge Vindicator,” perhaps. The victory at Saratoga convinced France to join the war, shifting the Revolution’s fate. But for Brandon, it was another step toward freedom, with Yorktown on the distant horizon.