“The thought came to mind,” said Diego. “I pried into that possibility with an administrative aide in the regimental offices. After reading my personnel file, I found out that these two officers I reported to indeed knew of my family background. After more digging and questioning other soldiers who knew these two officers, I was able to confirm they did have a personal beef with me for being, in their eyes, spoiled and pompous, even though I made a concerted effort never to shirk my duties nor take advantage of having a father who was a government official.”
Bruno cut in and said, “It does happen I’m afraid. I have witnessed that same attitude during my years in the military. Some people just have a jealous streak whether it is warranted or not. Did you try to talk things out with them?”
Diego looked at Bruno, “Believe me; I did everything I could to assure them I was not riding on my father’s coattails.
“After several more months of being constantly hounded by them, I was completely fed up. I came in one morning and requested a transfer to a new military venue. When these two, an infantry Mayor Ricardo and an artillery officer Capitán Ortega heard of my official request, they became extremely embittered that I made no secret why to the regimental commander. They made no effort to control their belligerence and began harassing me in front of the entire company at roll calls, in front of my peers and the soldiers assigned to me. They took great pleasure doing so.”
Diego paused a moment, pressed his lips together at the insufferable memory, and then continued.
“I want you to know as meek as I played my part for six months; it was not at all easy to be treated so harshly. In spite of the oppressive treatment, I had thrown myself into my work and actually learned much about infantry, artillery, and battle tactics. Then one night I decided to confront the two the next day and hoped that between the three of us as professional men we could reach an agreeable situation. I deceived myself; they did not care. They told me I was nothing but a spoiled rotten son of a government aristocrat and would be treated with indifference. They laughed in my face while they told me this. By this time, I was significantly enraged with their attitude, and when they continued to ridicule me, something inside me snapped, and I lost my composure. I have always prided myself in controlling my emotions and when their insolence struck me like a hammer pounding an anvil; it was as if pure hatred erupted from within me. I had appealed to them in good faith, and the effort backfired instead. All I wanted to do now was end the agony.”
Diego attempted to swallow and had a tough time of it as his throat was so dry. He brought up his tankard, tilting it high, draining the little remaining liquid. Sensing the tankard was empty, Reiner pushed his own rum across to Diego. The Spaniard took it with trembling hands, which everyone noticed, for they had never before seen Diego’s composure shaken. His expression was pained; his facial muscles tensed and he forced deep breaths into his lungs. The story relived was like an old wound being reopened. The men stirred uneasily as they felt his emotion. It was strange to witness the bitterness he expressed in words as well as in body language from one usually so in control. The men were entirely at a loss how to act. They tried hard to keep silent in respect and reverence for their shipmate.
Diego took a long draw from the tankard and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand, put the drink down on the table, and straightened up on his seat. His eyes flicked to different parts of the patio area as if searching for the right words.
“I felt my anger build to a crescendo. I called them miserable scoundrels. They just looked at me with contempt and stormed away. Afterward, a veteran soldier came up to me and whispered to watch my back for he knew these two men all too well.
“He was right. It was only three days later that the mayor and capitán accused me of not being fit to command, in front of my entire platoon. They said they had proof of me badmouthing them with foul rumors of their integrity and they simply could not disregard such insults from a junior officer. It was ironic that for the first time they actually called me an officer. These two fools concocted a story of me spreading false rumors against them. But instead of choosing the proper procedure of turning in a formal report of this infraction to the commander, they chose to play their own little game forcing them to take, in their own words, the honorable road, of settling this dispute with a duel. They made it known to all the men they would respectfully duel it out with me in a private setting to uphold reputations. I was being framed and led to slaughter by these miscreants. They knew no other soldier would dare confront these two career officers, so the trap was sprung.”
“There was no one of higher authority to report the incident to?” Conrad asked in stunned disbelief.
“No one dared because if they did, they knew they would be next in line to feel the wrath of these two officers,” Diego stated matter-of-factly.
The men around the tables nodded their understanding as they took in the mental picture of the scene painted by Diego.
“We met two days later on an early foggy spring morning on a dirt field chosen by the mayor and capitán located several hundred meters outside the fort that was well concealed from any curious eyes by a surrounding fruit tree orchard. The two officers had brought along a small entourage of their fellow and noncommissioned officers fiercely loyal to them.
“Smug attitudes were on their faces as they stood alongside near a large pomegranate tree on the perimeter of the small clearing. I had brought with me just one trusted friend; a young lieutenant who had insisted he come along to ensure the affair would be handled above board. However, my friend, Ernesto Escobar, was quite daunted when he saw the officers had assembled a dozen cohorts, and although his confidence took a turn for the worst, he did not falter in his commitment to stay with me and see this episode through, even though I swear I could smell the fear on him.
“I distinctly remember a slight breeze wafting through the orchard with the sun’s rays streaming through the mist. The scene before me was peaceful and serene, yet my adrenaline was flowing through me like crashing waves upon rocky crags. I felt my heart throbbing and was sure everyone must be able to hear it pounding.
‘We prepared by cuffing our shirt sleeves above the elbows and stretching to loosen up our body joints. Vests and headgear had been carelessly tossed aside as each man thought only of the cruelty found at the point of a blade. One of the officers in the entourage, a large swarthy man with Mayor’s insignia spoke with authority and told those on the sidelines to form a large circle to allow plenty of space.”
Diego slowly ran a hand over his goatee as his eyes narrowed, “I was standing to one side of the encirclement, saber in hand after limbering up my body. I was ready to leap to action to defend my honor. All the duels in my past were mere practice sessions or competitive tournaments which were judged on performance, not on delivering a deadly blow to one’s opponent. The feeling I experienced is difficult to put into words; although my mind was fully engaged on the tactics I would employ, the reality of the circumstance was overwhelming me, no matter how hard I tried to force that part out of my mind, I kept losing my focus.”
His eyes darted from side-to-side seemingly lost in the memory of what he felt years back on that crisp morning, entrapped in a foul plot formulated by two officers who put selfish motives before military integrity and honor.
Diego briefly shut his eyes either from the pain of the memory or possibly to consciously formulate his thoughts; perhaps both. “Without wasting time, the self-proclaimed master of the duel – the heavyset army mayor stood in the middle of the opening and ceremoniously told both sides to step several paces closer and face each other. A lazy administrative head, this Mayor Ricardo, had the reputation of a man who thought very highly of himself. Today was no different; he took the lead as if he was uniquely qualified to put the fighters through their paces.
I looked at Ernesto next to me and under my breath so that no one could hear me, I said to him to flee back to the Alhambra as soon as the duel started, as th
e others concentrated on the fight. He knew I meant it for his safety for I had led him into this precarious situation. My friend shook his head, no, with sedate forbearance and stood his ground. He even encouraged me to savagely strike my saber deep into the flesh of these two debased men. Here was a devoted friend who not only believed in fairness as I did but he also firmly believed in my sword skills. I thought he was being way too assured in his role as my sole supporter, and yet I felt grateful for him standing by my side in spite of the odds against me. Not only would I not have blamed him if he slipped away, but I would have felt better for it. I learned what real friendship was as he staunchly stood by me.”
Heinrich and company were mesmerized by the poignant story. How could a rational person forget a traumatic experience of that caliber? When death comes knocking at the door, not a person alive could ever forget something that grievous.
“Although it sounds like much was happening prior to the duel, it was only mere moments. So much goes through a person’s mind when in a state of tremendous anxiety. Before I knew it, the command was given to jump into action and there we were, the infantry mayor and I concentrating on the same objective; to do each other in with due haste. We began circling cautiously with our saber points directed at each other, both ascertaining the other’s footwork and technique. The mayor was a large muscular man, and yet his sword moved deftly as he came for me twirling the tip in a circular pattern looking to draw first blood.
“His first few thrusts were well balanced as he drove straight in forcing me to defend myself by stepping back and sideways to avoid his blade. I felt his brute strength when parrying a thrust. His expression was of maligned hatred as he came in closer. Several times, we both exchanged furious flurries trying to gain the advantage.
“What I needed was enough time to get a feel for his skill level in order to shrewdly counterattack. I noticed he kept circling to his right never deviating direction. I stayed on the defensive still studying his style as I was taught. When I felt I knew his strategy, I began forcing him to move in the opposite direction by reversing to my left and seeking an opening. Every time he changed direction, I noticed he was not as competent in his footwork. It took him valuable time to make the correction as he changed from right to left and back again and there laid his weakness. And all it takes is just one weakness to capitalize on.
“The maneuvering began to frustrate him, and he was getting a bit sloppy when making that change to his left, and so my confidence started to build. He became much too mechanical in his movements, and I began asserting control; turning left to right, right to left, I found multiple openings while he attempted to stay with me. Beads of sweat built up on his forehead and ran down his face. Without more need to study his style; I thrust my sword high inside and low inside toward him from various angles and followed up with strikes low outside and high outside. The point found targets of opportunity; quick thrusts pierced shallowly into his upper sword arm and several spots in the torso; bloody splotches appeared on his white shirt. He winced in pain each time the sharp metal punctured his flesh. The sting of my blade had its intended effect of weakening him, aggravated even more so by his lack of body tone. In no time he was writhing with painful cuts and point pricks. He visibly began to wither physically; his movements becoming slower.
“The mayor’s friends also saw that he was weakening. I heard them shout encouragement his way. I was way too occupied to glance at his entourage, which was a dangerous malady, for any of them could have assisted the mayor with some foul deed against me. Perhaps because of Ernesto’s presence they did not try to intercede.
“He feigned to his left and changed up to make a concerted effort to kill me with a wild swing that blazed through empty air. His moves were way too slow, and suddenly I knew I had him. My mind screamed, ‘waste no time; finish him off’ for I had another swordsman standing in the wings ready to do battle and needed to conserve my energy.
“I had already reversed direction and having bent down, I countered by stepping into him with a quick saber thrust, arm fully extended and drove the blade point deep between his ribs close to his heart. Mayor Ricardo grunted loudly as his body froze, the sword dropped from his hand, and for a moment he stood on the balls of his boots before collapsing to the hard-packed dirt. His body went into spasms for a few seconds and then became still as stone.
“I stepped back several paces, sword still raised chest high pointing forward, feet apart in a balanced stance, and eyes darting left to right, for fear of the Mayor’s comrades charging at me in revenge for doing in their compadre. However, the onlookers did not move an inch; they looked as if in a hypnotic trance at their fallen mayor lying in a pool of blood forever gone to the ages. I remember barely breathing hard, although I do recall seeing a layer of sweat on my forearm glistening in the sunlight. Strange – the insignificant things the mind focuses on at times like these.”
Diego’s voice was tense as he told about the agonizing incident; his words carefully chosen to match the anguish he felt.
“Surely I have spent too much of everyone’s valuable time recounting this incident. I must not dwell on those terrible memories of my past for it only brings back a bitter taste in my mouth. I have learned to let go of certain traumatic events and do not necessarily like to be bothered with them. It drains my energy to recall these moments.”
Before Heinrich could say anything, Otto beat him to it; “My dear friend, I am truly sorry for the ill treatment you have been through. May I be so bold to ask you to finalize what you have started? Perhaps telling the rest of your story will bring closure to the mental anguish you have suffered.”
“Señor Kleist, are you trying some medical counseling on me as perhaps Doctor Strobel would?”
Before Otto could reply, with a flick of his hand, Diego continued.
“The result of this tragedy makes me ill. I have tried hard to put the despairing feelings behind me as one tosses a handful of dirt into a grave in the hope of diminishing the wretched pain of a lost loved one.”
“I am out of line then by pushing for details. Forgive me; I will not ask more,” Otto said, yielding his curiosity with difficulty.
“It is no fault of yours, Señor Kleist. I do understand your desire to hear how it ends.”
Cordoba hesitated once more, staring at the table top pursing his lips in thoughtful consideration. Lifting his head, he took in the faces of his mates around the table. In what seemed like an infinite time lag, Cordoba came out of his contemplation.
“I feel compelled to finish. So, … when the reality of the situation sunk in that the mayor was dead, instead of reacting in anger and pouncing on me with weapons, the onlookers instead responded with what I could only describe as crestfallen shock. They were intensely stunned by the result of the duel, and they acted as if a dense fog had infiltrated their senses. It seemed no one had thoughts of their compadre having a chance of being wounded in the exchange let alone being killed. The stars must have fallen out of their skies.
“It was Capitán Ortega who suddenly reacted by turning toward me most menacingly; his teeth bared giving me a wicked look of what I could only perceive as pure vengeance. Abruptly, Ortega charged at me; his sword held high. With a wild animal-like snarl, he slashed at me with savage flails of his blade. Fortunately, I had gained a sense of confidence after having put away one swordsman. My training had taken over, and I dodged his strikes with competent footwork, while he continued his ferocious attack. The fierceness of his sword was every bit as deadly as the mayor’s, yet was even more so as his anger had purged away his fear and I faced a man focused on only one goal – to slash me to ribbons. His sword strokes were more than vicious – they were savage strikes with brute power behind them. He had me retreating from his rapacious attack. The capitán’s movements were also faster than Major Ricardo’s, and I had to ply all my sword skills and physical prowess to avoid his deadly attack.
“It dawned on me that the ferocious energy he was expe
nding could not be sustained forever, and I forced myself to hold the defensive hoping to tire him. I still felt strong and fresh as I paced myself. Then instantly he transitioned from wild charges and strikes to more trained execution from en garde stances. His lunges became more precise, and he expertly defended my counters. We circled the makeshift dueling arena, both asserting a renewed resolve to get the upper hand. Bringing forth our very best sword work, saber strikes and thrusts attempted desperately to impact the intended target only to find empty air. Dust rose and settled as we drove at each other.
“Both of us were losing vital energy to sustain this vexatious struggle. I knew with certainty I was in better shape and he should tire before me. I was thinking this to boost my confidence. Then as if he was reading my mind, Ortega mounted a brutal assault, slashing and thrusting with saber and following up with his dagger trying aggressively to pin me against a tree only a few feet behind me. It took everything I had in footwork, body movement and counter work to hold off his attack and move away. Unrelenting, we went at each other in yet another flurry. Again, it was without achieving an advantage. After what seemed like an eternity, which was only seconds, he finally showed signs of tiring. I told myself to hold on just a bit longer when Ortega’s sword prowess would suffer due to fatigue. I countered with a series of offensive moves forcing him on the defense, but amazingly, he began to assert himself with counterstrokes, which broke my attack. Again, a voice within my head told me not to give in. Instantly I stopped my retreat and with trained reflex, stepped back into en garde.
“Another opportunity came suddenly as Ortega backed up a pace, chest heaving heavily trying to suck air into his lungs as he had drained his strength in his attempt to put an end to me. I had done all I could to keep my defense from being penetrated, and I sensed his frustration from not having shed my blood in the least. I felt a surge of hope mounting within me now. I really thought this would be it. I have this scoundrel at last!”
Winds of Fury Page 29