The Mission War

by Wesley Ellis

  Rivera’s mouth was set. The eyes were no longer amused. Perhaps American women talked like that, but it was wrong for this daughter of San Ignacio to speak up.

  “Go back to your father,” Rivera said to her. “Go back and clean up his house. Comfort your mother.”

  Maria made an exasperated sound and turned away. Chairs scraped against the floor as the three important men from San Ignacio rose. The meeting was over.

  “You have given us no answer,” Brother Joseph said.

  “What answer can we give? I have said we are not warriors—we are not. Fighting Mono will only cause more trouble.”

  “You must consider this further,” the friar said as he walked with the townsmen to the heavy door. “Something must be done.”

  “There is nothing to be done.”

  “Please,” the friar said, taking Rivera’s arm, “consider it. Consider fighting this evil, this Mono.”

  Simply to free his arm and get out the door, Rivera said, “We will consider it further. Yes, yes.” And then they were gone, the door closing behind them. Those remaining were silent for a long while. Maria, her back still to them all, was furious. Ki and Jessie looked at each other across the table. Cardero kept his thoughts to himself.

  “I am going to pray,” the friar said. No one responded and he walked away silently, arms folded.

  “Maybe that will do some good,” Cardero muttered a bit skeptically. “These people... what are they thinking? When has it done any good to back away from evil and let it have its way?”

  Maria commented acidly, “Now we have morality spilling from the lips of a bandit.”

  Cardero didn’t respond to that. He stood and walked to the window to watch the fire.

  “There are only ten of them, Ki.”

  Ki looked up with surprise. “Yes, just ten bandits.”

  “Do you think we could do it?” Diego mused.

  “Perhaps—if everything went right. How often does everything go right?”

  “Ten men,” Cardero repeated, “and an entire town cowed by them.”

  “They’ll tell Mono,” Maria said. “Cowards—they’ll tell Mono where Jessica and Ki are.”

  “Perhaps we underestimate them,” Ki argued.

  “Didn’t you see the fear on their faces? I did. They had already made up their minds.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps,” Ki said. And if that were the case, Ki and Cardero would have to try taking on Mono alone. The odds for success there weren’t very high.

  Ki rose and stretched. “We had better rest. Whatever happens, we will need it. Where do we sleep, Maria?”

  “There are sleeping chambers in the hidden basement. I will show you.”

  Jessica was more tired than she realized. Sleeping on the ground or in a chair with her hands and sometimes her feet bound couldn’t be called restful. When Maria guided her to a small, monkish room beneath the church, it was enough to discover that the chamber had a bed with a clean blanket on it.

  She nodded her thanks to Maria and began undressing even before the door had closed. Distantly she could hear shots and occasional yells. She tried to put that out of her mind. She rinsed off in the basin that had been provided, stretched out naked on the bed, and left the candle to burn itself out.

  Despite the tension, she fell off to sleep easily, sleeping deeply until a dream came. In the dream a naked man entered her chamber, quietly closed the door, and stood over Jessie with his manhood standing proud, needful, until she sat up and cupped it in her hands and kissed it as his hands rested on her head.

  In the dream, the man who looked for all the world like Diego Cardero, lay beside her, stroking her breasts and thighs, letting his fingers dip inside of her, touching her sweet warmth.

  Then, in the dream, Jessie straddled the man, her thighs against his chest and shoulders. She sat there, her head thrown back as Cardero, or the dream man, tasted her.

  When she could stand no more of that, Jessica Starbuck slid slowly down onto his ready shaft. Without using her hands, she eased onto him, feeling the pressure of his erection against the walls of her womb, feeling the steady pulsing there, the nudging of his body against hers, the clench of his hands on her buttocks.

  In the dream he began to arch his back and lift himself against her as she nearly slept against his chest. He worked deftly against her, inside her, his swelling and thrusting becoming a crazy, urgent pounding that flooded Jessica with pleasure.

  She rode him long, this dream man, until she felt his hot rush of release inside her and felt her own throat constricted with emotion, her breasts ready to burst. Her body trembled and seemed to explode with pleasure.

  Then the night was still again and Jessica dozed. When she awoke an hour later, there was no one there. It had only been a dream.

  She arose at first light, her spirits dimming as she came fully awake. She was rested at least, rested and ready for anything to come. But what was there to do?

  Uncharacteristically, Ki also looked depressed this morning. Neither of them was aware of the little tragedy taking place in the main street of San Ignacio, a tragedy that would turn everything around and carry them on toward more violent tumult.

  Mono was sleeping in a wooden chair in front of the cantina. Other bandits were inside on the floor. Arturo had taken the horses to the plaza fountain to water them. The fires had gone out overnight; the adobes didn’t burn that well.

  Arturo was in a foul mood. He had had enough of San Ignacio. The women were all hidden. He had had too much to drink. The prisoners, worth their weight in gold, had escaped. His throat still hurt where the Chinaman had kicked him.

  The horses were balky and Arturo had a throbbing tequila headache. And Mono slept. They should be riding by now—forget the woman and the Chinaman, find some bank, and open it up. But Mono stayed. Mono wanted to find the prisoners, although Arturo’s own idea was that they were far away by now.

  The sun was already hot, the air dusty. Arturo took the horses to the fountain and watched them drink. He ducked his own head in, wiping back his long stringy hair as he straightened.

  “Damn this town; damn San Ignacio,” Arturo muttered.

  A small boy was behind Arturo’s bay horse. He was five or six and wearing a new straw sombrero. He looked at Arturo and the bandit snarled.

  “Go away, boy. Get out of here.”

  “Whose horses are these? Are they bandit horses?”

  “I said get out of here.”

  “Can I look at them?” the boy asked brightly.

  Arturo turned, kicked out, and caught the boy painfully on the hip. The boy went to the ground, sprawling in the dust.

  “Now beat it,” Arturo said. “Beat it before I shoot your ears off.”

  “You won’t shoot me.”

  Arturo said, “Don’t bet on it.” His head throbbed. The little bastard was bothering him. Arturo had never liked children, though he suspected he had some of his own somewhere.

  “No, you won’t. You can’t do anything to me because my father is the alcalde.”

  “I don’t care if he’s the Pope. Get your ass out of here.”

  The next time Arturo looked the child was gone. That didn’t help his headache nor the thickly coated tongue that sat like an iron bar in his mouth. There was only one way to solve everything and that was to start drinking tequila again, which was just what Arturo meant to do as soon as the horses drank their fill.

  He walked behind his own bay, put his hands to the small of his back, and stretched. From the comer of his eye, he saw a rock, but it was too late to do anything about it. The boy had a good aim and he stung Arturo’s bay on the flank. The horse reared up in panic, and instantly five of the ten horses Arturo was watering took off at a run down the street.

  A second rock narrowly missed Arturo himself, and in a rage the bandit swung aboard his still shying bay. Ahead of him horses raced down the street.

  Ahead of him as well was the barefoot smart-ass kid. Arturo saw the dark eyes look
back in fear, saw the sombrero fly from the kid’s head. The kid hesitated, stopped, and tried to recover his hat.

  Arturo rode over the hat, trampling it, and then he rode the boy down.

  There was a brief cry and for a moment the broken body thrashed in the dust. Then he was still and Arturo spat back at the body. It would take him a hell of a long time to round up those horses, and his head was throbbing with pain.

  The knock on the door of the rectory brought Ki’s head up. He looked to Jessie and then to the friar. Diego, who was looking over the town plan of San Ignacio, put the map aside and rested his hand near his holstered gun.

  Maria looked to Brother Joseph, who nodded, and she crossed on silent feet to the door, opening it.

  The man who entered was broken. His face was drawn, his eyes blank. In his arms was the body of a child, bloody and smeared with dust.

  “Brother Joseph,” was all Rivera said at first.

  “Madre de Dios.” Brother Joseph crossed himself and went to the alcalde who stood framed in the doorway, his son in his arms. “What has happened?”

  “The last rites, please,” Rivera said.

  “Yes, yes, of course, but what has happened, Diego?” the friar asked.

  Bandidos. A bandido ... “ the man’s voice broke. His own face was dusty, teary. ”One killed him, a child.“

  “I’m sorry,” Jessica said, “very sorry. Is there anything at all we can do?”

  “Yes,” the alcalde answered grimly. “Show us how to fight. Show us how to kill these child murderers.”

  For the rest of the morning, Rivera was with the priest and his dead son, but in the afternoon he emerged to sit down at the table with Jessica, Diego, and Ki. “What is it we can do?” Rivera asked.

  “Get your people together. Maybe this evening they can arrive in small groups.”

  “I will say it is a mass for my son,” Rivera put in. It was a good idea but perhaps a bit cold. But Rivera was done with his mourning. Now his thoughts were only on venegence.

  “That will work,” Ki said. “We want to talk to these men and plan our action—if they will fight now. Will they, Rivera?”

  “They will fight. I will see to that,” the alcalde promised.

  “Tonight, then. Let’s not let this go on any longer than necessary,” Jessica said.

  “No. To put it off is to see other children die,” Rivera said. “Now I see that. If I had listened to you yesterday, perhaps my son would not be dead now.”

  “Maybe, but don’t blame yourself. It’s Mono’s fault, all of it, as we said before.”

  “Then Mono is the one who must pay, who will pay.” Rivera rose and nodded to them. He didn’t offer his hand. Still dusty but now erect, he went out.

  “Ki? Diego?” Brother Joseph had returned. “I heard most of that. I have something to show you. Whether it is of any help or not is for you to decide.”

  Ki and Diego exchanged ‘a curious glance, rose, and followed the friar downward once more and into yet another hidden chamber beneath the church.

  Taking a lantern from a hidden nook, the friar lit it and entered a small chamber whose entrance was indistinguishable from the wall surrounding it.

  Inside, the lantern glowed on an odd assortment of ancient objects: armor, swords, battle axes, and, standing in a neat row along a wooden rack, a file of ancient muskets.

  “These firearms were taken long ago from a band of mutinous soldiers who came to San Ignacio. The friar convinced them to turn themselves in and throw themselves on the mercy of the crown.” He paused. “Unfortunately, the queen ordered them all beheaded. However, their weapons survived.”

  Diego had picked up one of the muskets. It was fifty years old at least and not cleaned in all that time. He checked the lock of the ancient firing mechanism by cocking and letting the flint drop. Sparks were produced. He shook his head and handed the weapon to Ki.

  “If the barrels aren’t rusted shut, they will fire. You have powder for these contraptions?” Ki asked.

  “Cans of it, yes. Whether it is good or not, I couldn’t say. I have musket balls and flints and bayonets.”

  Ki replaced the musket. “Let’s have a look at the powder.”

  There were six five-pound cans of it, three of them damp and decomposed, the others apparently dry. Diego went to the rack, took one of the muzzle loaders, and primed it. When he dropped the flint this time, the powder flashed brightly. “It’ll work. Some of the time,” he added.

  “Then these will be of some help? the friar asked.

  “I think so,” Ki answered. “Now,” he said, “all we need is some men willing to fire them.”

  Chapter 11

  There was a new fire burning in town. From the rampart surrounding the bell tower, Ki and Jessica watched it burn.

  Below them, in small groups the men of San Ignacio, dressed in their best clothes, entered the churchyard and walked into the mission. The funeral service for the alcalde’s son would be held that night. A brief mass and then a meeting behind the locked and guarded church doors. A council of war.

  “What do you think, Ki?” Jessica Starbuck asked. “Will they fight?”

  “If they don‘t, they will lose their town.”

  “They weren’t all that concerned before. They weren’t eager to fight no matter what the provocation. They don’t seem to be able to see that it’s in their best interests.”

  “Then,” Ki said, “it is our job to see that they discover that. The alcalde wants to fight because he has lost a son. I only hope they each don’t have to lose someone before they realize that Mono must be done away with.”

  The men of the town were willing to listen but reluctant to make a decision. “We aren’t soldiers,” one man objected. “Call for the federales; let them dispose of Mono.”

  “A week to Mexico City, a week back with soldiers—how much damage can Mono do in that time? He would be gone and San Ignacio would be nothing but a memory,” Jessica responded.

  “We must do this ourselves,” the alcalde said. “That much is clear.”

  “You grieve for your son. We understand your anger, Rivera, but we are not fighting men. We have no weapons.”

  That was Diego’s cue to enter the church with his armload of muskets. He put them down with a clatter and stood, hands on hips, over them.

  “Here are your weapons. Where are the men to use them? the bandit asked.

  “These rusty toys against Mono’s repeating rifles!”

  “They will cut us to pieces.”

  Ki spoke again. “Have you considered, that there are forty men in this room. Forty men! Mono has but ten bandidos. You are four to one. Ten men hold your town hostage. Ten men terrorize your women and children. Ten men and the entire town of San Ignacio is afraid of them!”

  There was enough disgust in Ki’s voice to cause heads to lower slightly in shame. Glances were exchanged uneasily. The men of San Ignacio shifted in the pews.

  “Ten men,” Ki repeated. “Each one of them can be killed with a single bullet. They have no chance at all against an armed town, a town willing to defend itself.”

  “The weapons,” one man, braver than the rest asked, “will they fire?”

  “They will. Diego Cardero and I spent most of the afternoon cleaning and oiling them. They will fire and they are deadly enough to kill any man, Mono included.”

  “If I ever had him in front of a gun ...”

  “Then put him there!” Jessica exhorted.

  Diego Cardero said, “You are being offered a great opportunity—security for all time against these bandits. What band of outlaws would descend on this town knowing that you once took up arms and defeated the mighty Mono?”

  Speaking about it as if it were already a reality encouraged the townspeople. Two men in the back got to their feet.

  “I’ve had enough of these roving bandits. Every year they raid my stores. Every year my wife and daughter have to hide in the hills. Every year we allow them to spit on us. Give me a g
un. Show me how to work it. Show me Mono!”

  Once the tide of opinion had shifted, it became a tumultuous demand for justice, for weapons, for Mono’s blood. Things got so noisy that the friar had to caution them. “Quiet, please. We are not ready for battle, not yet armed. Too much noise will raise the bandits’ suspicions.”

  “Let them be suspicious! Load a gun and give it to me. I know how to pull a trigger,” one man responded.

  It took some time to settle things down again, but finally the muskets were handed out—first to those who knew what to do with them, then to the most eager students who were put through their paces by Ki and Diego and by Jessica Starbuck who had handled a muzzle loader before.

  That done, Ki went over his battle plan. “The bandits wander the streets now, but by midnight they will probably return to the cantina to sleep together as they did last night. There may be a guard posted; there may not be. Mono will expect no resistance at all. When has there been resistance?”

  Jessica went on. “Sometime after midnight we expect to find the entire gang drunk or sleeping in the cantina. You men will begin to filter into the streets, some taking up positions on rooftops. With the sheer numbers on our side, we should be able to take Mono easily and quickly. Keep the shooting to a minimum. There’s always the danger of shooting each other in the darkness. Any surviving bandits will face justice later.”

  “And they will!” the alcalde said vigorously.

  Jessica and Ki’s ragged army had become enthusiastic. Now, rather than encouraging them, it seemed important to keep the lid on.

  “Each man will be shown his position on the town plan. Diego Cardero has a copy. Each man will be given a time to take up his post. Follow the plan!” Ki said with some force. “Don’t lose your discipline. Above all, don’t fire until I signal you. One early shot can ruin all of this.”

  “Do you still want me to take care of the horses, Ki?” Diego Cardero asked.

  “Yes. They won’t get far without their horses, even if they do break out of the cantina—though I don’t see how they can even accomplish that, not with the sharpshooters on the roofs.”