“Apparently it’s not the fever, general. The doctors think it’s something he ate and he should be up in a few days.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t think the doctors have a clue as to what’s wrong with him. All anyone knows is that he can only get out of bed to crap and puke. Since we’ve broken out of Matanzas, there’s a lot of commerce between us and sympathetic locals and that includes eating some pretty strange and spicy food.”
Hancock laughed. “Then we’ll let him rest and purge himself of his sins. Come with me, I want to talk with you.”
With Hancock leading, they walked to a slight rise where they could view the raw scars that were the earthen Spanish embankments that ran from the Caribbean to Havana’s inner harbor. Through their telescopes they could see that the enemy ramparts bristled with armed men as the American Army deployed for a battle that was not going to come this day. Behind the Spanish walls, and out of artillery range, a number of wooden observation towers had been built.
“Are you impressed?” Hancock asked.
“Not really,” said Martin. “It’s a far cry from the triple walls of ancient Byzantium that I’d read about or even the Confederate works at Petersburg, and I did see what’s left of those. With enough guns and time we could pound the place to pieces even though they still outnumber us.”
“But that would take far too long and we don’t have the time. Despite the fact that we are landing and installing howitzers and heavy mortars to bombard the fortifications, we must bring things to a head before this degenerates into a long and fruitless siege. Remember that Byzantium wasn’t taken for a thousand years and Petersburg’s siege lasted about a year. No, there will be no lengthy siege. We cannot afford it. The American people want this war over.”
Ryder wondered just why he and the absent Benteen had been being singled out but kept quiet. He looked skyward to where an American observation balloon looked down on Havana from several hundred feet above the ground. Whoever the brave soul was in the balloon, he had a much better view of Havana than did the Spaniards in their wooden towers.
Hancock shielded his eyes and also looked at the contraption. “Is it true that a photographer is up there?”
Ryder grinned. “The estimable William Pywell is indeed up there. He’s trying to get panorama pictures of the coming battle. So far the gondola has jiggled too much to get a good clear photo of anything. I spoke to him last night and he says today will be his last try. After that, he may try building his own observation tower. He hopes that it will be a steadier platform.”
“All journalists and photographers are crazy, Martin, only you didn’t hear that from me.”
An explosion boomed and they all turned to watch a mortar shell arc high into the sky and fall behind the walls of Havana. A second later, the shell exploded, sending a cloud of debris into the air.
“A ranging shot,” sniffed Hancock. “I very much doubt that it hit anything important. Tell me, Martin, have you ever seen a Masai warrior kill a lion?”
“Can’t say as I have, sir.”
“Well neither have I. But I do have it on good authority that a young Masai warrior is sent out onto the African plains or veldt armed with only a short stabbing spear and a pair of huge balls between his legs. It’s a rite of passage and they must kill a lion with nothing but their cunning and that little spear in order to become a warrior. They stalk the beast, get very close, and ram the spear into the heart of the lion, killing him instantly. At least that’s the plan. A miss, of course, could prove fatal to the hunter as the lion is not likely to allow the young lad a second chance.”
A second shell crashed and exploded. Martin wondered just where the general’s musings were going. He did have the uncomfortable feeling that they might involve him.
Hancock saw the dismay on Ryder’s face and smiled. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of sending anyone out to storm Havana with a small spear. What I do want is to attack and go straight for the heart. They have too many men for us to attack at more than one point and be successful. The Spanish may be poorly led and poorly trained, but even inferior soldiers might just do well if ensconced behind the perceived security a wall. Ergo, we must get them away from that wall. What I propose to do is to launch a violent attack at a narrow point, like a spear, break through, and wreak havoc in their rear. It would be somewhat like Alexander the Great did in his battles against larger enemy armies—go for the heart or, if you wish, the jugular.”
Ryder smiled wanly. “And I presume this involves me.”
“Indeed. Unfortunately it is the price of your successes. The attack will be spearheaded by Benteen’s division and further led by your brigade. I am confident that you will succeed. You have proven yourself a skillful and resourceful leader and fighter. I am also confident that you will plan well and accomplish all this with a minimum of casualties.”
By way of emphasis, another mortar landed behind the enemy lines. This time something other than the shell exploded, and men all around began to cheer as clouds and flames billowed. “Probably ammunition,” said Hancock and then looked sheepish. What else could it have been?
Hancock continued. “It will take a couple of weeks to gather our forces and we will try to confuse the Spanish by first shelling at various places along the line. While I would never underestimate an enemy, I am confident that Generals Weyler and Villate are under orders from Havana to defend everything. If they do that, of course, they will wind up defending nothing.”
Ryder wondered just how Hancock was so certain about the orders Villate and Weyler had. Spies must be everywhere, he concluded.
Hancock continued, “What I plan to do is build a rail line that largely parallels their defenses and move cannon up and down it by way of trains, even firing big guns from the rail cars. With luck, that’ll keep the Spaniards chasing their tails. Then we stop when and where we wish and your men get to lead the attack. Tell me, general, do you have any thoughts as to how you will get your men safely over those walls?”
Ryder smiled grimly. “Frankly, sir, I’d been thinking along those lines and I do have some ideas.”
Hancock smiled. “I’m not surprised. Well then, why not firm them up and then we’ll talk again. By the way, when the time for the big attack comes, you will not be alone. There will be additional mischief afoot. The navy insists on coming along for the ride and causing at worst a major distraction that will further confuse and demoralize our enemies.”
Hancock turned and saw Ruta Holden standing a short distance away. She looked worried. She was also wearing a brightly colored full length skirt instead of the cut down man’s uniform the nurses had been wearing.
The general nodded and smiled affably at her. “Ryder, did you know that churchmen up in the states are outraged that female nurses would dare to go to war wearing men’s clothing. They say it’s lewd and licentious and that only whores would dress as men. Of course, they don’t give a fig that it’s the best, most efficient and even most decent way for a woman to treat a wounded patient. They cannot imagine that a man who’s been seriously wounded would have priorities other than getting a stiff dick and having it serviced. Lord, what fools some mortals be.”
Ryder laughed. Again leaving the confines of Matanzas had paid dividends. The women were actually able to shop in area villages and get women’s clothing. Sarah had purchased several brightly colored Cuban style dresses and he thought she looked marvelous in them and much more carnal than when she’d been wearing a man’s army uniform.
“Ryder, why don’t you go and see what that poor woman wants. It doubtless has something to do with your betrothed. You and that other nurse are betrothed, aren’t you?”
Damn, Ryder thought again. Does everyone know about our private lives? “General, I sure as hell hope so.”
* * *
At Ruta’s urging, Martin immediately went to Sarah. He found her in the back of one of the hospital tents and sitting among piles of supplies. Her face was re
d and it was obvious she had been crying.
Martin sat down beside her and held her hand. She immediately grabbed his with both of hers, pressing hard with surprising strength. “I may be losing my brother. He may be dead as we speak.”
“What happened?”
“What almost always happens when one is wounded on a battlefield. Despite everyone’s best efforts, his wound became infected. I got a telegram that said he’s on his way to Washington where my father can pick him up and give him the personal and sanitary care he couldn’t get in an army hospital.”
Ryder couldn’t argue with her assessment of the army’s hospitals. So many doctors were little more than well intended butchers for whom sanitation was still an undefined word. “Are you going to go to be with him?”
Tears began to spill down her cheeks. “What, and leave you to get into trouble? No. Even though I would like to be at his side, the situation is like I said. He may already be dead. Or he may be recovering in which case my trip would have been just as futile. My place is here, with you and with the damned army and all the new wounded I’m going to see.”
Ruta was at her accustomed place blocking the entrance to the store room. Her back was turned to them, not that he cared if she saw them together. She was, however, preventing anyone else from seeing them. He put his arm around Sarah’s shoulder and pulled her to him. He kissed her gently and planned to stop with that, but she suddenly returned his kiss with an almost savage fervor. Wonderful, he thought, and returned the favor, matching kiss for kiss until they were gasping.
She pushed him back and smiled. Her concerns about her brother were clearly fading. “We have to find a better place to meet than army supply facilities.”
“A bedroom would be nice. By the way, General Hancock referred to us as betrothed. Are we betrothed?”
“Yes, Martin, a bedroom would be ideal and, yes, we are betrothed. I was hoping to wait until we got back to the States before either getting married or consummating our relationship, but I wonder if that is the best course of action. Perhaps we should look into finding someone who would marry us. However, and even though I am only a nominal Protestant like you, I don’t think I want us to be married by a Catholic priest. And further, I don’t want our honeymoon to be in a warehouse unless it’s a very nice warehouse.”
“I understand.”
She stood and straightened her dress. Somehow it had ridden up above her lovely knees. “Good. I feel better now knowing that our wedding is in your capable hands.” She smiled and tenderly kissed him one more time. “Now you have two assignments. You must plan both your battle and our wedding. Good luck, dearest.”
Yes, he thought, and he knew which will be the more difficult—The wedding.
* * *
Kendrick stood on the second floor balcony of Dunfield’s home and stared into the distance where clouds of smoke and fire were being swept by the wind. Small groups of Spanish soldiers ran down the streets. They were out of control and had begun looting and beating civilians. Dunfield had hired a number of men to protect his property and they were heavily armed and visible. The mobs prudently looked for easier pickings. It disturbed Kendrick that somewhere out in the city was Juana’s husband and leading a band of men reputed to be religious fanatics and quite violent. They hadn’t yet made a move towards Dunfield’s estate and Kendrick wondered if it was because of Dunfield’s British connections or because the place was a fortress. Kendrick didn’t doubt that Salazar would someday make a move.
Behind him and prudently indoors where the mob couldn’t see him, Custer was crowing that the army had finally arrived and was going to rescue him and restore him to the presidency. It could be, Kendrick admitted. But was putting Custer back in the White House the wisest course of action? But then, what other course of action was there? As long as he lived, Custer was the President of the United States and Chester Arthur was only the acting president. But what if he didn’t live, Kendrick thought and quickly banished it.
He had another thought and decided to ask the question he’d been deferring.
“Mr. President, just who started this bloody war?”
Custer blinked in surprise and laughed when he realized the implications of the question. “Are you accusing me of being so duplicitous as to have caused the massacre on that ship? Not a chance. I may be a merciless bastard and my wife a skilled conniver and Blaine a lying snake, but neither of us betrayed the Eldorado and caused that massacre. I’ll admit that we gave it some thought, but we found out that the Spanish already knew everything about the ship, including its crew, cargo and destination. Hell, they even knew you were going to be on board. What we really thought would happen was that everybody would be taken prisoner, tried, found guilty, and sentenced. Then they would be sent to a jail until ransomed or something diplomatic occurred. Maybe the Eldorado’s captain would have been hanged and maybe one or two rebel leaders as well, but that’s the cruel price of a failed rebellion. I have no idea what would have happened to you, but I did think your exalted status as a journalist would have provided you with a degree of safety.”
“But you did nothing to stop it.”
“We didn’t find out that the Eldorado was actually going to be intercepted until it had sailed. By then it was far too late.”
“Then who did tell?”
“Who knows and who cares and why the hell should we have had any concerns,” Custer responded. “Everyone on that ship was a volunteer, including you. For all I know it was those American daredevils who wanted to conquer Cuba for their own purposes or even the Cuban rebels who caused the massacre in an attempt to drag us into their damn war. If that’s the case, they succeeded beyond their wildest expectations.”
Custer lit up a cigar and drew contentedly. “Personally, I think there were so many leaks in the Eldorado enterprise that it would be impossible to trace and identify the source for that damned book you’re so hell bent on writing.”
Kendrick laughed and lit up his own cigar. In deference to Custer’s new found sobriety, he was deferring having a drink until later. He and Juana would have at least a couple before retiring to bed and yet another evening of frolicking. Juana was bent on purging herself of years of sexual restrictions and repressions and Kendrick would be there to help her. Custer was right about the book, however. He had enough material to fill a couple of manuscripts. All he had to do was survive this coming battle and get the hell out of Cuba and to New York.
* * *
General Weyler stepped into Villate’s office and closed the door behind him. The window was open and the smoke from numerous fires wafted in. Rifle fire rattled in the distance. “The city is clearly going to hell, general,” he said as he sat down in the chair in front of Villate’s large and ornate desk. “So is Cuba, for that matter.”
Villate shrugged off his concerns. “We will regain control of Havana in a few hours. In the meantime, we will let the soldiers work off their anger at having been so thoroughly defeated and forced to retreat to this last bastion of the Spanish Empire in the Atlantic.”
Weyler kept his face expressionless. Villate’s comments were a not very subtle criticism of his handling of the American landings at Matanzas. Cables from Madrid had been from an angry king and prime minister. How could a Spanish Army that outnumbered the Americans by so much have been forced back to a small perimeter around Havana? How indeed, Weyler kept wondering. By rights, the smaller American army should have been forced into the sea where thousands of American soldiers would have drowned. Worse, just about every garrison in Cuba, including the large one at Santiago, was also under siege by the Cuban rebels who were growing in number and aggressiveness with each passing day.
The answer to the failure at Matanzas was quite simple. Many of the enlisted men in the Spanish Army didn’t want to fight. Consisting in one part of Cuban conscripts and another part of Spanish conscripts, there was little motivation to fight the Americans. The Cuban conscripts either wanted to go home, or desert and join the re
bels, while the Spanish enlisted men were homesick for Spain and had no idea why on earth they were fighting a war thousands of miles away in Cuba. The officer corps and the non-commissioned officers were made of sterner stuff, at least most of them.
Weyler wondered what the German observer, Helmsdorf, was thinking and sending to Berlin either in diplomatic pouches or via coded telegrams. The German’s attitude towards him was arrogant and condescending. It was almost as if he was saying that any German general could have better handled the fighting. Ruefully, he thought that Helmsdorf’s unspoken thoughts might have merit.
Weyler decided to respond to Villate’s comments. “The army will fight well behind the walls of Havana. However, if those walls are breached, I am not confident of anything. The entire army might collapse. I would like to repeat my earlier request that a second line of fortifications be built behind the first one.”
Villate shook his head angrily. “I said no before and I’m saying it again. If we build a second line it will be the same as admitting that we cannot hold the first. The already demoralized army might, as you suggest, just collapse entirely. I would prefer that we attack. I suggest that we organize elite forces and send them out in raids. That will buoy up the confidence of the people and the army.”
“It will be done,” Weyler said. He liked the idea of keeping the Americans off balance. “On a slightly different topic, how long can we hold out and what plans does Madrid have for us? And when will Madrid send us reinforcements?”
Villate laughed loudly enough that people working and talking outside his office were suddenly silent. “They will not send us shit. We are totally on our own. We must defend ourselves so vigorously that the Americans will either withdraw or decide to negotiate an honorable end to this war. For instance, in return for sending them both Custer and that idiot Salazar so they can hang him, they might be induced to leave.”
1882: Custer in Chains - eARC Page 32