The Death Hunter

by Lou Cameron

  “Did you think I’d complain, Cap?”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t. Now that we’ve separated the men from the boys, let’s move it out.”

  Gaston waited until they were well on their way before he murmured, “We are down to nine men, and we’re still on the mesa, Dick.”

  Captain Gringo said, “You picked them. Your act with that con artist didn’t take with at least one. I’d rather have nine I can count on than a hundred cant.

  “Agreed, but one would imagine the German Marines have a certain discipline instilled in them, too. I doubt they’ll be guarding anything important with a nine-man corporal’s squad!”

  “Shit, we were outnumbered to begin with.

  Don’t tell me I’m going to have trouble with you, too.”

  Gaston laughed and said, “Mais non! I can see Helena has you in a foul mood. I’ll bet she turned you down, eh?”

  Chapter Eight

  The sun was setting again as Captain Gringo slid down the tree trunk and told Gaston, “We’re not being followed.”

  Gaston said, “That seems reasonable. The Japanese may not know where we’re headed, but I’m sure the Russians do, by now.” Captain Gringo whistled and said, “Okay, guys. Let’s move it out!”

  He walked away from the trail break without looking back. He knew after an all-day shakedown march that the men were following. Gaston fell in beside him and trudged in silence for a time before he said, “Forgive me if this sounds stupid, my old and rare, but didn’t they tell us the Germans might be setting up their secret base on the east coast?”

  “Sure. So what?”

  “We are marching west. May one assume you have some destination in mind?”

  Captain Gringo saw they were out of earshot of the others, but he lowered his voice anyway as he said, “Marshall Islands.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Frowned Gaston.

  “Marshall Islands, in the Pacific, they belong to the German Empire.”

  “Merde, I know that. What have the Marshall Islands to do with a secret base in Central America?”

  “Did you really think the German Navy could sneak a whole convoy of supplies and engineering equipment through the Gulf of Mexico or the Caribbean? Leaving out the U.S. and British Navies, Spain, France, Denmark, and Holland have ships patrolling off the east coast of Central America. The west coast is twice as long and twice as indented. Nobody but the British and Americans have Pacific fleets big enough to worry about, and they’re covering a lot more open water. Where would you make a clandestine landing if you were a smart German admiral with Pacific bases?”

  “But to menace the Panama Canal. My God, I see it! One could as easily torpedo a ship off the west end of the canal as the east.”

  “Easier. No British naval base in Honduras or Jamaica to worry about as you were running home to refill your torpedo tubes.”

  Gaston smacked a palm against his forehead and said, “Zut! No wonder the Germans were so willing to have us search along the east coast! If they have a base at all, it will be on the equally deserted west coast! But how could the British have failed to take that into consideration?”

  Captain Gringo frowned and said, “I don’t know. That’s why I never mentioned it to Greystoke. He might just be stupid. Delgado may have reported that stuff along the east coast as a diversion. I didn’t think of it, myself, until Helena said something about the way they use guys like you and me. I kept thinking about the sheer stupidity of out, Greystoke will be able to use it against the Germans. He’ll say they killed us when we found their base.”

  “What if he does? What do we owe the Germans?”

  “Not a fucking thing. They’ve tried to use us, too! Both sides are playing us for chumps and I’m getting pretty pissed off about it.”

  “Oh, I was afraid you’d say that. You tend to make a lot of noise when you get pissed off. But just what is your plan?”

  “Simple. We’re going to hold Greystoke and British Intelligence to the contract. We’re going to find the German base, destroy it, and go back for our full fee!”

  Gaston chuckled and said, “That probably will surprise M’sieu Greystoke. But if he’s using us as a distraction for the Germans while other agents search discreetly for the base, is it not possible that we could run into them?”

  Captain Gringo smiled wolfishly and said, “That’s their problem. I was hired to do a job. Anybody that gets in my way could wind up dead, no matter who he’s working for.”

  Chapter Nine

  Costa Rica lay in the latitudes of the northeast trades, so most of the rain fell on the Caribbean side, where Greystoke had told them to search. The central highlands were cooler and more pleasant. It got hotter and drier as they worked their way down toward the Pacific coast. Settlements and farms thinned out once you left the pleasant highlands in any direction. The rolling western slopes were wooded, but not with the lush jungle growth of the Caribbean rain forest. The trees the trail wound under were thornier, tougher, and used to going thirsty. In places the trees gave way to cactus higher than their heads. There was little breeze and the sun blazed hotly down to paint purple shadows on the dusty red soil. The only merciful quality to the west slope was the lack of jungle insects.

  Such rain as there was occurred as sudden gully-washing thunderstorms, and the parched, eroded landscape showed its bones. The trail they’d found wound like a child’s scribble as it led them more or less west toward the Pacific. They didn’t know the trail’s name, if it had one. They hadn’t met anyone along the way who could tell them. It simply beat trying to walk through cactus forests and brush-filled arroyos and, what the hell, all trails lead somewhere, in the end.

  Captain Gringo called a trail break in the shade of a grove of dusty trees none of them could identify. They’d refilled their canteens a few hours before when the trail had led them by a stagnant pond of soapy tasting water. It seemed impossible to find shade and water near one another in these parts. It was high noon and getting hotter by the minute. He told him men to shuck their packs and that they’d have time for a nap before the sun moved to a more reasonable position.

  As he braced his own back against a tree trunk to study his maps, Gaston flopped wearily beside him and said, “I could swear you somehow managed to lead us back to Mexico while we weren’t watching you. Doesn’t this country remind you of the Sierra Madre, Dick?”

  Captain Gringo nodded and said, “I was just thinking the same thing. But the map says we’re about a day’s walk from the Gulf of Nicoya. There’s supposed to be a town called Puntarenas ahead of us.

  Gaston said, “Since Puntarenas means sandy point, I tend to think the map is right. But I see that is not the map Greystoke gave you. Is it the German map?”

  “No, they were both navigation charts for the wrong coast.”

  “You mean the east coast, non? One hates to dampen youthful hopes, but there’s always the possibility that there is no German activity anywhere in Costa Rica.”

  “Bullshit! If Greystoke didn’t think something was going on, he’d have had no reason to hire us.”

  “True. When are we to arrive at this town of Puntarenas?”

  “We’re not. Nobody’s about to build a secret whatever close to a town, and we don’t want anyone to see us, either. That big gulf of Nicoya is a break, too. It takes a hell of a bite out of the west coast and we can write the whole stretch off as a possible site.

  Gaston started to ask why, then nodded at the map and said, “Mais oui. No German sea captain would wish to be cornered in a bay, but that still leaves a great deal of coastline to the south, toward Panama. May one assume we can eliminate the areas around those other towns down the coast?”

  Captain Gringo nodded and said, “Sure, but I hope this map is missing something. Do you see how every likely harbor site already has a fishing village squatting on it? The west coast isn’t low and swampy like the other. If these contour lines are right it’s a lot like the California coast. Sea cliffs and pocket
beaches with not too many sheltered coves.”

  Gaston brightened and said, “In that case we have fewer places to search, non? I see there are places where canyons run into the sea like Scandinavian fjords. That is where I would hope to hide a submarine.”

  “It’s a good thing for the Kaiser that he doesn’t have you running his navy, Gaston. Unless the Germans missed the same point, they’re not about to try and hide anything a passing woodcutter or goat herd could spot from hills overlooking it. I’m betting on an artificial harbor, scooped out of a deserted flat stretch of coast. As dry as it is on this side, flatlands should be mostly sand dune and semi-desert scrub. Natives would tend to avoid areas like that and even a thirty-foot dune would hide a pretty big base from seaward. We’re going to have to find another trail, running south. The first likely stretch to take a peek at is a good thirty miles below the mouth of the gulf ahead.”

  As he folded the map and put it away, they both turned their heads as the sounds of a commotion reached them. T.B. Jones and another man had a young boy between them and were bringing him over to Captain Gringo. The boy was ragged and his bare feet were bleeding. He looked hungry and thirsty, too. T.B .said, “I was standing watch to the south like you said to, Cap. I spotted this kid trying to circle past this grove through the brush.”

  Captain Gringo said, “Good work, T.B.,” in English. Then he switched to Spanish as he got up and held his canteen out to the young stranger, saying, “Have some water before we talk, son.” He kept speaking Spanish as he asked the bilingual T.B. if they’d roughed the kid up. He said, “Those cuts on his feet are fresh.”

  T.B. said, “I know. We never would have caught him if he hadn’t ripped his feet up on an old lava flow beyond the last trees. He runs like a deer.”

  The kid was guzzling water like he thought it was lemonade. Captain Gringo reached out to take the canteen away as he said, “Easy, that water’s alkaline. You’ll shit your brains out if you drink too much of it. What’s your name, son?”

  The boy stared wistfully at the canteen as he said, “I am called Zurdo. Are you people soldados? You have guns, but you do not look like soldados.”

  Captain Gringo said, “We’re irregulars, but we’re working for the government.” He saw no reason to say which government.

  The boy brightened and said, “Bueno, in that case I should not have tried to avoid you. I thought you might be bandidos, but I have been looking for soldados! My people are desperate.”

  Gaston, who’d been listening, raised an eyebrow and muttered, in English, “Stay out of it, Dick.” But Captain Gringo ignored him and asked the boy, “Where is your village and what’s this all about?”

  The boy pointed south through the trees and said, “I come from the valley beyond that volcanic ridge to the south. The valley is not well watered, but the soil is rich and we have always lived well enough, if left alone. A few days ago, strangers came to our valley. Like you, they are gringos, and well-armed. My people could do nothing-to stop them.”

  “Stop them from doing what, Zurdo?”

  “For to do anything they want to, señor. They eat our food, they abuse our women. When our alcalde told them they must leave, they shot him. Now they hold the plaza and the only well with their guns. They say anyone who wants water must pay them, unless she is a pretty girl. My sister is a pretty girl, but she has not gone near the well for water and our garden has withered. We have not water enough for ourselves and the livestock. My mother says my sister must be practical, but she says she will die first. When my mother started to beat my sister for being so proud, I told her I would go and look for help if she would stop.”

  “What did your father have to say about your mother’s pragmatic views on survival, Zurdo?”

  “Por favor, we have no father. We never had a father. Our mother is, as you say, pragmatic. I have had many fights about this. One does not allow others to say bad things about one’s mother, even when they are true.”

  Captain Gringo asked how many men were in the gang that had taken over the village well and Gaston groaned and said, “Merde, we are not knights of the round or any other kind of table! This is not our fight, my old and gallant!”

  Captain Gringo said, “We don’t know that. He says they’re gringos. Germans or Englishmen would be gringos to these people. And it’s on our way.” He turned back to the boy and repeated his question.

  Zurdo said, “There are fifteen or sixteen of them, señor”

  Gaston swore and said, “That’s two to one and they’re behind cover.” But Captain Gringo asked what kind of weapons the gang had. Zurdo looked puzzled and said, “Weapons, señor? They have pistols and rifles, like everyone else who shoots people.”

  The tall American smiled wolfishly and Gaston said, “They’ll still be behind adobe walls, damn it!”

  Captain Gringo asked the boy, “Can we get to your village before sundown if we leave right now?” and Zurdo nodded and replied, “Of course. It is only a few hours walk from here and I will lead you.”

  Gaston protested, “You said we’d rest here until it got cooler!”

  Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “I lied. T.B., Tell everyone to empty their canteens into the cooling jacket of our Maxim. We’re moving out in five minutes with no piss calls on the trail. If anyone has to piss, tell them we can use that in the water jacket, too. Any questions?”

  T.B. nodded and said, “Just one> Cap. The kid says the other side is sitting on the only water for miles. If we can’t take them, won’t that mean we’ll be left sort of thirsty?”

  Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “No. It will mean we’re dead. Get a move on, T.B. you’ve already wasted half a minute out of five.”

  Chapter Ten

  “They’re expecting company,” said Captain Gringo as he and Gaston crouched on a ridge overlooking the valley with the boy, Zurdo. Gaston stared morosely down the steep slope of eroded lava rock at the little cluster of thatched adobes, surrounded by a patchwork of small terraced fields, and said, “I think you’re right. I see the plaza and I see the well, but there is not a sign of life down there and the siesta hours are over. I don’t see how they spotted us, do you?”

  Captain Gringo said, “We didn’t circle around the hard way over all that fucking lava to be spotted. They may have missed Zurdo, here, or other men may have slipped out for help.”

  He turned to the boy and asked, “How did you leave, Zurdo? Did you try to sneak away or did you just start running up the slope?”

  Zurdo said, “I slipped away just before dawn. I did not tell anyone but my family that I was going. You said other men, señor. Does that mean I am the man of my family, in your eyes?”

  “I’d say you were a man in anybody’s eyes, Zurdo. When someone risks his life to help his friends, he’s a man no matter how old he is.”

  The boy blushed like a girl at the compliment, but Gaston said, “Merde, I agree the child deserves a medal. But whoever is holding that position is set for an attack and those walls down there look solid. If we had one modest field piece, reducing such a stronghold would be tres easy. Neither rifle nor machine gun bullets are going to make much of an impression of walls at least twenty-four inches thick.”

  Captain Gringo said, “Right.” Then he asked Zurdo, “Do you know which building they’re using as their headquarters, Son?”

  Zurdo nodded and said, “That bigger house with the tile roof, this side of the well. It used to be the alcalde’s, until they shot him.”

  Captain Gringo studied the building the boy had indicated. It presented its rear wall to them and there was no back door. There were narrow windows on the second story, so it would be impossible to sneak down behind, even if there was a reason. There wasn’t. The ground floor openings faced the plaza. He could see how one man in a window or doorway with a gun could prevent anyone from drawing water from the nearby well. He said, “I don’t see the usual church tower, Zurdo. Don’t your people go to church?”

  The boy
said, “Once a month, in the dry season. We are too poor and unimportant for a priest in residence. A circuit-riding padre comes by often enough for weddings, funerals, or such confessions as one may wish to make in a village where nothing much has ever happened before.”

  Gaston said, “Dick, I have been thinking about that gang down there. They can’t be working for anyone we know. We are nowhere near the sea, and even if we were, Greystoke said the German plans were tres long range, non?”

  “They’re not Germans. The Kaiser wants friends here, not enemies. German agents wouldn’t act so nasty long before the canal their Navy’s interested in has even been dug. Besides that, they don’t have to be nasty. Germany has lots of friends in Costa Rica.”

  “True. When one has high-ranking officers on one’s payroll, one does not mistreat peons who are bound to call on those same officers for help. I say forget it. Whoever they are, they are fools. How long can they hold that village before some Costa Rican Army unit comes by to deal with them?”

  Captain Gringo said, “Folks can die of thirst in a few days, Gaston.”

  “Perhaps, but then, they are not our folks, hein?”

  Captain Gringo stood up and took a white kerchief from his hip pocket as he said, “That’s what I like about you, Gaston. You’re such a tenderhearted son of a bitch.”

  “What are you doing? They’ll see you!”

  “I know. I’m going down to parley with them. You want to come along?”

  Gaston gasped and said, “Sacre! Now I know you have been out in the sun too long! They will blow you away like dust!”

  “I doubt it, but if they do, you’ll have to take over. I’d tell you to carry on with the mission if I thought you would, but why waste time? I want to settle this thing before the guys get thirsty.”

  The boy said, “I will go with you, señor!”