Crossed Arrows 3

by Patrick E. Andrews

  Ludlow wished he could say something to ease his captain’s bitterness. A shout from the scout guard at the side of the bivouac sounded. “Rider come in!”

  The three whites got to their feet and looked toward the garrison area of Fort Duncan. A mounted soldier had his horse at a trot as he approached. When the man arrived, he quickly dismounted and gave Hawkins a snappy salute. “Sir! Message for you from Major Thornton. He requests a reply.”

  The captain unfolded the missive and scanned the one sentence written on it. “Tell the major that me and Lieutenant Dooley will comply.”

  The messenger rendered another perfect salute, remounted and rode back toward Fort Duncan.

  “Well, Mr. Dooley,” Hawkins said. “You and I are to report to Major Thornton at post headquarters tomorrow morning at eight.”

  Ludlow was glum. “We’re both probably going to be reprimanded then sent back to Fort Lone Wolf.”

  “I think you’re right,” Hawkins acknowledged. Then he cursed. “Godamn it! This deployment is ruining me. That soldier gave me a proper U.S. Army salute and I just sort of waved back casual like. I never meant to show him a discourtesy.”

  “Don’t worry, sir,” Ludlow said, thinking of Beth Spencer. “After we’ve been back at Fort Lone Wolf for awhile, we’ll forget all about this.”

  Twenty-Two

  The following morning, Captain Mack Hawkins and Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley presented themselves at the Fort Duncan post headquarters. They asked the adjutant where Major David Thornton could be found. The busy staff officer directed them to an office on the other side of the building. The two walked over and Hawkins knocked loudly and angrily on the door.

  “Come!” stated a voice from the interior.

  They stepped into the room to see Major Thornton sitting behind a desk. A satchel was laying to his direct front. “Ah! Good morning, gentlemen,” he greeted. “Please sit down.” He waited until they were seated, then continued. “You are hereby ordered to go into Mexico, find the location of the bandits’ lair, then deal with them with all possible prejudice.”

  Hawkins and Ludlow sat in silence, their mouths open in astonishment.

  Thornton spoke again as he withdrew several documents from the satchel. “I have here a detailed report on the enemy’s location and strength.” He unrolled a map and slid it across the desk for the scout officers to see. “This is Cupula Mountain on the Chihuahuan Desert. It is a bit under ten miles south of the Rio Grande River. Your jumping off point will be here—“ He placed his finger on the spot. “—at this bend. This is a rock bottom ford that is approximately a yard deep. The water slows its flow there, then picks up speed when it reaches the other side. The churning will indicate to you where the actual crossing can be made into the Mexican Republic.”

  Ludlow inquired, “Do you have any idea of the numerical strength of the bandits?”

  Thornton showed a rare smile. “I know exactly how many there are, Lieutenant. Fourteen. Only fourteen.”

  Hawkins was pleased. “That backs up what the stagecoach guard told us during our visit to Tobeyville.”

  “These documents and the map were sent here from the War Department in Washington,” Thornton informed him. “The sources are unimpeachable.”

  Hawkins was in a near giddy mood. “By God, sir! We’ll end those raids for sure now!”

  “I knew you would be pleased, Captain,” Thornton said. “And you’ll also be pleased to learn that you are authorized to do all the planning of this attack.”

  “That’s good to hear, sir.”

  Ludlow fell into one of his moods of crucial reasoning. “What about ammunition, sir? As well as rations.”

  “That’s being taken care of by the post quartermaster,” Thornton stated. “And I reminded him that you will require .30 caliber rounds for your Krag-Jorgensen carbines. The requisition should be here within a few days.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Hawkins replied sincerely.

  “You’re certainly welcome, Captain,” the major replied. “An empty barracks has been provided for you at the northern edge of the garrison. A table and chairs are there for your planning and administrative activities. Unfortunately, there are no bunks.”

  “We can use our blankets, sir,” Hawkins said. “The floor isn’t much harder than the Texas ground we’ve been sleeping on.” He put the documents and map back in the satchel and stood up. “We appreciate the good work on your part, sir.”

  Thornton actually smiled again. “Go get ’em, gentlemen!”

  ~*~

  The Kiowa-Comanche Detachment of U.S. Scouts were completely settled in their new quarters after the meeting with Major Thornton. Hawkins and Ludlow, with input from Jesse, began the planning phase of the operation.

  The map was laid out as Hawkins first perused the documents containing information about the objective. “Let’s see,” the captain mused. “The bandits are bivouacked on top of that mountain. It’s a dirt dome located on flat desert terrain. It’s noticeable for miles around. The crown is open without vegetation and is some 250 feet across. A rather thick forest grows all around the sides from the top almost all the way down to the desert floor.”

  Ludlow was pleased. “That means we have 360 degrees of approach to reach the top.”

  “True,” Jesse said. “But approaching the mountain itself is gonna be over bare desert. We’ll stand out like crickets on a white table cloth.”

  Hawkins looked at the ranger. “Are you going with us?”

  “You damn betcha I am!”

  “Welcome aboard,” Ludlow said. “D’you have any suggestions?”

  “Yep,” Jesse replied “We should cross the desert during the night and enter the tree line before sunrise. Now that ain’t gonna do us much good since we cain’t see shit in a thick woods while it’s dark. So! We’ll have to wait for daylight to make an attack.”

  “Certainly,” Hawkins said. “We’ll have plenty of cover in a forest especially when we reach the top. We can give those bastards a real payback, by catching them in the open and shooting them down while they can’t see us.” He added, “It’s what those Texas folks have been going through.”

  “Now I got a question, Mack,” Jesse announced. “What’re we gonna do with the ones that’s wounded after the job’s took care of?”

  Hawkins answered the question with a question. “What would the Texas Rangers do?”

  “Kill the wounded,” Jesse calmly replied.

  “And that’s exactly what we’re gonna do,” Hawkins said. “We got no other choice.”

  Jesse asked, “How soon do we start this here fight?”

  “According to Major Thornton we have a week or so before we get the supplies and ammunition we need,” Hawkins informed him, He turned to his second-in-command. “That reminds me, Mr. Dooley. I am going to make you responsible for running the scouts through the fine art of maintaining skirmish lines and keeping within sight of each other. They went through this before up there in the Rocky Mountains, but a little reminding is in order.”

  “Yes, sir! Right away, sir! Immediately if not sooner, sir!”

  “Relax, Mr. Dooley,” Hawkins said. “You can wait until tomorrow morning to start.”

  “I was just joking, sir.”

  Hawkins frowned. “You better not be joking, mister!”

  Ludlow grimaced.

  ~*~

  That evening, while everyone prepared for the coming expedition, Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley sat at the planning table and penned a letter to Miss Beth Spencer.

  My dear Miss Spencer:

  It is with great pleasure that I have this opportunity to once again send you correspondence from far-away Texas. I do sincerely hope that the words I have penned in my poor attempt to maintain a rapport with you have not grown wearisome.

  I do have good news, however. After weeks of discomfiture and discountenance, we are finally going into Mexico to deal with those merciless bandits who have so cruelly assaulted communities who have done them no har
m. I dare not shock your delicate senses with descriptions of the outrages they have committed, but I do want you to know they deserve the strongest punishments we can inflict upon them.

  We should be returning to Fort Lone Wolf quite soon after we have defeated the malefactors. Please forgive my brashness, but I am so much looking forward to seeing you once more.

  Your obedient servant,

  Ludlow Dooley

  Second Lieutenant of U.S. Scouts

  Ludlow Dooley folded the letter and inserted it into an envelope. After applying a postage stamp, he hurried to the post mailroom to mail it.

  Twenty-Three

  Up on Cupula Mountain, Comandante Karl Jager and Sub-Comandante Santiago Gomez were in their tent studying a map of the Rio Grande’s course. They concentrated on choosing the best location for their next attack. Their scrutiny was rudely interrupted by shouting that suddenly erupted from the entrance to the camp. The two leaders rushed from the canvas shelter, then came to an abrupt halt.

  The twenty Mexican guardsmen billeted in San Patricio had ridden into the bucolic garrison in a column of twos, surprising the vengadores. The group included a trio of sturdy burros bearing large, heavy packs. The sergeant-in-charge sighted Jager and Santiago and ordered a halt. He guided his horse over to them, dismounted and saluted. “Señores Comandantes, First Sergeant of the Guard Platas reporting for duty with two sections of cavalry and supplies.”

  Jager was confused. “Are you making a delivery, Sergeant?”

  “No, mi comandante, we have been ordered by Colonel Valenzuela to join your command.”

  Gomez was pleased. “This means we can begin a campaign of genuinely effective raiding. We shall be the greatest scourge of the border country.”

  Jager smiled. “Indeed! I think we should—“

  “Excuse me, Comandante Jager,” Sergeant Platas interrupted. “Colonel Valenzuela requests that you report to him in San Patricio as quickly as possible. There are other important people there now and they wish for you to participate in a special conference.”

  Gomez felt a flash of enthusiasm. “The war with the Gringos is about to begin.”

  “You are absolutely correct!” Jager agreed. “I must leave as quickly as possible. Settle these twenty men into the garrison, then assign them to positions within the defensive perimeter. I shall return as quickly as possible.”

  Jager hurried to his tent to pack for the ride to the village while Gomez began the process of integrating the soldiers in with the vengadores.

  ~*~

  It was dawn when Karl Jager arrived at San Patricio after a long night of travel. He noted the empty area where the guard detachment had been billeted as he rode to the huts used for headquarters. He came to a halt, getting down from his saddle and tying his horse to a hitching rack in front of the command shed.

  Colonel Juan-Carlos Valenzuela stepped outside to greet him. “I appreciate your quickness, Comandante Jager.”

  Jager grinned. “The appearance of Sergeant Platas and his men caused quite a stir up on the mountain.”

  Valenzuela chuckled. “I imagine it did indeed!”

  Two more men, wearing stylish civilian suits, joined them and one’s eyes opened wide when he spotted Jager. He exclaimed in German, “Ach! Du lieber Gott! It is you cousin Heinrich!”

  Jager was so shocked at the sight of the man that he staggered back a couple of steps. “Vetter Karl!” he blurted in his native language.

  The German ambassador Dietrich von Wurthardt was confused. “Are you two acquainted?”

  Valenzuela was also baffled. “Que pasa—what’s going on, Comandante Jager?”

  Jager, now recovered, replied in Spanish, “This man and I are cousins.”

  Karl von Richtberg’s full attention was on his kinsman. “Where have you been, Heinrich? You disappeared off the face of the earth after your…well… your incident.”

  “Let us speak plainly, cousin,” Jager stated emphatically. “It is my theft of regimental funds to which you refer.”

  Ambassador von Wurthardt had become irritated. “What is going on here, General Richtberg?”

  Jager’s eyes opened wide. “So you’ve become a general, have you, Karl?”

  The general shrugged modestly. “Ja. I have the honor to serve Kaiser Wilhelm as a generalmajor in the Imperial Army.” He nodded toward Valenzuela. “Why has this officer addressed you as Jager?”

  “It is my French Foreign Legion name. I took it along with your Christian name ‘Karl.’ I am a citizen of France and have been a mercenary soldier for many years now. Presently I am working for certain officers of the Mexican Army.”

  Valenzuela was baffled by the rapid exchange in the German language. “It appears to me that you two have some catching up to do. I suggest we postpone any official business until you are reacquainted.”

  “I agree,” Ambassador von Wurthardt stated. “I do not think either of you will be able to concentrate on other matters for awhile.”

  The two Germans withdrew, going over to a nearby bench and sitting down. They spent nearly an hour bringing each other up to date. Heinrich alias Karl heard the latest news of the Von Richtberg family. His father had passed away in 1883 but his mother was still alive but frail at the age of 97. The familial estate was the same as always except for renovations done to the main house. Heinrich was not surprised that his father had never forgiven him for his crime, and forbade even the mention of his name.

  Jager then enlightened his cousin Karl about his career in the French Foreign Legion and his life as a mercenary soldier in Latin America. He also revealed that he was a wealthy man with a large amount of money in an Argentine Bank. “I have given thought to paying back the money I took from the regimental funds, even to the amount of three times what I stole.”

  “That would be what an aristokrat should do,” Karl said. “But I fear there would still be others in the Imperial Army who would prefer that you die an honorable officer’s death by suicide with a pistol.”

  Jager shook his head. “I have other plans, Cousin Karl. A life of luxury in Switzerland is more to my liking.” He paused. “And what is your purpose for being here in Mexico?”

  The general gave a quick but complete explanation of the plans to colonize all of Central and South America. Jager was so amazed by the conspiracy that he couldn’t speak for a moment. Finally, he muttered, “Is such a stupendous thing possible?”

  General von Richtberg energetically nodded. “We have a large contingent of the Imperial Army in Cuba at this very moment. The Spanish king is cooperating with us. When the time is right an invasion into sovereign American territory will be launched with our brave Prussian soldiers in the vanguard.”

  Jager caught his breath and said, “Ah! If only I could participate in that incredible campaign!”

  “I wish you could too, Heinrich. But you would never be accepted back into the Imperial Army.”

  Jager shrugged and stood up. “I think we had better return to Ambassador von Wurthardt and Colonel Valenzuela. The sooner this plan is put into operation, the sooner Germany will benefit from the spoils.”

  “Selbstverständlich!” Major General von Richtberg agreed with cheerful enthusiasm.

  ~*~

  Captain Mack Hawkins, with Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley on his left and Texas Ranger Jesse Buford to his right, raised his hand to signal a halt. The trio was at the head of the scout detachment arranged in a column of twos. They looked down at the swirling water passing by in the Rio Grande.

  “This appears to be the place we’re looking for, Mr. Dooley.”

  “Indeed it does, sir!”

  “We’ll stay out of sight in the woods on the Mexican side, then begin our advance toward the target just after sunset,” Hawkins stated. He stood in his stirrups and turned to the scouts. “Are you ready to kill the cowardly bandits who thought they were safe in Mexico?”

  The scouts shouted out battle cries that went back eons in their tribal histories. Jesse Buford joine
d them with a mighty Texas bellow of, “Remember the Alamo!”

  Hawkins settled back in his saddle, ordering, “Column of twos! Advance at the trot. March!” The captain took his command across the swirling ford into Mexico.

  Twenty-Four

  The setting sun cast a red glow across the firm, flat terrain of the Chihuahuan Desert. The scout detachment had chowed down quickly on hardtack washed down with coffee to begin what was to be a crucial night. The horses had been given a good watering and feed of oats earlier that afternoon since they would have to be picketed in a safe area during the battle.

  Now, as nightfall loomed, all the U.S. Scout mounts were saddled, equipment was properly attached and the riders stood to horse. Hawkins and Jesse were in the saddle, waiting while Ludlow Dooley took command of the column.

  “Prepare to mount!” the lieutenant shouted. “Mount!” The scouts pulled themselves aboard their horses. “Forward at walk. March!” The column moved south toward Cupula Mountain.

  Ludlow trotted his mount up to the front of the formation to join the captain and Texas ranger. Everyone was silent as the task before them occupied their minds. Like all soldiers who faced an imminent battle, they were stoic with all thoughts concentrated on the plan of action they would soon put into effect.

  The old warrior Red Moon, contemplative as always, spoke out in the patois language used by the Kiowas and Comanches when conversing with one another. “Tomorrow will be a good day to die!”

  “Hah!” Sergeant Eagle Heart agreed in the Kiowa tongue.

  “Tsu!” Corporal Tall Bear exclaimed, echoing the sergeant’s opinion in Comanche.

  Hawkins hadn’t bothered to put out point men or flankers since the barrenness of the environment meant no ambushes or attacks could be successfully launched from the surrounding countryside.

  ~*~

  Early daylight provided a dull illumination for the scout detachment. The only sounds were the soft clops of hooves and an occasional snort of a horse. The shadowy environment did not hinder visual distances when Cupula Mountain appeared on the horizon. The vision was blurry at first but slowly and steadily grew clearer in everyone’s eyes. They now recognized a steep mountain with a tree growth that ran from slightly above ground level up to the apex.