by Lou Cameron
The newcomers crowded into the tent. There were others on their feet or hunkered down inside. A rather handsome but pudgy-looking guy of about thirty lay on a cot, covered with quilts but shivering anyway. Felicidad gasped, “What has happened, El Aquilar Negro? You were all right when I spoke to you just last night!”
The rebel leader tried to sit up, gave it up as a bad move, and smiled up weakly at them as he said, “It is nothing. It will pass. Are these the professionals you told me about, Felicidad?”
The girl introduced him to Captain Gringo and Gaston. El Aquilar Negro said, “Forgive me for not offering to shake hands, señors. I do not think what I have is catching, but why take chances? You are most welcome indeed. Your fame has preceded you, and God knows we could use some professional advice! What do you think of my little army, so far, Captain Gringo?”
“You’re right. You need professional advice. Fortunately, the Mazatlán authorities do too. So you guys are probably okay for now.”
“It is said the U.S. Navy has come ashore to help the government search for us. Es verdad?”
Gaston nodded, but Captain Gringo said, “I’d better level with you, general. Those gunboat troops aren’t after you. They’re after us. All in all, it might be in your best interests to show us the way out of here, to the south. If we’re not here, they won’t come here after us. Without heavy weapons, we’re no great addition to your forces.”
“But you are a most famous machine-gunner, no?”
“That’s what I just said. Gaston, here, can drop mortar or artillery shells in a barrel from a mile or more away. But do you have anything heavier than a saddle gun to issue anybody?”
El Aquilar Negro sighed and said, “Not yet. We were just about to raid the federale fort at San Blas to get lots of good things. Alas, as you see, I am not in shape to make it to the latrine on my own at the moment. But I have had this fever before. It will pass, in maybe a few days. Meanwhile, consider yourselves at home. We have plenty of food, plenty of wine, and plenty of women, if you do not already have an adelita ”
Felicidad put a possessive arm around Captain Gringo’s waist as he said, “We’ve got everything but plenty of time, you mean, general! We know the guy who’ll be leading the shore patrol ahead of God knows how many Mexican government men. We know he’s a fanatic who enjoys hurting people. We know some of your so-called friends in Mazatlán are informers. So what will you bet they have this camp pinpointed on the map? The only reason they haven’t hit you already is because, yeah, you and your people are forted up pretty good in these hills, and, up to now, they’ve overestimated your forces and were waiting for somebody to lead them.”
El Aquilar Negro looked even sicker than he said he was and asked, “What can we do? This valley is too perfect to give up without a fight. I know we could hold it against the whole federale army if we only had a few good weapons. But I won’t be able to lead the raid for them for at least a few days more!”
Captain Gringo turned to Gaston and said, “You know Mexican S.O.P., Gaston. How long do you think it will take them to probe this far?”
Gaston shrugged and said, “You said those other navy men showed common sense. The Mazatlán police will be even more hesitant. To keep from having distressing Little Big Horns in rough country, one moves into it with caution. Each natural ambush must be well scouted before the main column marches on. We passed more natural ambushes than I could count. Say at least a few hours to circle each with a diamond patrol, and hopefully they won’t get close enough to worry about, for, oh, a few days.”
Captain Gringo nodded in agreement and said, “We could get luckier and they could be waiting for some backup from the rurales or federales. But we have to assume they’ll make it to that big potato within seventy-two hours. San Blas is a hell of a lot farther, but legged-up guys not expecting to be ambushed on their own ground could make it there and back easy.”
“Mais non. They could make it, just, but it would not be easy! Assume a ferocious forced march, both ways, and it still leaves no time to scout the fort atop those cliffs, let alone take it! Forts are built with the droll intention of withstanding sieges, my enthusiastic marathon runner! Do you seriously think anyone could march almost a hundred miles, through rough country, reduce a fort with a handful of guerrillas, and march back with heavy loads in seventy-two hours?”
“Of course not. It’s impossible. But when the only choice is to try, you gotta try, right?”
Gaston turned to the pallid rebel leader and said soothingly, “He talks like that a lot. Pay no attention. His parents never told him the facts of life. He thinks everyone is made out of whalebone and rawhide. I, Gaston, will think of a more sensible way.”
But El Aquilar Negro stared up at them thoughtfully and asked, “If I gave you the men to do it, could you do it, Captain Gringo?”
“I said I could try. It would have to be my way. Picked men, no adelitas slowing us down, and stragglers shot on the trail. It’s a job for real soldados, not guys who enjoy shooting pigs and chickens and yelling viva a lot.”
The rebel leader smiled crookedly and said, “Alas, I know all too well what you mean. I think I may have at least two dozen good men among my pobrecitos, Captain Gringo. But if I let you take all my real fighters, and they get here from the coast before you get back …”
“I’ll leave Gaston here with you to secure the post, general. He was whipping Legion recruits into shape before you or I were born. If you’ll give him the authority, he’ll make the sons-of-bitches work for this valley whether I get back or not.”
Gaston said, “Oh, merci trés bien, you big blond sucker of cocks!”
The man on the cot said, “Agreed. You two are professionals and, as you see, I can barely sit up.” He turned to one of the others in the tent and said, “Major Gomez. You have been listening. These are my orders. See that they are carried out. Captain Gringo is to lead a picked raiding party to get us the guns and ammunition we need to do this business right. Lieutenant Verrier is promoted to brevet colonel and will take command of the remaining forces until I recover.”
Gomez, a husky, bully-boy type with gold teeth, scowled and asked, “May I ask why me and my men are to be placed under gringo strangers, my general?”
Captain Gringo smiled pleasantly and said, “I can answer that, general. Do I have your permission to take this silly cabron on mano-a-mano?”
El Aquilar Negro didn’t get a chance to answer. Gomez gasped, “Hey, can’t you take a joke, Captain Gringo?”
The tall American nodded and said, “Sure, I admire a guy with a sense of humor. Let’s all get out of here now, gang. The general needs his rest and we’ve got some moves to make, poco tiempo!”
Gomez led the way out. Others, more reasonable aides who’d followed the exchange fanned out to gather in the guerrillas. As they waited, Felicidad plucked Captain Gringo’s sleeves and said, “I do not understand, Roberto. Why did the general call Tio Pancho by another name?”
He said, “I guess our reputation’s gotten around. We fibbed to you, doll. My real name’s Dick Walker and Tio Pancho is Gaston Verrier. By now you’ve figured out I’m American and he’s French. I was hoping to’ leave a few red herrings across our trail, but between those navy guys and the traitors in your movement, it seems to be a waste of time.”
“I think I shall still call you Roberto. Deek is a silly name. What did you mean about taking along no adelitas? Who ever heard of a Mexican army marching without women to carry the supplies and make nice-nice in the sleeping bags at night?”
“Nobody. That’s how come I hope to outmarch the other side a lot. We’ll talk about it later, when and if. The guys are starting to line up.”
The guerrilla band was, but they lined up sloppy as hell. Gomez must have wanted to keep his gold teeth. He sounded enthusiastic as hell about the idea, now that it had been properly explained to him. Captain Gringo let Gomez fill them in until he was repeating himself, then held up a hand for silence and called o
ut, “All right, muchachos. The sun’s up and it’s getting late for any further bullshit. You know the score. I’m marching south to San Blas. Double-time on the downhill slopes and quick-march going up. We’ll travel light. You can piss or smoke when I give you a trail break every other hour. Don’t bring food or water. They both weigh you down. We’ll drink when we cross a stream. Seventy-two hours without food or sleep won’t kill anyone but a sissy. I want two squads. That’s sixteen men and two noncoms. Step forward if you’re tired of living. I ain’t got all day!”
Almost all of them stepped forward a pace, though some looked worried about it. He picked two guys wearing stripes on their cotton sleeves and concerned expressions on their faces. He said, “You and you. I can’t stand noncoms who look confident. Let’s hear some names here, dammit!”
One said he was called Morales and the other answered to Robles. Captain Gringo said that was good enough and added, “You know these men. They all look brave to me. Pick out your own squads. Make sure everyone has good shoes or tough feet. I’m going to be mad as hell at you if any of them don’t know how to shoot straight and carry out orders to the letter.”
They saluted awkwardly and turned to choose the men they’d be leading as he heard someone mutter, “Madre de Dios, he’s a nasty one, no?” But an older soldado laughed and said, “I’m going with him, if they pick me or not. It’s the tough ones who bring you back alive, see?”
Robles did pick the old soldier. So, not waiting any longer, Captain Gringo said, “Follow me!” and started walking south, not looking back. As the two squads followed Captain Gringo, Gaston stared fondly at the much larger group left and said, in a parade ground voice. “Eh bein, my children. I see what my good fortune has left me. I assure you I feel no better about it than you scum do.”
There was a low, angry murmur from the assembled guerrillas. Gaston snapped, “You are at ease, God damn your eyes! When I want you to speak I will order you to. When I want you to roll over, I will order you to. At the moment, you are supposed to be at ease. That means you keep your moronic mouths closed while I tell you all a touching story.”
They subsided into sullen silence. Gaston nodded and said, “Once upon a time, when I was just a little boy, I was given a box of tin soldados for Christmas. I loved my. little tin soldados. I used to line them up neatly and tell them how much I loved them. All but one, who refused to stand straight and had to be thrown in the stove to melt, hein? Alas, we had to move, and somehow my little tin toys got lost along the way. I was trés heartbroken! I cried and I cried for my tin soldados, but they were gone, it seemed, forever. My grandmother, a wise old woman who sold violets and picked pockets by La Opera, took me in her arms and consoled me. She said not to worry. Someday, she assured me, I would get my dear tin soldados back.”
Gaston rocked back on his heels as he gazed at them fondly and added, ‘‘My grandmother was right. Today I have my tin soldados back! Your paint has rubbed off and I see none of you can stand straight now. But, by my grandmother’s bones, I have you little tin bastards back at last, and I mean to have you looking and acting like soldados again! We shall begin by coming to attention. I said, attention! Right dress and cover down! Move it, you species of triple-titted toads!”
Some of them tried. Others just stood there, gaping. One made the mistake of laughing out loud. Gaston walked over to him, asked, “Is something funny?” and kicked him in the balls.
As the guerrilla dropped at his feet, moaning in agony, two of his buddies surged forward, then stopped, as they saw they were staring down the muzzle of Gaston’s .38. Gaston smiled pleasantly and said, “Do not try it, muchachos. I am not attempting to win any popularity contests here. We have less time than we need to shape up and secure this stronghold. I can’t use men who argue with me. So do yourselves a favor. Don’t argue!”
They got back in line, at attention. Now that they saw Gaston wasn’t kidding, the others tried harder to form a straight line. He nodded and said, “You still look like the snaggle teeth of a badly beaten whore. But that’s better.”
Major Gomez had been watching all this, of course. He came over to Gaston and said, “Hey, why are you picking on my boys, Frenchman?”
Gaston shot him.
The lined-up guerrillas gasped collectively as their major sank to his knees with a startled expression, then flopped forward to lie dead at Gaston’s feet. Gaston said, “Eh hein. As I was saying, we do not have time to argue among ourselves. You have my permission to hate me, you poor stupid children. But the childish game of playing rebels and rurales is over. The real thing is marching on us as we attempt at least to stand at attention. You, you, you, take this carrion somewhere and bury it. The rest of you follow me. We are going out across the meadow for some close-order drill. I intend to shoot every mother’s son who fails to leap when I shout Froggy! Then, with what is left of you sorry sons-of-bitches, I intend to set up defenses that one hopes the other bastards shall not be able to overrun with one lousy charge, hein?”
*
Since he’d started with a much smaller bunch of picked men, Captain Gringo didn’t have to shoot anyone with him the first day on the trail. He had to kick a couple to their feet after trail breaks as the day wore on, but that was only to be expected and they took it in good humor for the most part.
His men were well legged up from raiding the lowlands and cutting off occasional travelers unwise enough to attempt the mountain trails without military escorts. But they were also used to knocking off every afternoon for la siesta and protested, as the sun rose to the zenith, that he was going to kill them all. He admitted they had a point. Their big sombreros didn’t help much as the noonday sun blasted down at them at well over a hundred degrees in the shade, if there’d been much shade. He announced, “I’m about to drop, too. But look at it this way. Would you rather die of sunstroke or with hot lead in your guts? We can walk faster and not screw around with scouting when not even a lizard would be dumb enough to move in these hills. Los rurales aren’t as tough as you guys. So they’ll be holed up somewhere with a cerveza, a puta, or both.”
Someone croaked, “Let them keep the whore. Just give me the beer!”
Captain Gringo laughed and said, “You never had it so good. We’re topping the rise. So … double-time, march!”
Behind him, as he jogged down the slope under the tropic sun, he heard someone gasp, “He’s inhuman! I can’t run another step!”
But Corporal Robles snapped. “You will run as far as he says, or I will kill you. I picked you for a man, niño! Are you going to make a fool of me? No, by the beard of Christ, you are not going to make a fool of me! If you let me down, I shall leave you by the trail with both kneecaps blown off. Then, when we get back to camp, I will ravage your adelita cruelly before I shoot her, and your children, too!”
That seemed to work. When Captain Gringo called quick-march up the next slope, all his guys were still with him.
He drove himself, and them, until the sun was lower and a more reasonable shade of orange. He halted the column near the top of a ridge to the south and told them to fall out. They did so, literally. A couple just flopped on the trail as if they’d been shot. He didn’t want them getting shot. So he called out, “Morales, bring the map and follow me.” Then he eased up the trail a way, stepped off it, and dropped to crawl the rest of the way over the rise through the brush. He stopped with his outline hopefully broken by the chaparral all around and was staring down across the valley to the south where Morales joined him to ask what was up.
Captain Gringo said, “Anyone could be up, now that la siesta is over and this chaparral is down. Look at the bushes around us. Goats have been grazing this ridge.”
Morales said, “Si, but we know the people who ranch down below. They are simpatico to our cause, Captain Gringo.”
The American spotted the outlines of a ranch house, almost hidden by the trees around it. He asked. “How simpatico?” Are they fellow rebels or just people who don’t like
the current government all that much?”
Morales shrugged and said, “Nobody likes the current government, Captain Gringo. They allow us to water our horses there and they never turn us in to los rurales. In return, we never raid them.”
“I get the picture. Let’s see that map now. If we’re still on El Aquilar Negro’s hunting grounds, we’re not far enough south to matter. We’ll have to make up the lost time by pushing harder in the cool of night.”
Madre de Dios, Captain Gringo, you expect us to march faster?”
The American spread the map and found their position. He swore under his breath and said, “I know it’s impossible. We have to do it anyway. We’re not even halfway to the border between Estados Sinaloa and Nayarit yet, dammit!”
“I know. My feet are killing me. Forgive me. I mean no disrespect, but I know my men, and their feet are killing them, too. We have bullied an amazing march out of them. Perhaps they can walk almost as far once it cools off, as you say. But they must have some rest before pushing on. Food would not hurt them, either. The rancheros down there have food. They are far from any rurale post. God knows when we shall encounter such good fortune again, Captain Gringo. I do not know the country beyond the next spur running west to the sea.”
Captain Gringo muttered, “That makes two of us,” as he studied the map. There wasn’t much to study. The guerrillas had lifted it from an unfortunate traveler who’d used it to get lost in their part of the hills a while back. It was a standard Mexican ordinance map, with gross features probably about where they should be. There was a hell of a lot of blank paper between inked-in roads and towns. Neither this ridge nor the ranch in the valley below were on it. The bright side was that the enemy might not know the country any better. He said, “Well, we’re still close to seventy miles from San Blas. We’ll have to slow down even more and put out point and flank scouts once we get closer. Okay, run down there and ask ’em if they want a fight or extra dinner guests. If they don’t kill you, I’ll bring the others down when you signal.” As the man turned to go, he added, “Oh, yeah, Morales?”