Renegade 17

by Lou Cameron

  Something thudded solidly on the steel plate roofing of the wheelhouse. It was followed by a burst of five more solid bangs. The skipper blinked and said, “Jesus, we seem to be under fire!”

  Another burst of automatic fire fell short, off their port bow. It gave the men on the bridge a line on where it was coming from. The skipper swore, picked up his speaking tube, and ordered battle stations.

  In an era of gunboat diplomacy, vessels flying ‘the Stars and Stripes were not allowed to be used for target practice. By this time Carson had ducked below the armored sill of the bridge wing, but he’d ranged on the mystery bursts, too, and yelled, “They’re firing on us from that fortress like whatever just south of town!”

  The skipper said, “Teach your granny how to suck eggs! Fire Control! I want a salvo on that blockhouse two points aft my port beam, and I want it now!”

  The gunboat tingled all over as both turrets belched smoke and flame from opposite ends of the gray superstructure. Gunners who enforced gunboat diplomacy got a lot of practice, so they were good. As their shells lanced down through the tile roof of the rurale post and blew said roof to red confetti rising on mushroom clouds of brown cordite smoke, the skipper ordered, “Give ’em another salvo! I’ll show the bastards for chipping my paint!”

  On shore, Captain Gringo waited, watching with delight, as the U.S. Navy blew the shit out of the rurale post for him. The livestock in the corrals down there were milling wildly in panic as roof tiles fell among them. But the corral walls held. Captain Gringo turned to his men and said, “Let’s go! The shelling’s stopped!” and, suiting action to his words, charged over the ridge and down the hill with his Maxim braced on his hip.

  *

  Later in the day, at the stronghold, Gaston blinked in surprise as he heard the crackle of small-arms fire. There was nobody visible on the slopes to the east. The fire was coming from the west, where nobody was supposed to be dumb enough to attack!

  Some of the others Gaston had posted on the east ridge started to rise. Gaston yelled, “Hold your positions! It may be a ruse! Noncoms, see your squads stay in place here. I’ll find out what species of idiocy is taking place over there!”

  It took Gaston a few minutes to traverse the valley to where Felicidad and the other adelitas had taken their positions in what Gaston had assumed to be a foolish girls’ errand. Fortunately, the rebel adelitas were a lot tougher than they looked. They got to carry guns and ammo a lot, and since women are curious by nature, most of them had demanded and received permission from their soldados to fire said guns once in a while.

  The federales and rurales attacking up the steep slope from the west were, as Gaston had foretold, at considerable disadvantage. Their leaders had been as smart as Gaston. They would never have hit the rebel stronghold so directly, had it been up to them. But they had orders from el Presidente and they’d been told it would be a pushover with El Aquilar Negro out of action and most of the best men gone.

  They’d been told wrong. The girls strung out along the ridge proceeded to cut them down with well-aimed rifle fire as they struggled up the slope. By the time Gaston flopped down beside Felicidad to ask her what on earth was going on, the earth below was soaking up a lot of gore. He stared soberly down at the uniformed bodies scattered among the boulders like discarded rag dolls and whistled softly. Felicidad laughed and said, “They are running back down to safety, the cowards! This is fun. I did not know it was so easy to be a soldado. I thought one had to be a man to be a hero!”

  Gaston said, “Do not get carried away, my little Amazon. You and these other women were not the heroes just now. Those poor bastards down there were the heroes! Being a hero can take fifty years off a man’s life.”

  A woman nearby called out, “Felicidad, do you have any bullets you can spare me? I only have two clips left!”

  Felicidad called back, “Make sure you make every bullet count, then. I have none to spare, either.”

  She turned to Gaston and said, “We need more ammunition. As you see, we can hold this ridge if only we can keep shooting. But I must say it takes a lot of ammunition to stop a charge.”

  Gaston thought, shook his head, and said, “If the enemy leader has the brains of a gnat, he’ll try the next time from the other side. My boys over there will need even more ammunition, since their position is trés lousy compared to yours.”

  Felicidad sighed and said, “It’s not fair. Oh, look, they’re coming at us again!” and Gaston blinked and gasped, “Merde alors, you are right!”

  There was no time to make any smart moves. So, as the long ragged line of uniformed government men waded up the slope at them, Gaston propped his own rifle in position with his elbows and called out, “Hold your fire, muchachas! Wait until I open up. Then make every shot count!”

  At his side, Felicidad complained, “They are almost within range! Why don’t you shoot?”

  “Because almost is not good enough, of course. Keep your pretty head down. You are sky lining yourself. Hold your fire. Easy, easy, let them move a little closer.”

  “Closer? They are close enough to see the whites of their eyes!”

  “That, my child, is the general idea. Eh bien, see that idiot with bars on his shoulders? He is mine. Take the noncom to his left. Now!”

  Their rifles spoke as one. Their targets rolled back down the slope together, too. Some of the enemy were of course firing back as the other adelitas opened up all along the ridge. The smarter ones just ran back down the slope as the riflewomen aimed at the closer ones and dropped them among the rocks and other bodies.

  Felicidad laughed, changed her clip, and then made a funny little sound as her rifle went off aimed at the sky. Gaston swore, emptied his own rifle into the retreating skirmish line, then rolled over to pick up Felicidad’s fallen rifle. When he had it aimed, he saw no likely target. So he looked down at Felicidad.

  The girl lay on her side, staring intently at a rock a few inches from her pretty face. A trickle of blood ran out one corner of her mouth. Gaston made the sign of the cross and gently closed her eyes with his fingers.

  The other girl who’d asked about ammo crawled over to them, saying she’d used up her last round. She saw Felicidad and asked, “Is she?” and Gaston said, “Oui,” as he handed her a clip from his own ammo belt, saying, “Make this last. It’s the only one I can spare. I am called Gaston. How are you called, muchacha?”

  The girl, a woman, really, said, “I am called Rosita. What does it matter now?”

  “I may wish to say goodbye properly. You are very attractive, Rosita. I never expected to end my days between two beautiful women, but then, I have always been lucky.”

  Rosita, who wasn’t really all that pretty, but had a great derriere, said, “This is no time for flattery. All three of us will be cadavers if you don’t get the others over to this side poco tiempo! Do you wish me to run for them?” He said, “You’d better get off this ridge. But don’t bother the hombres over there. They will be having their own problems any minute, if the idiot in charge of this attack comes to his senses.”

  “What if he does not? If they charge up this slope again, I don’t think we can stop them with the ammo we have left, Gaston!”

  “I know we can’t. You’d better move back to safety, Rosita. Try to remember me fondly in days to come, hein?”

  “I shall fight at your side, Gaston. Poor Felicidad told me about you. Is it true you have chosen no adelita? I lost my soldado in a raid a month ago.”

  “Dear heart, this is a very silly time to discuss our possible future relationship. Observe, those insects down the slope are forming up for another charge!”

  He made sure he had a round in his chamber as he lay prone by Felicidad’s corpse, with Rosita at his other side. As they watched the ominous advance, Gaston muttered, “The bastard in command has little regard for his men, but he must have noticed how ragged that last volley from up here was. All shitting of the bull aside, Rosita, you’d better move back. This does not
look good. Unless the other girls have been hiding extra rounds in their hair, I doubt if we can stop them this time!”

  “We can try. What are those shiny things they have on their rifles?”

  “Bayonets. One forgets you children have hitherto only tangled with rurales. Eh bien, if you insist on dying with me, take this pistol. It should stop a couple for you at close range. Save the last bullet for your pretty self. They shall not be gentle with prisoners after taking such heavy casualties, hein?”

  She didn’t answer. Gaston chose another squad leader as his first target and shot off the side of his head. As Rosita and the others opened up, Gaston heard only half of them were firing now.

  The oncoming enemy heard this too. Somewhere, a bugle began to blow full charge, so the skirmish line staggered into an uphill run. Some of them were still dropping, but a lot were not. Gaston’s hammer clicked on an empty chamber. He reached for another clip. He didn’t have one. He’d even given his damned pistol away!

  Then, just as Gaston braced himself to rise and run like hell, a Maxim machine gun opened up from somewhere to the south. Gaston blinked and muttered, t(Sacré bleu and what the hell?” as people on the slope started falling down a lot. The machine gun wasn’t firing at the rebels. It was taking the skirmish line on the flank, and cutting hell out of them!

  The confused survivors started moving back down the slope as Captain Gringo changed his belt and told Robles, “They’ll be retreating through that cleft in the potato rocks. Can you and your squad beat them there with those grenades? Bueno! Get going!”

  Then, as Robles and his men squirmed away through the boulders, Captain Gringo opened up again on the men running wildly down the corpse-infested slope to his north. He ceased fire with half his belt left. He hadn’t force-marched men and mules over the hills this far to waste ammunition.

  He waited. At his side, Morales said, “I think they have given up.”

  But Captain Gringo said, “Sit tight. I think so too. But Mother War doesn’t give her children many bum guesses. Go back and make sure the pack mules are secure. They’ve had a rough day and gunfire is hard on everybody’s nerves. Cover down on me and don’t move on until you see me getting away with it.”

  Morales left him alone. Captain Gringo waited until he heard cheers and saw the red flannel flag of the rebels waving wildly atop the ridge to his right. Since nobody shot the idiot waving it, he figured it was safe to break cover now. He picked up the dismounted Maxim and started legging it up the slope at an angle. When he looked back, Morales and the mules were following. Off to the west, he heard the tinny crumps of grenades going off and knew Robles was on the ball, too.

  Gaston and a gal with an okay face and a big ass came part way down the slope to meet him. Gaston said, “It’s about time you got here. Did you get the ammo? We just used up half of what we had. They foxed me by attacking the dumb way. It would have worked, too. But, regardez all the dead they left behind! This place is going to stink like hell in a little while.”

  “Yeah, I’ll have to talk to the boss about moving camp. Obviously the other side knew all too well where it was. Is Felicidad okay?”

  Gaston’s face fell. Captain Gringo sighed and said, “Shit. What happened, Gaston?”

  “She took one at the base of her throat, angled down. At least she never knew what hit her, Dick. You should have seen how she and the other women fought! I still can’t believe it, and I was there. This is Rosita. I saw her first. Do not trifle with her. She is a formidable gunfighter!”

  Captain Gringo nodded at the Amazon and led the way over the ridge. As he approached the idiot waving the flag, he saw it was El Aquilar Negro in the flesh. He frowned and said, “I see you’ve recovered from your fever.”

  The rebel leader grinned boyishly and replied, “Si, just in time to lead my people to victory. Did you fetch my arms and ammunition?”

  “Coming on those mules. I’m sure glad to see you so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. We’re going to have to move this camp.”

  “But why? We just won the battle, Captain Gringo!”

  The trail-sore American looked disgusted and didn’t answer.

  Gaston said, “One swallow does not a summer make, nor one battle a victory. We have given them something to ponder before they attack again. But, rest assured, they will return, the right way, with mountain artillery and someone who knows his business better.”

  El Aquilar Negro shrugged and handed the banner to an aide before he turned away, saying, “We shall discuss the matter further, later. Right now it is time to celebrate my victory!”

  As he swaggered downhill toward his camp, Captain Gringo swore and muttered, “His victory? Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Gaston?”

  “Oui, we used to shoot malingering cowards in the Legion, top. It is amazing how much that improves the health of fever victims. But it is not our place, Dick. The others would probably resent it if a gringo shot their leader. Besides, if you did, you would automatique be stuck with leading these children, hein?”

  “Yeah, and that’s the last thing I want. These poor assholes don’t have a chance with anybody leading them!”

  *

  The problem was solved by Robles. El Aquilar Negro was holding court, seated in a camp chair in front of his tent, when Robles and what was left of his squad came up. Robles had lost another man and had himself been creased by a federale bullet. But he said the grenades had done a real job in the cleft of the potato rocks. He added, “I left a couple of lookouts there. Some few of the animals got away to run back to Mazatlán with their tails between their legs. I am surprised to see you so recovered, El Aquilar Negro.”

  Captain Gringo knew better, but he couldn’t keep from saying, “Yeah, if he’d bounced out of bed a few minutes sooner he’d have gotten to fight with the adelitas.”

  El Aquilar Negro got to his feet with a scowl and demanded, “Was that a remark about my manhood, Gringo? Do you doubt I was really ill?”

  Captain Gringo smiled thinly and met the rebel leader’s gaze as he said, “I think you were sick, all right. The idea of a stand-up fight in place of a brag gives many a village bully a tummy ache. I’ve been comparing notes with the guys you sent on that suicide mission with me, chico. It’s odd that none of the raids that band have made have ever been led by you in person. But it’s not my gang. So I guess they can go on being dumb if they want to. Gaston and me are leaving. We’ve done all we can.”

  El Aquilar Negro roared, “I shall say who leaves and who does not! I have been insulted! I will not have it! I demand an apology, Gringo! You will take back what you said, or you will die!”

  “Okay, do you want to fight me with knives or guns?”

  “Fight you?” The rebel leader blanched, adding, “I do not fight like a peon! Madre de Dios, I am a general! I am king of these mountains and rebel leader of Estado Sinaloa!”

  Robles said, “Not anymore.” Then he drew his gun and put three rounds into El Aquilar Negro’s plump chest. As the braggart fell at his feet, he turned mildly to the others, gun muzzle smoking, and said softly, “I am the general. Are there any objections?”

  There was a moment of stunned silence. Then someone threw his hat in the air and yelled, Viva Generale Robles!” The others seemed to think it was a hell of a good idea. So Robles started to reload his revolver as he asked Captain Gringo, “Before you leave us, is there anything we can do for you, amigo mio?”

  Captain Gringo said, “Yeah. Gaston and I have to rest up before we push back down to San Blas. I’ll leave the heavy stuff and show some of your men how to shoot it, if you can spare us a couple of mules.”

  Robles smiled boyishly and said, “Take mules, take any woman from the band as adelitas. Let us give you money and anything else you like. By the beard of Christ, you have earned more reward than we can ever hope to offer you, you crazy Yanqui cabron!”

  Captain Gringo smiled and said, “Virtue, and killing guys working for Diaz, is its own reward. When things have s
ettled down, we’ll talk about some moves you can have your people make, General Robles. The smartest thing you could do would be to disband. But Mexico needs gallant idiots if it’s ever to be free again. Right now, I need some coffee and a warm meal. You could use a bandage for that bullet crease. You’ve bled enough to show the others how tough you are.”

  Robles laughed and said, “Es verdad! The two of us are the toughest sonsofbitches in all of Mexico, no?”

  “Let’s not get sickening about it. Gaston and I still have to make it over to Vera Cruz, and there may still be some tough guys left on the other side.”

  *

  Now that he knew the way, Captain Gringo managed to cut a few corners as he led Gaston over the same route south to San Blas. Riding mule back sure beat walking, too. He was still leg-sore from having done it the hard way. Gaston was exhausted from the night he’d spent with the buxom Rosita before bidding her a tearful farewell.

  Captain Gringo was still worried about the other friends they’d left back there. Robles was a good soldado, but the odds were still God awesome, even if they made it to the new hideout deeper in the Sierra Madre Occidental. Gaston was used to parting from old comrades in arms. So he was bitching about the modest rewards for their considerable effort.

  He brought it up again as they stopped in a clump of trees to rest the mules and catch some shade. Captain Gringo put a hand in his pocket and said, “Oh, I forgot about that. Here – this is your share from the tribute money I found in the armored motorcar.”

  Gaston stared at the thick wad of peso notes in his hand and said, “Sacré goddamn! One of those rebels back there told me the trés generous Captain Gringo refused to help himself to any loot.”

  “I lied. Do I look that dumb? Aside from building character with guys I’d just met, I figured if nobody knew I was worth robbing, nobody would try. There’s always a couple of sneaks in any outlaw band, right?”

  Gaston put his wad away with a fond chuckle and said, “Alas, youth and innocence are so fleeting. Where is the trusting child I first met facing a firing squad with me? Can this cynic be the boy we used to have to lecture on the rules of the game down here?”