by Lou Cameron
Duran frowned and said, “We had better go into my office, gentlemen. The sun is hot and there are some very puzzling aspects to this situation.”
He led them inside and they all sat down and lit up cigarettes as Captain Gringo filled the colonel in on their misadventures. Duran agreed they’d done as well as could be expected under the circumstances and when one of the junior officers tried to complain about a non-Honduran being placed over him, the stuffy-looking but sensible Duran told him to shut up and let the grownups talk. He added, “As a matter of fact, I think Captain Walker and myself should discuss certain details in private. The rest of you are excused and you will, of course, see to the comfort of your men and the care of those wounded, eh?”
Captain Gringo had no idea what was on the short colonel’s mind, either, until they were alone. Duran got up from his desk, found a bottle, and poured them a couple of stiff ones before he said, “Something very queer is going on in Honduras, Captain. I told you I was just reassigned to this post, far from the capital, eh?”
Captain Gringo nodded. “I think Major Gomez was a loyal officer too, sir.”
Duran soberly returned the nod and said, “I had heard about you, of course. I knew you were supposed to be a good soldier. Now I see you are an intelligent man, too. May I ask you, man-to-man, whether a soldier of fortune like yourself has any interest in the, how you say, political infighting in high places?”
Captain Gringo took a sip of his rum before he replied. “We signed up to fight for Honduras, sir. We took an oath to the Honduran government and constitution when we received our commissions. Since you ask me man-to-man, I’ll tell you man-to-man that I can’t claim to feel as much loyalty to your country as I might my own, if they’d let me. But if you’re asking me if I’d fight for rebels against you guys, the answer is no. Not unless I signed up with them first. I consider it unprofessional to change sides.”
Duran stared hard at him for a moment in time and then he said, “I believe you. In any case, I have no choice. You are one of the only people I would not be a fool to trust who is also a trained soldier. I confess I am probably not as good a combat leader as yourself. As you explained about that ambush and how you got your people out, I was able to follow you just enough to know you know what you are talking about.”
“Thank you, sir. May I ask what you’re talking about?”
Duran smiled crookedly and replied, “I wish I knew. As you see, I have been transferred away from the capitol where one hears gossip. I was told I would be given command of my own battalion and ordered to hold it here in reserve for Morales’ Iron Brigade. But when I arrived, it was to find a skeleton garrison, with nobody knowing anything about new recruits about to arrive. Now I see the Iron Brigade is only a handful of defeated peons, and that despite its name, General Morales was nowhere near it when it marched out to be butchered. Does this not strike you as odd?”
“Depends on where the general is at the moment, sir.”
“I agree. Nobody seems to know. You say the skirmishers you encountered to the north were dressed as guerrillas, not as Guatemalan soldiers or British Royal Marines. I would like to hear your views on just who in the devil they were, Captain.”
Captain Gringo whistled softly and said, “You do listen, don’t you Colonel? Okay, I’ll stick my neck out. I don’t think Guatemala knows she’s supposed to be invading you this season. I’m almost certain the British aren’t in on anything with them. I can’t find a Lime Juicer who doesn’t act surprised as hell to learn he or she is allied with Guatemala.”
Duran nodded and said, “That story did not sit well with me the first time I heard it, either. I happen to know that Guatemala and Great Britain are having an argument at the moment over money and the exact borders of British Honduras. I doubt they’ll push the matter to open border fighting. But I certainly can’t see the British helping the Guatemalans by violating the Monroe Doctrine, right after that crisis with Washington over the Orinoco Delta, can you?”
Captain Gringo shook his head and answered, “I said I didn’t make those guys I gunned as Royal Marines, sir. Guatemalan soldiers would have been in uniform, if only to avoid being shot as irregulars if they should be captured on this side of the border. That leaves border raiding banditos, but banditos don’t lob 155s in the first place and don’t attack regular army columns just for the hell of it in the second. We found a couple of dead Hondurans who’d been spoiling in the heat a while behind their lines. They hadn’t even been relieved of their boots and arms. Ergo the guys who killed them were soldiers, not bandits.”
“You mean Honduran soldiers.”
It was a statement rather than a question, but Captain Gringo nodded and replied, “There’s more. I knew Lieutenant Bardo. He was young, a little green, but he wasn’t a dope. He was out there patrolling and on the prod when he met up with his killers. The only way he could have gone down without even trying for his sidearm would have been if he’d met someone he knew, and trusted.”
“Si, a fellow Honduran officer. But you said the skirmishers you shot were in guerrilla kit.”
“Yessir. The skirmishers they risked letting us get a look at, period. Their officers and the gun crews could have been wearing anything. I think that’s why they gave up so easy. Once they saw we meant to make a real battle of it, they pulled back to keep us from spotting anyone in uniform. That skirmish line was doubtless only their I & R scouts. Some Honduran son-of-a-bitch attacked us pretending to be Guatemalan.”
“You mean a Honduran son-of-a-bitch named General Morales?”
Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “My mother told me never to call a superior officer a son-of-a-bitch, sir. I don’t know if it was Morales or some other son-of-a-bitch. But the hat’s sure starting to fit the general. You’re right that he had a brigade to start with. So the third or so of a brigade he put Major Gomez in command of leaves a lot of otherwise unaccounted for men to play games with. After making a lot of war talk about Guatemala the general took off somewhere, leaving a junior and a not too bright loyalist officer to deal with it. So we walked into that ambush like big ass .birds, confirming the rumors of a pending invasion. That was all we were supposed to do, by the way. It didn’t matter how many of us survived. We were supposed to stagger back, yelling that the redcoats or somebody were coming. And so now we’ve done it. The next move’s up to you, Colonel Duran.”
Duran’s shoulders sagged and he suddenly looked older. He finished his drink and put the empty glass on his desk before he said, “Madre de Dios, I just don’t know what to do! I may as well confess, since you must have guessed, that I am more a politician than a soldier. My people admire uniforms and feel more comfortable when the man in charge is a military figure on a white horse.”
“Yessir, I’ve been down here a while. It’s starting to look like the next man on a white horse figures to be named Morales. All you loyalists have been made to look like confused leaders by an expert in confusion. Naturally somebody who sounds and acts like he knows what’s going on will have to take over, right?”
“Ah, you do understand Latin-American politics, Captain Gringo. But, assuming I still have your loyalty, what am I to do? Do you think we have enough men left here to hold this garrison against Morales and his cadre of picked men and heavy weapons?”
Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “Not if they attack us again. But why should they do that? I told you the skeleton force he sent out to get smoked up were just pawns, sir. This out-of-the-way garrison doesn’t matter to Morales now. Having established his military emergency, he’s in a position to go for the real prize. Your capital of Tegucigalpa!”
Duran looked sick and said, “My God, I see what you mean! Of course he’ll march in like a hero, proclaiming martial law to protect us from the fiends of Guatemala. Our present constitutional government is unstable at best Many of the vested interests would prefer a strong man who doesn’t pester them with petty questions of civil liberties for their peons. A few judicious arrests for the safe
ty of the country during the present emergency and … Jesus, Maria ya Jose, guess who our next El Presidente will be!”
Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “I’m waiting for your orders, sir.”
“You are still ready to fight for me?”
“Why not? I signed up to fight for somebody, and the other side just killed my adelita. Of course, if you were smart like my pal Gaston, you’d be well advised to just sit it out, sir. I said I don’t think you and this garrison will come under further attack. Once Morales is in the catbird seat, he’ll probably still need officers. If you jumped on his band wagon early with a few Viva Morales, you and yours would probably weather the storm.”
Duran poured himself another glass of rum. Then he put the glass down, untasted, and sighed, “You are right. That would be the intelligent thing to do. But, you see, I have a secret vice. I know you may find this hard to believe, but I love my country.”
‘That may be foolish, sir. But I wouldn’t call it a vice. I get dumb spells, too. So what the hell? If you want to fight the son-of-a-bitch, count us in.”
Duran looked like he was trying not to cry as he said, gravely, “Thank you. By us do you mean your friend, Lieutenant Verrier?”
“Sure, Gaston’s as dumb as I am. I think we can assume any officers posted this far from the capital are on Morales’ shit list as suspected loyalists, too, and some of the kids I staggered back with are starting to shape up as fighting men. I think they’re willing to follow me.”
Duran nodded, but said, “That still leaves us with only a handful of loyal men and one field gun against God knows how many regulars loyal to Morales.”
“Look, Colonel, we agreed it was dumb! Besides, I salvaged my machineguns and the two-faced turd isn’t expecting anyone to hit him at all.”
He saw Duran was still hesitant. So he added, “Look at the bright side. We still don’t know where the general is. We might get lucky and fail to head him off. You want me to give her the old college try, Colonel?”
Duran nodded and said, “You just made Major, in command of … whatever we have. We’d better call the others back in and get down to some serious counter-coup plotting, no?”
~*~
The first thing you had to do if you wanted to shoot somebody was to find out where the hell he was. So after La Siesta, Captain Gringo left the presidio, shaved and showered and wearing his civvies. He’d told Gaston in the meanwhile to see to the creature comforts of their outfit and to weed out the remaining misfits so that when they were ready to move again they’d be leading a small but reliable force of hand-picked men.
He went looking for Esperanza first. Not just to get laid, although he was willing, but to ask some questions a lady gunrunner might be able to answer about shells the ambitious General Morales might have procured outside the usual government channels. He’d been wondering why the hell Honduras wasn’t buying it’s weaponry on the open market like every other legitimate government. Gunrunners ran guns for sneaks, not defending or even invading regular armies.
Esperanza wasn’t at her hotel, but the big brunette had left a message at the desk saying she’d be back soon. So he sat down under a potted palm to study the railroad map he’d brought along from the presidio. He doubted anyone could board a train with a battery of 155s without attracting a little attention. But Colonel Duran could send him and his men anywhere he wanted, since they weren’t breaking any laws.
Or at least they wouldn’t be until Honduras had a new government. The timing was sort of important. There was more than one bottleneck where he and his men could hope to intercept the Savior of Honduras as they traveled the hard way. But if they missed their connections all bets were off.
Duran had pals in the current government, but there was no way to topple Morales without a bloodbath once the oily son-of-a-bitch was dug in in Tegucigalpa.
He waited almost an hour then put the map away. Esperanza was probably having dinner with some other guy and he still didn’t know where the hell they ought to get off the Goddamn train. He’d spotted a half dozen likely places. But he didn’t know what kind of a lead the general had on them and he didn’t know how many guys they had to take on. He knew that time was running out and that he and Gaston were in big trouble if they wound up on the losing side this time. The new El Presidente figured to shoot Duran as well.
But that was Duran’s problem. He was a Honduran with connections and would know which way to run if things went sour. Neither Gaston nor Captain Gringo had shit. So as long as he was in town. Captain Gringo decided to shove another iron in the fire. It was always a good idea to have extra passports no matter which side won.
His shadow stretched longer on the pavement, now, as he followed it toward Yvonne’s place. But it was actually still early for a supper date by Hispanic standards. On the other hand, Yvonne wasn’t Spanish. He’d invite her to stroll the paseo with him, she’d say nobody went to the paseo with anyone. They came back from the paseo with someone. Then he’d let her explain all the native customs she’d learned since coming to the tropics and meanwhile he’d be figuring his first moves. It was too early to figure them now. Thinking too far ahead about a beautiful woman just gave a guy a hard-on and made him say dumb things too early in the evening. He’d learned long ago not to rehearse conversations with women or any other important people. They never said the lines you gave them in advance and there went your whole ball game.
He came to Yvonne’s corner and paused to count doorways. They didn’t number the houses in this part of town and one stucco house front looked like every other stucco house front. He heard the clop of a carriage team coming down the street from behind him. He stepped into a deep door niche to let it pass, and as long as he was at it, lit a smoke. So his hands were to his face as he stood in the shadows, and Greystoke of British Intelligence wasn’t looking his way in any case as his carriage passed.
Captain Gringo shook out his match and watched, bemused, as the Englishman’s carriage stopped a dozen doorways beyond, the tall American’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he muttered, “What the hell... ?”
Greystoke had stopped in front of Yvonne’s place! It got worse. Greystoke had just climbed down when the door opened and the redhead came out, dressed to the nines in a mint green satin dress with a white lace mantilla, and the son-of-a-bitch Lime Juicer was helping her up into his fucking rig!
Captain Gringo gripped his claro in his teeth and fumed smoke out his nostrils as he watched them drive off together. “I should have known,” he growled, then shrugged and headed back the other way, humming the old cowboy ballad:
I ain’t got no use for a woman,
for a true one shall never be found.
Then he laughed and told himself to look on the bright side. It could have been worse. He could have gotten there early and been spilling his guts to the redhead when Greystoke arrived!
He wondered who the redhead was spying on for British Intelligence tonight. They were both dressed fancy enough to be headed for some sort of social function together. Yeah, they’d been hunting in pairs the first night he’d met her at the German Legation. She’d been pretty smooth about pretending she hardly knew the Englishman he’d found her talking to.
He thought hard, trying to remember what the French girl might have gotten out of him that night that Greystoke wouldn’t already know. He couldn’t think of anything. He hadn’t known as much back in those dear dead days. Aside from ducking machinegun bullets he’d been mostly interested in getting in Yvonne’s pantaloons. Now he was sorry he’d treated her with so much respect. She and Greystoke had probably enjoyed a good laugh about that. But what the hell, who wanted to go sloppy seconds to a snooty Lime Juicer? Greystoke was welcome to the bitch and he hoped they both had the syph!
He glanced up at the darkening sky as he asked himself where the hell he thought he was going. Yvonne was going out with another guy and old Esperanza was probably out with another. The paseo would be starting over in the plaza by now, but he
hadn’t come to town to pick up strange snatch. He’d grab a bite somewhere, check the hotel one more time, and go back to the presidio to see if Duran could come up with a likely place to catch up with Morales. Why the hell should he have to do all the thinking for everyone on his side and, come to think of it, how did he know who was on his side?
He was thinking when he should have been looking. So he passed an alley entrance without glancing to his left. He knew it had been a mistake as soon as he caught a blur of motion out the corner of his eye. But when he turned and reached for his gun it was too late. Some bastard boring in from the opposite direction clubbed him with a mountain, or at least a house, and though he tried like hell to stay awake, the starry midnight sky he seemed to be falling through looked just too inviting to bother. So he was out like a light when they picked him up and carried him away.
~*~
Captain Gringo had always enjoyed the concerts at Carnegie Hall when he was in New York. So he lounged in his plush loge seat with his arm around Lillian Russell, listening to the sad Spanish guitar. He’d never heard a Spanish guitar in Carnegie Hall before, but he supposed they had a right. Diamond Lil sure had big tits. He wondered why nobody else in the audience seemed to notice they were both sitting here naked like this and how the hell they’d gotten there. He’d never been introduced to Diamond Lil. He’d never seen her before, save in the Police Gazette. But she sure was built nice, if you liked them on the hefty side, and he could tell she liked him from the way she was playing with his dong.
Diamond Lil repeated “Wake up, querido,” so he opened his eyes and wondered why it was darker with his eyes open. He was obviously not in Carnegie Hall. But he was in bed with a naked lady and whether she was Diamond Lil or not she was still stroking him in a most familiar way and the Spanish guitar was real, too. Some asshole was strumming it off in the night somewhere, singing a sad gypsy song about some woman’s betrayal. There seemed to be a lot of that going around these days.