by Lou Cameron
Duran sighed and said, “So Morales is dead, and our civil war begins. He had lots of friends and relations. Some in high places. My people, alas, never forget a blood debt. Many will remember the general and I were political rivals before they will believe he was a traitor to Honduras.”
Captain Gringo nodded grimly. But Gaston shook his head and said, “You are confusing me, Colonel Duran. Are we not going to report that our brave General Morales was in command here when we fought off those no doubt Guatemalan-inspired irregulars?”
Duran blinked and replied, “My God, we’ve all been out in the sun too long. Morales was the leader of all those bastards we just fought off!”
“Oui, you know that and we know that, but does anyone in Tegucigalpa know that, Colonel? The late General Morales went to considerable trouble to convince political friend and foe alike that he was only trying to save his country. Now that we’ve gutted the species of insect and let him bleed to death, why not let everyone think he died for his country, hein?”
Captain Gringo nodded and said, “I think it would work, Colonel. We’ve got bodies out there wearing Honduran uniforms and we’ve got others dressed guerrilla style. Now that I think back, it does seem to me I remember poor General Morales sending us ahead to cut those ragged rascals off while he and his brave boys chased them through the jungle toward us. It’s a shame we took so many casualties when we caught the irregulars in our crossfire, but nobody can say General Morales didn’t go down fighting for his cause.”
Duran laughed incredulously and said, “You don’t have to explain the political consequences of such an outrageous fabrication, gentlemen. I told you I was a politician. But, Madre de Dios, all these men with us know what happened, no?”
“Not really, sir. Our junior officers and non-coms may have to be sworn to silence. Most of the others will believe anything I tell them. All most of them know is that we marched them out here to shoot the shit out of somebody or other. If we tell ’em Morales and other loyalists might have been nailed by friendly fire, they’ll be too scared to talk about it much.”
Gaston said, “Let Dick handle the men, Colonel. He’s a born bullshit artist.”
Duran stared soberly out at the burial details moving out across the pepper field and said, “If it works, it can save my country a civil war. I suppose letting that bastard, Morales, go down in our history as a fallen hero is a small enough price to pay.”
Gaston said, “Oui. Half the heroes in the history books were probably bastards. But as I remember my history, you must be a hero, too, Colonel!”
“Me? I did nothing! You and Captain Gringo, here, did all the fighting!”
Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “Your men fought pretty good, too, sir. And Gaston’s right. You were in command. I distinctly remember hearing General Morales order you to take this section of the Iron Brigade out to head those border jumpers off. Don’t be so modest. Isn’t it a fact we shot the shit out of them, under your leadership?”
Duran laughed, a trifle hysterically at first then said, “I must have been out here in the sun too long too! You two maniacs are starting to make sense! I wonder how often a desk soldier like me has gotten credit for winning a battle like this.”
The two soldiers of fortune exchanged glances. “It’s happened a lot, sir.” Captain Gringo said. “I wouldn’t worry about it. You’re in good company. I doubt if half the victorious military geniuses in history knew which end of a gun the bullet’s supposed to come out of.”
~*~
So peace was restored in Honduras as the brave General Morales was given a swell funeral and Lieutenant Colonel Duran was promoted to Brigadier. The Honduran government sent a sharply worded warning to Guatemala never to try anything like that again and the Guatemalans denied they’d ever done anything and said they weren’t planning to do anything so Honduras said that was good enough for them.
After that things got dull as hell. Captain Gringo and Gaston were told they could run things at the presidio in Puerto Cortes for as long as they liked. But the pay was still lousy and garrison routine was a bore at best in peacetime. So they resigned their commissions, with Brigadier Duran’s approval, and asked for Honduran passports to get them somewhere more interesting. Duran said that was Jake by him and ordered passports for them from his state department. They looked swell. The only trouble was, they had Captain Gringo and Gaston’s right names on them! The two soldiers of fortune were right back where they started.
Esperanza and El Nombre Nada had sailed off somewhere. They couldn’t risk boarding an honest steamer without new I.D.s. The rainy season was starting again, so legging it up to Guatemala didn’t sound like such a hot idea right now.
One soggy evening a few weeks later, Captain Gringo was sitting under the awning of a sidewalk cantina facing the plaza. It looked like more rain, his cerveza was warm, and the only halfway reasonable broad walking el paseo seemed to be missing her front teeth. But what the hell, it was early, yet. The sun had just gone down and el paseo was just starting. The toothless mestiza had a nice derriere, but the thought of kissing her was sort of discouraging.
Gaston came to join him, leading a buxom Negress he said might have a friend. She didn’t speak English, so Captain Gringo smiled at her as he told Gaston, “Forget it. I don’t mind ’em dark, but if she and her friend aren’t asking for money you ought to warn her about those red shoes.”
Gaston laughed, “I was idealistic in my youth, too. Never mind, I’ll take them both on if you don’t want to come along. By the way, have you read the evening papers?”
“No. How many times would I want to read about poor old Duran saving us all from invasions?”
“I wasn’t talking about the local news. There was an item on page three about a sensational trial back in Costa Rica. You remember that cheating wife, Chirivita Lopez?”
“Boy, do I ever! I’d sure like to get my hands on that little tramp.”
“You can’t. They just hanged her in San Jose for murdering her husband.”
Captain Gringo frowned and said, “Say that again? She didn’t bash her old man’s head in. I did!”
“Oui, but apparently she had trouble convincing the judge and jury of this. The police were unable to locate any such man as she described and the more they thought about it, the odder it seemed to them. A patrolman reported responding to a family quarrel minutes before the man was found dead. The woman was in there with him when they spoke to him and...”
“Hell, that was me they were talking to!” The American cut in.
Gaston grinned and said, “Oui, but how were they to know that? Anyway, between one thing and another that would not hold together, they investigated further and found that Chirivita had been beaten by her husband before for cheating on him. They gave her a chance to plead self-defense, and when she stuck to her impossible story about a mysterious blond Viking, eh bien, they doubtless overreacted. Anyway, she was found guilty and executed. So anytime you can figure out a way to get us back to Costa Rica without getting arrested, let me know. Meanwhile, this dark lady and I shall be making love a la sandwich, if her friend wants to join us.”
Captain Gringo sipped his flat cerveza as the two of them walked away. It made him feel sort of shitty to think of Chirivita getting the blame for what he’d done, until he remembered she’d tried to hang it on him after getting him and that other poor slob into the mess.
A couple of real dogs walked past, giving him the eye. The girls in San Jose were a lot prettier, but how the hell were they going to get back there, now?
He was lighting a claro when someone else sat down beside him. He saw it was a woman. So he shook out his match and turned with a smile. Then he saw it was the redhead, Yvonne, from the French legation. So he frowned and said, “Take a hike, cunt.”
Yvonne looked like she’d been slapped. She gasped, “Dick, what have I done? Why have you been avoiding me since you got back to town?”
He snorted and said, “Who are we k
idding? I saw you and that bastard, Greystoke, riding off to make nice-nice in his carriage.”
She looked puzzled as she nodded and said, “M’sieur Greystoke asked me to go with him to a party at the British Legation that night, Dick. What was wrong with that?”
“Nothing, I guess. How much does British Intelligence pay these days?”
“You can’t be serious! Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? You thought I was a British spy?”
“Well, aren’t you?”
“Of course not, you idiot. M’sieur Greystoke is a charming man and a fellow member of the diplomatic community here in Puerto Cortes. If you are jealous, let me assure you he behaved like a perfect gentleman that evening.”
“I always figured he liked boys. He never asked about me at all, right?”
She shook her head but said, “As a matter of fact your name did come up in casual conversation at the British Legation. M’sieur Greystoke was talking about you to a naval attaché. Naturally I listened in, but I got the impression they liked you.”
“Oh, come on. Let’s not get sickening.”
“No, really. Let me see if I remember ... M’sieur Greystoke said something about them not having to worry about some guns, now that you were here and working for what they called the right side. Apparently the British Navy has been concerned about some sort of smuggling. M’sieur Greystoke said that if he knew you, the plotters, as he called them, were in trouble. Do you suppose he meant that business about you and M’sieur Verrier helping poor General Morales fight those guerrillas a few weeks ago, Dick?”
He turned to stare down hard at her. He said, “You’re either one hell of an actress or Greystoke was a jump ahead of us again. What else did he say about me?”
She lowered her lashes as she murmured, “Well, he did warn me, later, not to let you, ah, get around me, as he put it. He said you would probably approach me for some diplomatic papers from my legation.”
“Oh? What are French passports going for, these days, Yvonne?”
“Heavens, I wouldn’t think of selling anything like that, to a friend! Do you really need them, Dick?”
“Could you get them for me?”
“But of course. Didn’t you tell me that night that we were friends?”
He nodded, soberly, and when she reached her hand across the table he took it. She blushed and asked, “How soon do you need them, Dick? We could go to my place if you need a place to hide.”
He started to say he didn’t need a place to hide. But that would have been pretty dumb. So he said, “I’d like to take you home, Yvonne.”
“I think I’d like that, too. I can’t get the papers you need tonight, but in the morning ...”
“Hey, what’s the hurry, honey? I wasn’t planning to leave right away.” As they rose together he took her arm and added, “As a matter of fact, I may want to hang around for quite some time, now.”
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