Stars And Stripes In Peril

by Harry Harrison

  "Those are warships—I can see their guns now. And the shore beyond the village—good God!"

  "What is it? Tell me!" O'Higgins pleaded. Captain Weaver shook his head, then passed over the glasses.

  "Look for yourself. Beyond the village, and on both sides of it."

  The air was clear as crystal. O'Higgins raised the glasses, looked through them. "I don't understand. Raw earth, dug up..."

  "Look closely and you will see the muzzles. Those are gun emplacements, well dug in. Big guns at that. Coastal defenses. No one is going to land on that shore, not with those guns there."

  "Captain, sir—" the lookout called out from the bow. "One of those ships is getting up steam. I can see the smoke. It's an ironclad warship."

  "Hard about!" the captain shouted. "Twenty-five revolutions. Back to Vera Cruz."

  O'Higgins examined the gun emplacements in the growing light. Counted them carefully. Then raised the glasses to the hills beyond the village. Cursed fluently in both Spanish and English as he handed the captain back his glasses and turned to the chartroom. Traced his finger across the map and cursed the harder.

  A few minutes later the captain joined him. "The ship turned back. Satisfied I suppose with scaring us off I guess. Good thing too. From the look of her she can do twice our speed."

  "They have tricked us!" O'Higgins shouted as he slammed his fist onto the chart. "Tricked us royally. I did not think the English were capable of such subtlety and foresight."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The road—you know about the road?"

  "Of course. That's why we landed all those guns and ammunition. For the armed bands of Mexicans that are supposed to be attacking it."

  O'Higgins pointed to the chart. "The British troops were first landed here at Salina Cruz to start digging the road across the isthmus. To the coastal plain on the Atlantic. So that the British could march from the Pacific to the port of Vera Cruz on the Atlantic. I myself heard them say that. Thick-headed British officers. They could not have simulated, the way they talked—they surely believed every word that they said. But their masters didn't. From the very beginning they intended the road to go here! A shorter and easier route."

  He went back to the bridge, watched the village and the defenses around it vanishing behind them.

  "The enemy will soon be able to march across the isthmus to this heavily defended port. There will be gun batteries on land and ironclads in the harbor. When the troops get there they can board their transports unmolested. And invade the American Gulf ports with impunity. This is the very worst news possible."

  The rising sun lit the village of Coatzacoalcos, lit as well the new gun positions that surrounded it. Rising higher it shone down on the track slashed through the jungle that would soon be a military road. Soldiers were already moving down this unfinished track. Not widening it and grading it—not yet. They were building defensive positions instead. Just squads and companies of riflemen now, trenches and revetments bristling with guns. Further west the sun shone on the completed sections of road—and on the defenses there.

  Lieutenant Calles was new to the business of war. His family was part of the governing elite, the corregidores, who, aided by the church, had ruled Mexico with austere harshness for hundreds of years. He had never thought about this state of affairs, but just accepted it as a natural part of life. There were the rulers and the ruled. Blessed by good birth he accepted the fact that the world was made the way it was. He did not begin to query the harsh treatment of the native Indians until after he had gone off to school in Spain. Then, as he had received his education at the University of Salamanca, he had also learned of the new wave of liberalism that was sweeping across the world. Only when he had returned to the family estate in Oaxaca did he begin to question matters he had always taken for granted. Now, educated as an historian, he looked at his native land through an historian's eyes—and was not pleased. But the invasion of the State of Oaxaca by the British had wiped away any feelings of doubt. His country must be defended at any cost. He had made his way into the mountains and joined the guerrilleros.

  Now, as a lieutenant, he had become accustomed to the hardships of guerrilla warfare. That he had survived this far proved that in addition to his intelligence he had bravery, and a strong sense of survival. The illiterate peasant soldiers were aware of this and respected him. More important, they followed him into battle.

  Now they followed him along an almost invisible path through the jungle. Ahead of him was an Indian guide who found his way with unerring skill. Lieutenant Calles had told him where he had wanted to go, knew that the command would be carried out precisely. They were paralleling the defenses that flanked the British road, looking for places where it could be attacked.

  It had been a grueling day—and a frustrating one. The last time they had come this way there had been a bridge here under construction, where the working soldiers had made fine targets until hastily summoned guards had driven them away. Now, when they reached the gully, they found that the wooden bridge was hidden by a stout dirt rampart. Any attempt to storm it would have been suicidal.

  It was late afternoon before they reached their goal. A deep valley that cut through the hills. So steep it could not be bridged. Here the road wound down the valley wall, crossed at the bottom and up the other side. There was ample opportunity for the guerrilleros to slip through the jungle to make their surprise attacks. But no more.

  "The lines..." he said under his breath.

  "Mande?" the guide said.

  "Nothing. I was talking to myself. But look ahead. Do you see that?"

  "The British have been very busy. They must want to build this road very badly."

  "They do. And they are not afraid to learn from history. Their own history."

  The valley was no longer a possible entrance through enemy lines. It was filled with rubbish, boulders, dirt, entire trees ripped up by their roots and toppled down onto the valley floor. More and more heaped until the valley was filled—and impassable.

  "There was a great British general," Calles said, "who fought against Napoleon in France and Portugal. He built the lines at Torres Vedras that stopped the French general and sent him back in defeat. He did it like this. Someone has studied General Wellington and applied that knowledge of history to build his defenses here."

  "We will go on," the guide said. "There will be a way through."

  "I hope so—but I doubt it. Like Napoleon, I am afraid that we are stopped."

  The USS Avenger found the sea empty of ships when she reached the navigational location that they had been given, the rendezvous of the British squadron. This was the right place and the right date. The only things missing were the ships. Nor did they find any sign of the invading force in the West Indies. They stayed for a day at this position but the horizon remained clear. In the morning they sailed to Jamaica and found only American or neutral vessels there. The warship poked about the nearest islands before returning to the rendezvous. Commodore Goldsborough himself checked the noontime sight. The navigator was correct. This was the exact latitude and longitude that the spies in England had provided. Goldsborough had the uneasy sensation that something was very, very wrong indeed. He turned to his first mate.

  "I do not like this, do not like it at all. We are in the right place at the right time, aren't we?"

  "We are indeed, sir."

  "Well do you see any vast invasion fleet? I'll be damned if I do."

  "None, sir."

  "Would you hazard a guess as to what has happened?"

  "It seems, well, obvious now, sir. Our intelligence service has been duped, for reasons I do not know. We have been sent on a wild goose chase."

  "I am in compete agreement. Set a course for Florida. Washington must know what we have found."

  At top speed Avenger turned and headed for Florida and the nearest telegraph station.

  "You have, then, been presented to the Queen before?" Lord Palmerston asked, then muttered w
ith pain as the carriage lurched over a rough patch of cobbles. His gout had improved greatly, but his foot was still tender.

  "I have had that pleasure," Brigadier Somerville said. Which was not quite the truth. He had no liking of the court and the hangers-on there. He would far rather face shot and shell in battle than go through with this afternoon's business.

  "You're a brainy fellow," Palmerston said, with more than a little condescension. "You can explain all the technical bits to her."

  "Will not the Duke of Cambridge be there? Surely as Commander-in-Chief of the army he is in a far better position to clarify matters than I am."

  "I assume so. But that's neither here nor there. The Duke and I discussed this matter in the club last night. We're in perfect agreement, dear boy."

  I'll wager they are, Somerville thought to himself, but did not voice his suspicions aloud. He hoped that this would not be the simple matter of shooting the messenger who brings the news of ill tidings.

  All too soon they were rattling across the courtyard of Buckingham Palace, the footman opening the door as soon as they had stopped. When they went inside they found that the Duke of Cambridge was already there, enjoying a pipe in the anteroom.

  "Ah, there you are," he said, climbing to his feet. "Ready to reveal to Her Majesty the interesting details of our great victory."

  "As you say, sir, though I seek no notoriety. If you wish to speak..."

  "Nonsense, Somerville. One's doesn't want to hide one's light under a bushel. After all this entire matter was all your idea. Credit where credit is due, old boy, and all that."

  Somerville bowed to the inevitable and entered the reception chamber. Head high and shoulders back, as though bound for the headsman's axe.

  Victoria was peevish this day. "Now what is all this of events in Mexico? We were informed that a fleet had been dispatched to the West Indies. Yet still we hear strange reports—"

  "One should not listen to the fiddle-faddle of people who gossip just for gossip's sake, dear cuz. Let us go to the font of knowledge of the victorious planner himself. Here is Brigadier Somerville to enlighten us all."

  She blinked suspiciously at the officer who bowed stiffly.

  "Ma'am. It is my great pleasure to tell you of a great and victorious British feat of arms in Mexico..."

  "What of the West Indies, hey?"

  "Everything there has gone exactly to plan, ma'am. Success there was dependent upon success in Mexico. Your Majesty, of course, knows of the road now being cut across the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, to enable her Majesty's troops from the Indies to cross from one ocean to another without hindrance. At first we sought to extend the road to the major port of Vera Cruz. This is a goodly distance from the Pacific Ocean. Therefore, upon further consideration, it was decided that a small fishing village would make a superior site that better suited our needs. The road would be shorter so more easily defended. But the village of Coatzacoalcos..."

  "What are you saying?" her voice rose in irritation. "We can follow none of this."

  "I do apologize, ma'am." Somerville's collar felt tight about his neck and he was beginning to sweat profusely. "I am being too inept. May I just add that our naval forces have taken the enemy completely by surprise. They have landed all the heavy guns from the convoy without the enemy's knowledge. Have dug them in and have made the port impregnable."

  "Are these the same naval forces that we were informed were going to attack the West Indies?"

  "Indeed, ma'am."

  "Then we have been lied to!" she screeched. She rounded on the Duke of Cambridge. "You yourself told us about the West Indies. Wasn't that a lie?" Somerville gratefully moved back a few steps.

  "It was not a lie, dear cuz, but what might be called a ruse de guerre. The Yankee spies here in London are as thick underfoot as fleas. Did we not discover one right in the heart of Whitehall..."

  "There are no spies in our court!" Her voice so shrill it hurt the ears. The Duke appeared unconcerned.

  "Spies, no. But chattering gossips, yes. They speak without thinking even when the servants are listening. And that gossip is for sale to the lowest kind of newspaper and then, perhaps, to some spy. The Brigadier here suggested that this village, whatchmacallit, be our port from the very beginning." The Brigadier wilted under the chill majestic glare. "But in the orders Vera Cruz was always given as our goal, to be used to divert attention from the real port. I approved this myself. The real destination was known only to a few people. This distraction worked so well that it came about, rather naturally, to continue the ruse in the orders to the convoy. All of the ships had orders to meet at a certain rendezvous. They believed it to be the correct one. We are sure that Yankee spies had a chance to look at a number of copies of these orders. Perhaps the naval ships kept their orders under close guard, but the merchantmen undoubtedly did no such thing. Then, just before they sailed, each captain was given sealed orders that were not to be opened until after they were well at sea. Only when they were completely out of touch with the land were the secret orders opened."

  "A ruse de guerre that was responsible for saving many British lives, ma'am," Palmerston said. "I was only informed myself after the fleet had sailed." Which was not true, but to politicians the truth was just a tool to be manipulated at will.

  "It was a great victory in the war to punish those who brought about the death of your consort," the Duke said in a brazen attempt at misdirection.

  Never too bright, and easily distracted, Victoria took the bait.

  "Yes, and what of that war? What of your promises?"

  "Soon to be carried out. The landings have been made, the port defended, the invasion planned. The Yankees completely taken in by our ruse. Be assured, the entire country is behind you in this. Albert's memory will be defended and the wicked punished. The wrath of the Empire shall strike them down."

  "How?" Victoria asked. Still not sure what had happened and confused by all the orders and changed orders. "How will we strike the enemy down?"

  "We shall invade them in their soft undertummy of the Gulf coast. The armies of the Empire are gathering in Mexico. They will march unharmed from coast to coast. The merchant ships that brought the guns to Mexico are waiting, now safe under the muzzles of those same guns, to board the troops for the invasion. When our ships of the line arrive they will stand guard over the troop ships. Guide them safely to the American coast. A single, irresistible attack will drive the enemy back and open the way to Washington City. Soon after that we will have Lincoln in chains and America once more part of the Empire. Albert will be avenged!"

  A NATION AT BAY

  The United States was being engaged by the British on so many fronts, both on land and at sea, that consultation at the very top level was constantly needed. After a number of heated discussions between the army and the navy over priorities, it was decided that the army, in numbers alone, was the Senior Service, therefore the discussions would take place in the War Department. Building modifications were made, quite close to Room 313, and daily conferences were now held in this newly opened War Room. It was guarded by armed soldiers right around the clock, since the files inside, and the maps on the walls, were all in the new classification of Top Secret.

  This day the various military officers and government officials who were present talked quietly among themselves until, at precisely nine in the morning, President Lincoln came in. When the door was locked behind him he sat down, steepled his fingers on the long table before him, and nodded most gravely.

  "Gentlemen, I do believe that the country is in a most parlous state. Some of you may have not seen the latest reports, so I will ask the Secretary of War to sum them up for you."

  Stanton nodded, took a sip of water from the glass at his elbow, and tapped the thick sheaf of papers before him.

  "There is both success and failure in Mexico. As we are all too well aware of, the Mexican regular army there has been defeated by the French and their allies. President Diáz has been forced to fle
e to this country for his protection. With the Mexican army defeated and scattered we have had to rely on the various resistance groups throughout the country to carry on with hostilities. We have been supplying these irregulars in the country with small arms and ammunition. And, wherever possible, with cannon. On the success side of the ledger is the fact that Monterrey, San Luis Potosi and Guadalajara have all fallen to these Mexican forces from the north and west. Puebla has been taken in the south. An iron ring has now been drawn about Mexico City. The French are growing desperate. Through Maximilian they have asked for a parley. Diáz is not keen to do that because he would rather wipe them from the face of the earth. Since we are supplying his new armies with most of their weapons—and all of their ammunition—he has been obliged to listen to us. Therefore talks will take place soon with the French.

  "On the negative side of the ledger there is that invasion road that is being constructed across the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. The British have dug in defensive positions all along its entire length, and are putting up a very fierce resistance. Mexican morale on this front is very low. This is because General Juarez and his men feel that they are fighting for our cause, not their own, and they wish to break off their contacts with the British and join the march on the capital. This is understandable—and something must be done about it quite soon. General Sherman will tell you later of a proposal to land our troops in Vera Cruz and attack the road, in the hopes of cutting it. Now, Admiral Porter has the latest reports on the naval aspects of the Mexican theatre of war."

  Rear Admiral David Dixon Porter shifted uneasily in his chair. He was much more at home on the bridge of a ship than he was facing the politicians and officers around the table.

  "Simple enough," he said. "The British have succeeded in seriously misleading us. We had many of what appeared to be accurate and authentic reports that a large convoy of warships, troops and heavy guns had left England bound for the West Indies. It now appears that this was nothing more than a ruse to trick us. In that, I am forced to say, they succeeded very well. They have put an invading force ashore in Mexico, at what we now know is the Atlantic terminus of their road. A village called Coatzacoalcos, though I have no idea how it is pronounced. They landed guns and troops in astounding numbers and have established a veritable fortress on the shore there. First reports indicate that it appears to be impregnable from the sea. A more detailed survey has been ordered and will be presented here as soon as it is complete. In addition, British ships are still stopping our vessels at sea and taking cargo that they claim to be contraband."