“They look absolutely splendid. You’ve done wonderful work,” De Russy said aside to Lewis and Anson as the combined force paraded around the great temple square to the cheering of thousands under a bright morning sky. They were with Major Reed, Varaa-Choon, the newly commissioned Lieutenants Leonor and Boogerbear (Lieutenant Sal Hernandez was in the parade), as well as Dr. Newlin. Even Captain Holland and Mr. Semmes, his first lieutenant, stood by since Tiger was in port to take on supplies.
“It rained a lot,” Lewis replied wryly. “The troops got wet but didn’t have much else to do but drill and practice manuevering and moving in line formation.” He snorted. “Went for a few soggy hikes as well. God knows how many old ladies and children spent the whole rainy season cooped up sewing, cutting leather, and stitching it together or burning themselves with hot lead.”
Drums and fifes thundered and squealed for the Americans (and the locals mixed among them), while flutes and different-sounding drums did the same for purely local troops. Four regimental blocks of roughly seven hundred infantry followed Lieutenant Hans Joffrion’s L Company of the 3rd Dragoons and Teniente Lara’s A Company of the 1st Yucatán Lancers, marching purposefully past the reviewing stand, erected on the very spot Lewis hanged two men. First came the 1st US, led by Captain Beck on a fine local horse. Olayne followed at the head of his A Battery, composed of six beautifully polished 6pdrs and all their attendant vehicles. The clatter of harness and creak and pop of wheels were audible despite the music. Next came the 3rd Pennsylvania under the newly elected Captain Wagley. His men carried the Stars and Stripes as well, but also the distinctive blue flag of their state despite being heavily outnumbered by locals. Lieutenant Emmel Dukane’s B Battery with the six 12pdr howitzers recovered from Commissary followed close behind. Then came the 1st Uxmal, commanded by Captain James Manley. It was the best local regiment of “regulars,” and all carried muskets salvaged from the shipwrecks, their dark, young, beardless faces looking grimly determined beneath their city flag and forest of bright weapons on their shoulders. Lieutenant Hudgens’s C Battery of four 6pdrs and two 12pdr guns were followed by Koaar’s 1st Ocelomeh Infantry, still in their own “uniform” of leather and bright-colored breechcloths. The 1st Ocelomeh carried no flag. The rest of the horse soldiers, including Felix Meder’s Mounted Rifles, brought up the rear.
“I hope the sight of them makes the Doms think twice,” De Russy added with satisfaction in his voice.
The praise made Lewis feel odd despite the beautiful day and magnitude of the accomplishment. “It wasn’t just us,” Lewis replied, waving at those around him. “It certainly wasn’t just me. Captain Anson and I spent most of our time begging, buying, even stealing horses before Anson and Varaa vanished for longer than I liked, mapping every path and game trail all the way back to where we were wrecked while I went on pounding ‘mobility, mobility, mobility’ into everyone’s heads. Olayne’s had individual gun’s crews and sections practicing mounted artillery tactics since we got to this world, but they needed the full treatment: battery- and even battalion-level maneuvers—in conjunction with infantry and other mounted troops.”
“Damned hard work in the rain every day,” Major Reed grumbled. “But we had to learn to work together. Most of us—and not just the locals—had never done that on the scale required. And don’t sell yourself short, Lewis. Of the few of us who’ve ever seen a major action, you and Captain Anson”—Reed frowned slightly—“and Teniente Lara, oddly enough, were among the even fewer who could actually show us how it’s done, how to get the most out of every element of our force while still supporting one another!”
Holland cleared his throat, and they noted Alcalde Periz glancing strangely at them from where he stood a little apart with Father Orno, Reverend Harkin, and a number of Periz’s priests and advisors. Sira Periz, Samantha Wilde, and Angelique Mercure—all in stunning new gowns and attended by Barca—were with them as well. Maybe that’s the way it should be, Lewis thought. With the exception of Dr. Newlin, we’ve formed a small clot of military men—and females, he added, thinking of Leonor and Varaa. Maybe we should set the example of keeping a little apart from civilians. He frowned. But Dr. Newlin’s in uniform—and so is Alcalde Periz, now. His eyes narrowed. As is Father Orno, in a way. He wears no rank, but his black frock coat looks as “military” as mine. He sighed. That was De Russy’s idea. Was it a good one?
He didn’t really know how he felt. Perhaps . . . cheated a bit. He and his officers, all the soldiers, old and new, had worked miracles getting themselves and these townsfolk ready for the Doms. But that was just part of the “cause” he’d set himself, that he’d put before the men he commanded. Yet it increasingly seemed as if the notion of a true Union had practically been forgotten.
“We’ll see,” Anson said noncommittally, as De Russy eased away to stand by Alcalde Periz—and the ladies, of course. “We got good soldiers out there, but most are still untested. Sure,” he continued, “they won the fight on the beach, an’ that was rough. More for some than others. But almost none of those fellas ever fought a real battle.”
“True,” Varaa agreed, “but neither have the Doms.” She kakked an ironic chuckle and blinked something like derision. “Everyone’s afraid of them, and rightly so. Not only are they vile, terrible creatures; they’re the most numerous, best equipped, most fanatically disciplined power in this hemisphere—that I know of,” she hastened to qualify, tail whipping behind her. “But that’s why—again, as far as I know—they’ve never fought a ‘real’ battle either. Why should they? Who could stand against them before now?” She shook her head. “So just as you should never underestimate an enemy, don’t be seduced into overestimating him either.” She lowered her voice and flicked her eyes at Alcalde Periz. “Just as you should never assume your rear is secure. Alcalde Periz—all these people . . . I must believe they’re good, or King Har-Kaaska wouldn’t defend them.” She nodded at the marching troops. “But Periz is unquestionably the principal alcalde in the Alliance of Cities and may be tempted to view this power you’ve brought him more as his than ours.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Leonor demanded.
Varaa blinked at her. “Nothing. I grow cynical in my old age. I’m almost forty!” She looked at Lewis. “But have a care. And when the enemy’s finally arrayed before you, look to the rear as well.”
Lewis was more troubled by that than he could allow himself to show. He’d trusted Periz and Father Orno implicitly, believing their greater ambition remained the same as his in the long run. It might seem “forgotten” for now, but only for now. Varaa’s offhand comment undermined all that and reinforced his sense of disappointment in them—and himself—because he wasn’t sure what to do or say. He frowned as the familiar anger his father always inspired suddenly surged to the surface again. He’d suppressed it for half his life before realizing it was directed more at himself than the old man, because he’d waited so long to confront him. And the reason now was almost the same: fear of an irreconcilable break. But the consequences for revealing his displeasure, forcing a confrontation, would affect more than him this time. He couldn’t risk a rupture when everyone’s very survival had to be his chief concern, his foremost “cause.”
He frowned more deeply, studying Periz. I can’t imagine what he might do there, but I’ll make sure I don’t have to “look to the rear” to see him.
His expression must’ve been dark enough to make Leonor look at him with concern. He managed a smile for her. Samantha had been right, at least in certain respects. Her now-obvious machinations to soften Leonor’s brooding, hostile persona into something a bit lighter had succeeded amazingly. The astonishing, almost blooming transformation at the reception had been fleeting, but hadn’t entirely faded. One could never say Leonor was a different person now, but she was less intense and standoffish. Even with Teniente Lara. That was good for her and the army, as was her unprecedented (and surprisingly unopposed)
commissioning.
She and her father’s other “original” Rangers might command Ranger companies or act as “unattached scout leaders,” empowered to requisition squads of men from all their mounted forces at need. Her acceptance in that role gave her a new confidence to get along better with others. Lewis saw no evidence for Samantha’s assertion that Leonor had her heart set on him, but ever since their dances at the reception, she’d been easier and more open around him and acted more like a friend than a wounded, belligerent wildcat. He smiled more broadly at her, and she returned a nod as if she’d been reading his thoughts.
The Pennsylvania boys had struck up a new local favorite as they marched past the reviewing stand again. This one was based—like so many popular songs they knew—on the melody of “Lucy Neal.” It started with Sergeant Ulrich, as usual, but quickly swelled to include every regiment.
“I fear no haughty blood-soaked Doms,
They make me feel no dread,
Their yellow suits’ll all be red,
When we shoot ’em dead!
For Uxmal will be free, my boys,
Uxmal will be free!
An’ when we chase the Doms away,
How happy we will be!”
Suddenly, even over the singing and other music of the troops, Lewis felt as much as heard the thudding pressure of a cannon shot. He looked at Anson, who nodded back. He’d recognized it too, as had quite a few others, because the singing began to falter. “That was the warning gun above the main west gate,” Varaa said without inflection. Everyone was already staring in that direction, watching a rising white cloud of smoke in the distance, drifting away to the north.
Lewis strode to Alcalde Periz. “I hate to interrupt the festivities,” he began.
“Of course,” Periz interrupted. “The great gun wouldn’t fire without cause. See to it, if you please.”
Lewis controlled another frown. Periz’s tone was almost imperious, but there was nervousness as well. He turned to Major Reed, who’d followed him over with a dragoon bugler. “Stand the men to and call the Home Guards to their stations.” The guards hadn’t been on parade today.
Reed gestured at the regiments, now halted and silent. “Should I send the rest to their assigned defensive posts as well?”
Lewis shook his head. “We don’t know anything. Just hold them here, but be prepared to draw ammunition and post them at once.” He was watching Sal Hernandez, Lieutenant Meder, and a squad of Mounted Rifles approach with horses enough for nearly everyone on the reviewing stand. “Reassure your people, Alcalde Periz,” Lewis said, tilting his head toward the many spectators growing increasingly alarmed. “Then perhaps you should come with us.”
* * *
—
THE ALARM HAD been caused by the approach of horsemen erupting from the distant woods and urging their exhausted, foaming animals down the road through the fields beyond the river as fast as they could. Lewis, Anson, Leonor, and Felix Meder mounted the new parapet above the gate first, followed quickly by Periz, De Russy, and Father Orno. Captain Holland practically shoved Periz’s followers up the steps, but was joined by Samantha Wilde and Sira Periz, who’d apparently ridden together. Lewis had already pressed in among the Uxmalo gunners who’d fired the big, hoop-reinforced wrought-iron piece to watch the horsemen through his small pocket telescope.
“They’re Burton’s dragoons,” he announced flatly. They’d almost reached the bridge by now, and everyone already knew. “Only about forty or so of the eighty he took,” he went on, “carrying about thirty of Ixtla’s Ocelomeh, riding double. They look like hell,” he added grimly, collapsing the telescope, “and I don’t see Coryon or Ixtla, or any of Espinoza’s lancers.” He didn’t need to call down to open the gate—it had never been closed—but he shouted for healers and water as he burst through those still arriving and plunged back down the steps. “Ah, there you are, Doctor,” he said, meeting Newlin and Reverend Harkin as they trotted up on a shared horse. “Hurt men coming in, and there may be business for you both.”
Sergeant Hayne was first through the gate and slid off his staggering mount to give Lewis the best salute he could. “Beg to report, sir,” he said through dry, cracking lips.
“Drink first,” Lewis commanded as a woman raced up with a sloshing copper bucket straight from the well. Other men were coming in, some collapsing to the ground when they left the saddle. “More water!” Lewis shouted. Hayne drank greedily, pouring as much on his ragged, rotten uniform as he did down his throat, then passed the bucket to other anxious hands. Leonor was taking horses from riders and handing them off to more gathering locals to lead to the troughs.
“God,” Hayne gasped, “I needed that. Thankee, sir.” He swayed, but Newlin steadied him as he peered at all the sores and bumps on the sergeant’s skin over the top of his spectacles.
“This man needs attention,” Newlin snapped. “They all do, I’m sure. I see more serious wounds!” he added and scurried away.
“The only attention I need is someone to listen to me,” Hayne called after the doctor.
“Tell me,” Lewis pressed, expecting the worst. He got it.
“The Doms’re comin’, sure as can be. Thousands of the buggers—beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am,” he added, noting the approach of Samantha ahead of the rest.
“How many?” Periz demanded.
“How far?” asked De Russy.
“Where’s Ixtla—and the others?” pressed Varaa.
“Give the man a chance!” Anson snapped at them all.
Sergeant Hayne nodded his appreciation at the Ranger. “We sent word when we confirmed they were gatherin’ at Campeche. Did those fellas get through?”
“Yes,” Lewis assured. Four of the eight had finally made it, losing half their number to “swamp monsters,” and then only to confirm what Har-Kaaska already suspected. There’d been no word since.
“We watched ’em assemble through the tail end o’ the damn rains. More of ’em all the time. Lieutenant Burton wanted to keep count an’ report when they moved.” He blinked. “After a week with the road dryin’ fast, we figured there was twenty thousand or so. About four thousand lancers like Lara’s, but in helmets an’ armor. An’ thirty big guns. Ten really big ones, pulled by them armored beasties that don’t seem to notice.” He sobered. “That’s when we lit out, soon as their lancers got frisky an’ we saw ’em start drivin’ the beasties in to hitch up their guns an’ vehicles.” He looked away. “Lieutenant Burton wanted to report, but keep shadowin’ ’em, like. Trouble was, once them Dom lancers get goin’, they move fast. Lieutenant Burton got concerned we’d all get cut off, so he sent us on. Only kept ten dragoons, eight mounted Jag-wire Indians, an’ all Espinoza’s lancers.” He shrugged miserably, glancing at Varaa. “An’ we had to carry the Indians without horses, so that slowed us some.” He looked back at Lewis. “He also made us take all the Hall carbines. Said such weapons couldn’t be taken by Doms.”
“Good thinking, that,” Varaa mused, but Hayne glared at her. “Maybe so, but that left his fellas with nothin’ but sabers an’ pistols, an Espinoza’s lancers to try to break through.”
“Break through?” Anson demanded.
“Aye. Bastards got between us somehow. They didn’t have any Holcanos with ’em, but maybe they know the woods better than we thought. Even better than the Jag-wire-istas, eh?” he accused, then sighed. “Or maybe they took some lancers up the coast on barges an’ put ’em ashore. Either way, on top o’ the damn boogers—which’re still springin’ about but didn’t get any more of us, thank God—there’s been two or three hundred of the devils doggin’ us the last week an’ more. We ambushed ’em twice an’ bloodied their noses for ’em, but lost ten good men. They just kept comin’.” He shrugged and waved around. “We done all we could with our horses so worn down. We were lucky to get here.”
“Well done,” Lewis said. “No
w see to your men and animals.” He paused. “How far behind do you think the enemy lancers are?”
“Half a day, maybe. Probably less,” Hayne replied, then glanced at Varaa again and added more respectfully, “Ran into some more o’ your Ocelomeh in the dark. Said they’d keep lookout on the road.”
Varaa nodded. “That’s one of the reasons they’re there.”
“And the main enemy force at the pace you last saw them?”
“A week or ten days. No more.”
Lewis nodded, then looked intently at Anson before turning to Lieutenant Meder. He saw Joffrion’s bugler too. “I want every mounted man we have, each carrying one of Captain Wagley’s infantrymen and all prepared to fight on foot. A section of Dukane’s B Battery howitzers as well. Canister only.” He spun to Captain Holland. “How soon can Tiger be ready for sea?”
Holland looked surprised. “As soon as I get out to her,” he said. “The wind an’ tide are right.”
“Set sail, then, and cruise down the coast. If our cutoff people see you, they may attempt a signal. Pick them up if you can, but don’t confront any Dom ships, no matter how sure you are of them. We can’t risk damage to Tiger.”
Holland nodded with a scowl, convinced his ship could tackle anything the Doms might have. “Just lead ’em away again?”
“No point,” Lewis said. “They know where we are. They’re sending an army, after all.”
“What will you do, Major?” Periz asked anxiously.
Lewis eyed him closely. There was no imperiousness in the alcalde’s manner now. “Go and set up another ambush, sir. Big enough to annihilate the Doms chasing Sergeant Hayne.”
Periz looked hesitant. “But what purpose will that serve? You’d leave us without any mounted troops?”
“Teniente Lara won’t like it, but I’ll leave him here. I don’t mean to charge anyone and break their formation, I just want to kill them. As for what it’ll accomplish . . . first, I hope to save Coryon Burton’s men. Just as important,” he added darkly, “when the main enemy force arrives, I want it to find everyone they sent ahead lying dead on the road as they pass!”
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