A Dishonorable Few (The Honor Series)

by Robert N. Macomber

  Front cover

  A Dishonorable Few

  the continuing exploits of Lt. Peter Wake United States Navy

  Robert N. Macomber

  Pineapple Press, Inc.

  Sarasota, Florida

  The Honor Series

  By Robert N. Macomber

  At the Edge of Honor

  Point of Honor

  Honorable Mention

  A Dishonorable Few

  An Affair of Honor

  A Different Kind of Honor

  The Honored Dead

  The Darkest Shade of Honor

  Honor Bound

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2005 by Robert N. Macomber

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Inquiries should be addressed to:

  Pineapple Press, Inc.

  P.O. Box 3889

  Sarasota, Florida 34230

  www.pineapplepress.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data available upon request

  E-ISBN 978-1-56164-523-7

  Print and ebook design by Shé Hicks

  Dedication

  This novel is very respectfully dedicated to the outstanding seamen of the M/V Hamburgo, with whom I voyaged through perils and paradise for 10,000 miles:

  Captain Ullrich Nuber

  Chief Mate Sergiy Yudyentsev

  Chief Engineer Wolfgang Winter

  2nd Officer Jens Graf

  2nd Engineer Herbert Sander

  3rd Officer Eljohn Cervantes

  3rd Engineer Allan Rico

  Bosun Ole Klingmueller

  Electrician Valery Mosiyenko

  Able Seaman Jerry Quintilitisca

  Oiler Margarito De Guzman

  Able Seaman John Manzan

  Oiler Jade Tupaz

  Ordinary Seaman Andrew Arimas

  Engine Appr. Bernardo Arco

  Ordinary Seaman Ernesto Del Rosario

  Cook Edmundo Medenilla

  Ordinary Seaman Lito Alcala

  Steward Richard Cagwing

  and to merchant seamen around the globe, who brave the oceans to bring us the world’s bounty.

  Maps removed for e-book

  Preface

  The year is 1869. Lieutenant Peter Wake, veteran of six years in the United States Navy, is stationed in a backwater of that service, Pensacola, Florida, the first shore assignment of his career. Pensacola Navy Yard is a shadow of its former importance, but Wake still does his best, learning how a navy is supported and maintained. The U.S. Navy has declined considerably since the end of the Civil War, when it became the second largest naval force in the world and intimidated several powers from attempting to push the United States around. It is now twenty-sixth largest in the world, many ships are obsolete, funding is a fraction of what is needed, and morale is low. However, the navy still has serious commitments around the world and somehow struggles to fullfill them.

  In the devastated South, military occupation is still in full force in many areas. Pensacola is luckier than many places, seeing economic growth in the fishing and lumber industries and the end of the U.S. Army’s martial government. Bitterness continues among some, but most are trying to look ahead, desperately hoping the South will recover.

  The world in 1869 is very dangerous. In the Caribbean and Central America there are widespread economic depression, political turmoil, and intercultural hatred—all of which feed the incessant wars that plague the region. It’s an area ripe for mercenaries, many of whom come from the ranks of the warriors in the recent North American bloodbath. It is also an area the Europeans are again eyeing closely.

  Wake is excited to be back at sea, heading for the Caribbean, where he learned during the war that nothing is quite as it first appears. And in addition to all his other problems during this unique mission, Lieutenant Peter Wake is about to learn more than he ever wanted to about the dark side of human nature—the hard way.

  Contents

  1 Innocent Passage

  2 A Demented Heart

  3 Backwaters

  4 Fortune’s Hand

  5 La Langue Diplomatique

  6 Requested and Expected

  7 Den of Power

  8 Faint of Heart

  9 Vivid Memories

  10 Welcome Aboard

  11 Good Impression

  12 Distant Horizons

  13 The Old Fashioned Way

  14 The Empires’ Men

  15 All Roads lead to Colón

  16 The Richest Prize of All

  17 El Hermanidad de Marineros

  18 Naval Goodwill

  19 A Myriad of Motives

  20 Senior Officer Afloat

  21 Patience

  22 Simple Solutions

  23 Twists of Fate

  24 La Heroica

  25 Moskito Coast

  26 Rork’s Discovery

  27 The Black Jesus

  28 The Prophecy

  29 “Painted Savages from the Ground”

  30 The Demons Within

  31 The Needle in the Haystack

  32 Sea Lawyers and White Mice

  33 Jungle Lair

  34 Destiny of Honor

  35 Battle at Bomkatu

  36 Searching

  37 Her Majesty’s Crown Colony of Jamaica

  38 La République de Mort

  39 La Sorcellerie Noire

  40 Yankee Ingenuity

  41 Journey to Hell

  42 Rocks and Shoals

  43 The Prosecution’s Attack

  44 Mindless Slavery

  45 Repercussions of Perceptions

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  1

  Innocent Passage

  February 1869

  Central Caribbean Sea

  Latitude 14 degrees, 32 minutes, North

  Longitude 80 degrees, 11 minutes, West

  The seas built up by the easterly trade winds were just large enough to make walking on the steamer’s deck difficult. Venezuelan Naval Cadet Mendez was thankful that they were heading downwind—if they were going the other way it would be even more dangerous to be on deck. He struggled to keep his hat on in the wind and at the same time steady his telescope on a far-off ship, whose bow plunged down into the waves and then launched up into clear air as she charged against the wind toward them.

  As he focused the scope, Mendez thought the steamer a magnificent sight, the black hull and rigging forging ahead against the deep blue of the waves and the powdered blue of the sky, gray smoke billowing up a few feet before being swept away into nothingness. The power of it all was a symbol of the triumph of man over nature—a scene you couldn’t even imagine back in the musty confines of Commander Depaz’s drowsy seamanship class at the academy in La Guaira.

  He studied the ship a few moments longer, finally arriving at the conclusion that he disagreed with the second mate about the ship’s possible intent. As its image bounced around in the lens, he carefully formulated his answer to the second mate’s earlier comment.

  Though Mendez was only seventeen, his Spanish was better than the mate’s, as expected of someone attending the prestigious Academia Nacional Naval de los Estados Unidos de la República de Venezuela, but he was always car
eful not to sound arrogant when speaking to his superiors here. This was a training cruise aboard a merchant ship and he was only here to learn. Still, he was expected to have an opinion and tried to sound experienced in his response.

  “We’re too far out off the coast for a problem like that, aren’t we, sir? And that’s a large steamer, an ocean steamer—too expensive and complicated for them to have, isn’t she? I think she’s probably only a merchant ship outbound from Bluefields in Nicaragua to Santo Domingo or Puerto Rico.”

  The second mate smiled at the youngster’s attempt at a serious assessment. This one from the academy was different. The boy had obvious potential and someday, the mate hoped, he would make a good officer for the navy.

  “Maybe you are right, Mr. Mendez. And maybe . . . just maybe . . . I am right, in which case we will have trouble. I truly hope you are the one who is correct, son. But occasionally a sailor’s eye can see things that his brain can’t explain with logic. An odd feeling he cannot define—he just knows when things are not right. You will learn that as time goes on. And Mr. Mendez, always remember . . .” The older man paused, his eyes on the other vessel.

  “Sir?”

  “Never ignore that feeling.”

  Further forward on the main deck stood a gentleman and lady dressed in city clothing looking out over the heaving seas at the approaching ship. The second mate pondered for an instant whether he should convey his concerns to the gentleman, then decided there was no reason to worry them yet. Especially not these particular passengers. It wasn’t his place; let the captain do it. Besides, from what he had seen of them so far on this voyage, he figured they probably wouldn’t understand and just think him an alarmist.

  Unaware of the mate’s deliberations behind them, Doña Esmeralda, wife of Don Jorge Monteblanco, the recently appointed Venezuelan ambassador to Mexico, put a hand out to steady herself on her husband’s arm. These first five days steaming from La Guaira, the port of Caracas, the voyage to their new assignment had been far more than rough, but now was getting slightly better.

  For the first three days, the seas off the coast of New Granada had frightened her with their ominous size as they advanced on the steamer from what seemed to be all directions, lifting the vessel and sliding the hull sideways in a sickening contortion. The captain had pleasantly explained to her how the countercurrents and prevailing winds in this corner of the Caribbean, along with the Río Magdelena’s huge outpouring of fresh water from the continent, frequently made waves that were abnormally large and unpredictable. Doña Esmeralda had replied that she thought it was all just horrible, secretly hating the captain’s condescending attitude and idiotic grin.

  She never got used to the seas and the deck’s motion. Doña Esmeralda’s sense of balance was lost at the beginning, forcing her to grab anything, or anyone, close by for support. Several times she had ended up in a clump on the deck, embarrassed, bruised and angry with herself, but far more angry with her naïve husband for taking this assignment.

  He had the seniority to obtain a comfortable position within the foreign ministry in Caracas, close to their family and friends, but had not insisted on it. Instead, when the foreign minister had convinced him that now was the time when Venezuela needed a strong relationship with Mexico, recently liberated from French occupation, he had accepted the post out of a sense of duty. The minister had been very flattering to her husband, telling him that in their current turbulent times a veteran was needed to keep the republic out of war and moving forward in a position of leadership in the region. He had further promised that Monteblanco could return home two years hence, in 1871, to the position of deputy foreign minister. One last assignment, the minister had said. Doña Esmeralda remembered her husband’s recital of his superior’s enticement with cold resentment, but what could she, a mere wife, do? Her husband had fallen into the trap of pride.

  Each time she grimly held on for dear life when a wave came, Doña Esmeralda thought of their lovely home in Caracas, filled with beautiful mementos and gifts from their assignments abroad. She missed her children and the new grandson, born just this year. This was just so unfair.

  Now they were off the coast of Central America and the seas had diminished, but were still large enough to make her stomach uneasy and catch her off guard. The young cadet officer told her this morning the depressing news that they were only near the shoals of Serrana Bank, still three full days from their first port in British Honduras, and they had at least six days after that to Vera Cruz in Mexico.

  Other than the high winds and seas, the trip was uneventful, but Doña Esmeralda saw that the reaction of the ship’s officers to the vessel now approaching them was anything but nonchalant. She watched the other vessel get closer and listened to the second mate yell to a seaman.

  “Go to the captain and present my respects. Tell him I request him on deck. There is a strange ship that has altered course and is bearing down on us fast. She doesn’t appear to be a warship, but I don’t like the looks of this.”

  Don Jorge Monteblanco was not a man to panic easily and he wondered what it was about that other ship that could concern the experienced officer. It looked like the few other vessels they had seen while steaming along the coasts of Venezuela and New Granada. Then he realized that the ship was heading directly for them very fast, smoke pouring out of her stack. She was smashing headlong into the seas with huge fans of spray exploding from her bow with each wave. The violence of her progress against the seas toward them seemed an ominous warning, he realized with a cold shudder. The uneasy feeling within him grew as the distance from the other ship diminished.

  Don Jorge had worked almost half a century as a diplomat and a man dedicated to making peace. He and his wife were proud that one son had felt the call to become a priest in the Jesuit order, another a doctor, and the third a diplomat—all were respected men who, like their father, had never worn a military uniform. Don Jorge had developed a lifelong distrust of men in the military and knew that frequently they made difficult situations worse, many times ruining the efforts of the diplomats to resolve issues without bloodshed.

  His wife held his arm tighter as she looked up at him, seeing his mien change from curious to grim. “I do not understand what the concern is about that ship over there, Jorge. It looks like any other. Why are the sailors upset? Is it connected with the war in Nicaragua?”

  Don Jorge was trying to listen to what the second mate told the captain when he came on deck in response to the sighting but he turned to his wife.

  “It is probably a normal concern, dear. We are safe out here in international waters, and neither the Nicaraguans nor the rebel forces have any steamers. In fact, I do not believe they even have a navy of any sort. Perhaps that ship needs some assistance of some kind.”

  All the ship’s officers gathered around Captain Rivera, the senior ones using the ship’s three telescopes. The first mate snapped his shut and asked the captain what to do when the other ship arrived alongside in a few minutes.

  “If they fire a gun we will stop. If not, we continue. Send up our ensign.”

  Doña Esmeralda turned to her husband and pulled on his sleeve. “Oh, Jorge, did you hear that? He said if that ship shoots at us we will have to stop. This must be some type of mistake. Let that other ship know that there is an ambassador on this boat. They won’t bother us then. We have immunity under international law, don’t we?”

  “If we were in Europe with civilized people, yes. But here it is another matter, dear.”

  Don Jorge heard the flapping of the red, blue, and gold Venezuelan ensign as it ascended the halyard above them. Though not a man of the sea, he did know this meant that the other ship should now raise her national flag, and he waited. A small speck of color suddenly flashed from its rigging. It was black and white.

  The officers and Captain Rivera made a collective gasp. The other ship was flying the flag
of the rebel republic. Don Jorge tried to hear what the officers were saying but became aware his wife was asking something.

  “Well, Jorge? Are you listening? I said to tell Captain Rivera to tell them you are an ambassador.”

  “Esmeralda, that is the flag of the Indian rebel province that has declared itself independent of Nicaragua. I am not at all certain that they will be impressed that I am a Venezuelan ambassador. In fact, they may resent it. Venezuela is supporting the central government against them.”

  The look on his face earlier had worried her earlier. Now it terrified her. “What does that mean, Jorge?”

  Don Jorge held his wife of four decades by the shoulders and tried to find the words. They had served at the embassies in London, Madrid, and Rio de Janeiro, but never in an area at war. Never at a place where they were hated.

  “It means, my dear, that they may treat us as an enemy, and that they may not care about international law and immunity. They are not recognized as a sovereign country and therefore may not behave like one.”

  “But we are traveling from Venezuela to Mexico. We are not at war with Nicaragua or the rebel province. We are not at war with Venezuela. Why would they treat us as an enemy? We are out in the sea innocently traveling along.”

  “Because they have fought for the last three years to be independent of Nicaragua, and because Venezuela has sold munitions to the central government, they may view us as part of the people who are killing them.” He did not finish the thought that was in his mind.

  “But that is not correct at all, Jorge. They must be able to see that—this is all so ridiculous. We are peaceful, for the sake of God.”

  “War has a way of altering perceptions of enemy and friend, dear. Ah, here is our captain.”

  Captain Rivera put a hand on Don Jorge’s arm and turned him away from his wife. “Don Jorge, you and your wife go below with Cadet Mendez right now. I am sorry, but Mendez will have to come back up here and you will have to wait down there alone. Hide there and do not come out until I personally tell you it is safe.” The captain spoke deliberately, almost sadly, his eyes locked into the ambassador’s. “Do you understand exactly what I mean, sir?”