Renegade 36

by Lou Cameron

  Captain Gringo turned to Esperanza and suggested, “He could be wrong, you know.” But she said, “Not unless the rebels are in trouble in any case. Consider how the stars are winking on and off near the horizon and add them up, Dick.”

  He did and said, “Yeah, we’re close enough to spot any beacons on those ink-black crests, and I don’t see beacon one.”

  She swore again and said, “I feel so stupid! I read in the papers myself how Garcia had landed on the east end of the island. Pero when they simply said San Juan Hill, and I knew of no other San Juan Hill—”

  “Welcome to the club,” he cut in, adding, “I almost marched on the wrong Santa Maria one time. But isn’t it a little late to correct a natural mistake, doll? Santiago’s a night’s sail from here against the wind.”

  She sighed and said, “I know. We shall have to use our engine again, for to tack back and forth against the trades would take too long. We must make the right San Juan Hill while it is still dark enough for to make out any beacon fire, see?”

  He nodded, went below, and lit a match in the dark engine room. It went out by the time he found the crank and gave it a yank. It was just as easy to crank in the dark. The fucking engine didn’t seem to start in any case. He smelled naphtha and was glad he’d let the match go out. He cursed and went back topside, calling out, “You’ve flooded the engine, doll. Let me set the choke for you.’’

  He joined her at the wheel and moved the brass engine controls as much by guess as by anything else. He said, “That might do it. We’d better let her dry out awhile before I try again.’’

  Gaston, seated facing the other way, moaned and said, “I shall surely suffer mal de mer if we must wallow against the swells under engine power alone. I wish I could learn to keep my big mouth shut. Had I said nothing, by now we would be turning back, under sail, at a more agreeable heel of constantness!’’

  Before either of them could answer, the lookout called down and all three turned their heads to swear in unison at the triangle of running lights to the south. Whatever it was was moving faster than anything afloat had any right to move. It had them cut off from the south, but it was holding its west-to-east course as if it hadn’t spotted them yet. Captain Gringo cupped the end of his lit cigar and said, “Thank God for no moon and black sails against a dark shoreline! What do you make of her, Gaston?’’

  The Frenchman said, “Torpedo ram. No doubt English-built for their Spanish allies. Nothing else that large could move so swiftly. Need I point out it seems to be bound for the fun and games around the fair city of Santiago?’’

  Esperanza sighed and said, “Even with our engine running and all sails set, we could not hope to dodge such a war vessel. Let us hope it is indeed bound for some port and not patrolling back and forth along this coast, eh?’’

  Gaston groaned and said, “Did I not hear something about turning back if things went wrong, my treasure?’’ But Esperanza said, “Things have not gone wrong yet. They merely seem to be getting complicated. I contracted to run these guns to Garcia. Unless I find Garcia has been beaten, or someone beats me, I intend to keep my word to the cause of Cuba Libre!’’

  Gaston said, “Merde alar s. What have you to say about all this nonsense, Dick?”

  Captain Gringo shrugged and replied, “What can I tell you? It’s her schooner and Garcia’s guns. We still owe the Dons for that trap they set for us that time in Mexico, remember?”

  Gaston sighed and said, “I remember. I was hoping you might not.”

  In a dark Havana courtyard a frightened Cuban beauty stared up at yet another Spanish officer with desperate hope and bitter resignation. She’d expected to be taken to his quarters, and while that part made her flesh creep, the alternatives were even more frightening. He was bigger and younger than the royal governor who’d used her as a love toy until a telephone call would seem to have cooled his lazy lust. When this one had come in and curtly ordered her to get dressed and come with him, she’d assumed he wanted the same thing. Men always wanted the same thing, after all. But if he intended to use her as his own love toy, why were they now in a dark courtyard outside the palace grounds?

  The younger and not bad looking Spaniard put his pistol back in its holster and said, “I am sorry about that, Señora Lopez. It was only in case someone saw us as I marched you away, see?”

  “We both know a man as big as you has no need for a pistol for to march a mere woman anywhere he chooses, Señor... Major?”

  He said, “Never mind my name, rank, or serial number, señora. Suffice it to say General Weyler ordered me to dispose of you as he was leaving, and I intend to carry out his order to the letter.”

  She gasped, “Oh, no! Por favor do not kill me, señor! I have done nothing against His Most Catholic Majesty! My husband is not a rebel either. It was all just a terrible mistake!”

  The handsome officer grimaced in distaste and said, “His Most Catholic Majesty is a nice little boy who has never heard of you or your husband, señora. Whether it was all a mistake or whether one of the General’s police pimps noticed a young printer had a most attractive wife is not for me to judge. In either case, there is nothing I can do for your husband now. Do you have people in the countryside, preferably far out in the countryside, señora?”

  She shook her head and sobbed, “I have no one but my Carlos. I was raised here in Havana by an aunt who no longer lives. My parents were taken by el vomito negro when I was little. For why do you ask?”

  The officer swore under his breath and muttered, ‘T really ought to know better. I really ought to have my head examined. But, damn it, there are limits. Listen to me, señora. You must somehow vanish from the face of this earth. For should the General ever ask me how I disposed of you, I intend to tell him, modestly, that when I dispose of people they are never seen again. Do we understand one another?”

  “You intend for to let me go, señor?”

  “It’s that or a bullet in your pretty head, señora. The General does not wish for to have his personal habits discussed, even among the doomed in Morro Castle.” He reached in his pocket, took out some notes, and handed them to her, saying, “Here is some dinero for to see you as far as you can manage this side of sunrise. Do not stay in Havana. Do not try to reach the rebel lines, whether you are a rebel or not. If you can’t find work in the countryside, swim for Florida. If you are caught, I may be able to kill myself in time. I doubt you’ll be that fortunate. The General was in a good mood today. Do not bank on him feeling pleased to see you alive a second time!”

  She shuddered and grabbed one of his hands in both of hers to humbly bow her head and kiss it. He snorted in disgust and said, “Go with God, señora, and for God’s sake keep going!”

  She sobbed, “I shall never forget this, señor! How are you called, so that I may burn many candles for you in times to come?”

  He shrugged and said, “Remember me as a Spanish officer and gentleman. There still are such things, despite the government we have these days. But let us not waste time on such matters. Run for it, señora. I have done all I can for you. If we ever meet again, I shall have to shoot you as an escaped rebel. So make sure I never see you again!”

  She nodded, turned, and darted off into the shadows. The officer sighed and turned away, muttering, “Maybe I should have told her my name, after all. But even if she burned a hundred candles, would I be any better off in the end?”

  Meanwhile, Captain Gringo had gotten the cranky engine going, and at his suggestion Esperanza had furled her black sails to ran on power alone in the treacherous shallows they were hugging now. They were inshore, running slow as well as blacked out, because they kept seeing more lights out to sea than along the shoreline. Gaston kept insisting they give up. Captain Gringo had to admit he had a point. Obviously, the Dons had the eastern approaches to Cuba heavily patrolled. They were likely to ran into more rather than fewer patrol craft as they neared Santiago. If the same wiseass who’d wired the engine to broadcast its ragged timing had
tipped the Spaniards off about that beacon atop San Juan Hill as well, it meant all bets were off, even if they got there. Any clown with a match could light a signal fire. But when he pointed this out to Esperanza, the big brunette said, “I have already thought of that, Dick. Pero we shall be passing the rugged coastline where the Sierra Maestra’s roots rise from the sea, and Garcia has to be somewhere in the vicinity. If we but put in at some deserted cove and send someone ashore for to contact him—”

  “We’ll get someone killed,” he cut in, pointing out, “Anywhere we don’t find armed and dangerous rebels we’ll trip over Spanish regulars just as trigger-happy, doll. Neither side knows us all that well, and the first rule in guerrilla warfare is that strangers are shot on sight.”

  “I have the password, Dick. All we have to say is, feliz navidad.”

  “Hell, Christmas was almost a week ago, Esperanza.”

  “Sí, that is for why it makes a good password. Who else would wish a stranger feliz navidad when it is not navidad?”

  He smiled crookedly and suggested, “A Spaniard who hasn’t got a calendar or … Okay, what’s the countersign?”

  “Counter what, querido?”

  “Oh boy, that’s just great. You know how to give the rebel password, but you don’t know how to make sure you’re talking to a rebel?”

  She shook her head and said, “Pero no. I did not think for to ask, since I know little of such matters.”

  Gaston groaned, “Sacré goddamn, just as I am beginning to feel better this wayward child seems intent on getting me killed again! It is no use, Esperanza. This mission was betrayed before we joined you. There is no way we can contact the rebels without risking our adorable derrieres. If it was at all easy to even find Garcia, our mutual friend the butcher would have done so by this time. Mais I hear no distant sounds of artillery fire.”

  Captain Gringo started to point out they were still too far from Santiago to hear battle sounds. Then he wondered why anyone would want to say a dumb thing like that. So he said, “Gaston’s got a point, doll. From the way they seem to be patrolling, I’d say it was a lucky break we were making for the wrong San Juan Hill. If we know Garcia’s waiting for his guns near Santiago, the sneak who infiltrated the outfit you’re working for has to know it too, and we know he ain’t on our side!”

  Esperanza swore in Basque and said, “Look, if you wish for to be put ashore, I shall put you ashore, damn it.”

  Captain Gringo let Gaston tell her what a nutty idea that was. The Frenchman said, “Merci, mais non, my eternal optimist! I prefer drowning to a clumsy firing squad—and there seems to be a lot of that going on in Cuba at the moment. To wander about somewhere in the no-man’s-land between two trigger-happy armies could take years off one’s life. This way, one may at least hope a certain willful young femme comes to her senses before we all get our brains blown out, non?’’

  The lookout called down another light. Captain Gringo moved to starboard to make it out ahead of the masts and superstructure ahead. He swore and said, “Hard to port, Esperanza! It’s a sea sled, coming right down our throat, full speed!’’

  Esperanza swung the helm hard over, and as they turned they could all make out the running lights and hear the deep-throated roar of the naphtha-powered speedboat. Esperanza started to cut her own throttle, but Captain Gringo snapped, “No! Steady as she goes and hope it’s far enough! They can’t hear our four-banger above their own roar, and they’d be blacked out if they were expecting to meet us. I make it a dispatch boat with the latest from the fleet. They’d be moored in Santiago if they were down this way in force, right, Gaston?’’

  Gaston shrugged and said, “Santiago or Guantanamo Bay. The latter is the better harbor, mais they do not use it much, since there is no fresh water there.’’

  They were still working on where the boat might have come from and where it might be going when it crossed their stern and roared on off to the east. As its wake lifted the stern of La Nombre Nada, Captain Gringo suggested they veer off the approaching shoreline, adding, “I hear breakers not too far ahead.’’

  Esperanza nodded and swung the wheel. Then the engine died. She swore and jerked the throttle open and shut as Captain Gringo warned her, “Don’t do that! You’ll flood her again!’’

  He took over, adjusting choke and throttle the same as before, and told her, “Leave things just like that. I’ll go below and crank her up some more.’’

  It was a hell of a way to run a railroad or a commercial schooner, he decided as he once more made his way down the ladder way. It was easy to see the guys who’d refitted La Nombre Nada for Esperanza knew more about yachts than serious vessels. Having the controls topside, as if aboard a cabin cruiser, no doubt saved some engine-room wages, but people worked dirt cheap in the tropics and when one needed power, one needed power in a hurry.

  The companionway was dimly lit by a single oil lamp. A red bucket filled with sand hung under the lamp. It was better than nothing, he decided, as he smelled the fumes of the flooded engine this far from the engine room. He grabbed the bucket and moved on. He didn’t dare strike a light in the dark compartment. A little spilled in through the open hatch. He put the bucket down and moved around to try the crank. He gave it a yank. Nothing. He gave it another yank. The engine coughed, sputtered, backfired, and burst into flames, singeing his eyebrows as he backed off fast, grabbed the bucket of sand, and threw its contents over the blue flames rising from the air filter and greasy head. He swore as the fire went out, and he got to choke on the black haze of charred oil and rubber. He ducked outside, found yet another fire bucket down at the far end, and tossed more sand on the smoldering remains for luck. Then he got topside as fast as he could. A guy had to breathe once in a while, right?

  At the wheel Esperanza sniffed in the darkness and asked what was burning. He told her, “At least the engine. Maybe the ship. How close are we to the breakers now?’’

  Esperanza said, “Too close!’’ and called loudly for the deckhands in the bow to drop the mud hook. As the schooner vibrated to the throb of the cascading anchor chain, Captain Gringo asked, “Damn it, why did you do that? We’ve still got sails, haven’t we?’’

  Esperanza said, “Sí, we got sails, and no wind. We seem to be in a wind shadow. Must be high ground to the west, close. I think we are in a bay. So far it looks deserted. No lights ashore. Get back to my engine, Dick. I’ll need it for to get back out to sea!’’

  He sighed and moved closer to cut the ignition switch and dose the throttle as he said, “This may be locking the bam door on the late side, but what the hell. Come daylight and an open porthole, I may be able to fix the unholy mess. Meanwhile, we’d better post a hand below to make sure I doused the fire for keeps. I’m going to have to clean her up and maybe rewire the ignition before we even try to start her again.’’

  “Pero Dick, we can’t stay here! We do not even know where here is!”

  Gaston, who’d been listening in remarkable silence, for Gaston, volunteered, “I think we must be somewhere along the coast of Camaguey Province. I hope I am mistaken. Camaguey is cattle country. Some chaparral. Even some jungle where an occasional lull rises high enough. Mais mostly rolling grassland, avec grand views of the distance. One can only hope there is at least some tall grass between us and any Spanish cavalry patrolling within miles of the shoreline!’’

  Esperanza moaned, “Madre de Dios, what shall we do, Dick?’’

  So Captain Gringo said, “First we drop the stern anchor. We don’t want the surf to swing our highly explosive ass end to face the shore, do we?’’

  She sighed and said, “No. Pero I lost my stern anchor off Panama just before we met, and we are already swinging about, no?’’

  “Okay, in a pinch we can drain the tanks. The engine’s probably shot anyway, this side of a shipyard. If we can’t take step one, we can at least take step two. You said you’ve got a mess of guns in the hold, including automatic weapons. We’d better break some out. Rifles for ever
y hand and a couple of Maxims for Gaston and me. He can handle a machine gun in a pinch,”

  “As good as you, Dick?”

  Gaston said, “Nobody can handle a machine gun as well as this big ox, child. But I can pinch indeed, as long as the damned thing is attached to something.”

  She said they had oodles of tripods and moved forward to give her crew the orders called for. As they stood alone in the stern for the moment, Gaston said, “You know, of course, our best bet would be ashore, under cover, avec all the bang-bang we could carry?”

  Captain Gringo nodded but said, “We can’t abandon ship. Aside from the fact Esperanza has everything she owns tied up in this old tub, we’d never in this world be able to manhandle the whole cargo ashore without help. There’s a good ten tons of cargo below, and it’s not doing Garcia’s rebels any good until they get it, see?”

  “Merde alors, I see no such thing! Thanks to navigational error and this last disgusting hitch in the plans of mice and men, we are stuck a good hundred miles or more from the rebel-held Sierra Maestra!”

  “Okay, so anyone who’s not in Spanish battle kit stands a fifty-fifty chance of rooting for Cuba Libre. If we can recruit some friendly peons, maybe with pack animals, if this is cow country as you say—”

  “Sacré goddamn!” Gaston cut in. “You are talking about ten tons of guns, ammunition, and supplies, Dick! A pack mule can at most carry a few hundred pounds! You are not talking about a handful of friendly natives. You are discussing a quartermaster corps avec all its beasts of burden, and in the unlikely event you managed to get ten tons of contraband aboard that many pack saddles, how would you propose getting them a three or four days’ march from here to there through a hostile Spanish army?”

  Captain Gringo shrugged and muttered, “Picky, picky, picky. We haven’t even seen the fucking beach yet and you’re nagging me about the next hundred miles. First we figure how to stay alive in the cold, gray dawn. Then we worry about the next three or four days, see?”