by Lou Cameron
Nobody bothered them as they drove out side by side. But when they reached the plaza at least a regiment of soldados were milling there in confusion as their officers and noncoms tried to line them up and get a handle on the situation.
Captain Gringo didn’t give them the chance. As he traversed hot machine-gun lead back and forth, aiming low to do as much damage as possible with flying stone splinters and screaming hot ricochets, the plaza cleared miraculously. Partly, anyway. Most of the already-mixed- up soldados ran for cover. But a lot still lay where they’d dropped.
He signaled Morales to fall back and follow as the armored motorcar took the lead out of town. He changed the belt again, dropped down, and reached over Robles to open the throttle. Robles gasped, “I can’t control her at this speed, dammit!” But Captain Gringo said, “Try,” and climbed back up in the turret. He saw what Robles meant as they rocked from side to side with Robles over-controlling from curb to curb as they tore back the way they’d come. As they rounded the curve to the coast road on two wheels, some guys in federale uniform were rolling a wagon out onto the road to block it. Captain Gringo opened up on them with the Maxim just before Robles, having no choice in the matter, plowed into the wagon at thirty or so. As they tore on through the cloud of flying kindling, the American laughed and said, “Remind me never to try that against a boiler-plated horseless carriage!”
The road ahead seemed clear but winding, so he dropped down beside Robles, took the tiller, and said, “Nice going. The idea is to stay more or less in the center of the lane, though.”
Robles made the sign of the cross and said, “You are crazy! We had heard you were crazy before you joined us. But nobody said you were really crazy! For God’s sake, slow down!”
“Later. Morales is crazy too, and we’d better put some road between us and whatever they have to chase us with.”
They whipped past the posada he’d told Pilar to stay in. He didn’t see her in the doorway. He was glad, he guessed. Jesus, she’d been a pretty little thing. But a guy couldn’t expect to win ’em all.
As they reached open country again, Robles said, “If you won’t slow down, will you at least tell me where we are going? This road does not go all the way to Mazatlán, and los rurales are headquartered in Rosario, where this road ends.”
“That’s where we’re going. We’ll need mules to transport all the stuff we stole over the mountains to the stronghold. The map says Rosario is only about seventy or eighty kilometers from El Aquilar Negro’s camp, as the crow flies. We’ll pick us some pack mules there and..
“Pick up whose pack mules?” Robles cut in, adding: “Didn’t you hear what I just said? Los rurales, a whole company of los rurales, holds Rosario! No peons there will have any animals for us. Los rurales even steal the pigs and chickens!”
“I’ve noticed that. There should be a big corral somewhere near rurale headquarters. Do you know where that is?”
“Of course. But are you talking about stealing the mules we need from the corral of los rurales?”
“Why not? We need mules, and I wouldn’t want to let the motherfuckers feel left out, would you?”
Robles smiled grimly and said, “You paint pretty pictures, for a madman. But it won’t work. By now they know we stole these two vehicles from them. We won’t be able to simply drive in, boldly, as we did back there.”
“Yeah, I know. We’re going to have to do it some other way.”
“Ah, you have a way, then, Captain Gringo?”
“Not yet. I’m still working on it. But what the hell, it’s going to take us a while to get there, right?”
*
In Mexico City, el Presidente Diaz was not enjoying his breakfast. It was a nice breakfast. Few of his subjects could have afforded it, or the pretty young woman seated across from him in a see-through black lace dressing gown. But el Presidente still had heartburn. He glared up at his uniformed aide and said, “There is only one possibility. I thought when those first reports came in that our informants were confused about the names. I thought Captain Gringo and that damned little Frenchman used aliases and that they, Duran, and Tio Pancho were all the same bastards. Now I see we have at least four, not just two, soldiers of fortune to deal with. Their friends are good, too. Has anyone figured out exactly how many rebels hit our depot in San Blas?”
“Si el Presidente. From the damage and casualties, they make it out at least a full battalion attacking far from where we thought they were holed up above Mazatlán!”
“A full battalion, in two vehicles? Never mind, if Captain Gringo led the attack, they doubtless thought it was a full battalion!”
Diaz got to his feet and began to pace in his bathrobe as the mistress and aide watched, respectfully silent. The Liberator could order anyone shot when he was in a pacing mood!
The white-haired dictator stopped, turned, and snapped, “Wait. If Walker and Verrier hit San Blas, they can’t be with the rebels above Mazatlán. Duran and that other soldier of fortune can’t be as good as the real thing. I’d have heard from them before if they were half as good. I keep an eye open for real talent. Damn, I wish those boys would work for me! But, no matter, the point is they are not with El Aquilar Negro, either. Are we in direct communication with the column I sent up into the hills after El Aquilar Negro’s band?”
“More or less, sir. We have runners as well as direct communication with Mazatlán.”
“Bueno. Signal a change in orders. I knew from our spies where the camp was, but, being prudent not to take on too great a force, I told them to circle and move in carefully. But Captain Gringo and Gaston Verrier are not there. Our spies say El Aquilar Negro is sick and helpless. Order our men to advance boldly and wipe out the camp before those more dangerous soldiers of fortune can possibly get back! After they take the stronghold, they are to tidy up and set a trap for that crazy Yanqui and his French companion. What is the latest on those American navy men?”
“Another Yanqui ship is coming to pick them up, el Presidente. It is my understanding that their intelligence officer and a shore patrol mean to stay behind and search for the escapees. They wished to accompany our column, but of course I relayed your orders not to let them.”
“Bueno. I do not like to have visitors returning to the outside world with tales about my methods. Los Yanquis are so silly about the women and children of unimportant people. Send word to let the gringo shore patrol come up and identify the bodies after Captain Gringo and his Frenchman are dead. Not before. What are you waiting for? Can’t you see I’m having breakfast?”
The aide saluted, spun on his heels, and left. Diaz sat down at the table again and sighed. “I don’t know. I think I may be getting an ulcer. It used to be so much fun to run a country. But nobody seems to understand, how much I’ve done for Mexico, and outsiders meddling with my rebels really puts me off my feed. I can handle children like El Aquilar Negro without getting out of bed. But that Captain Gringo is unsettling as a mad dog running loose in my house. I must be getting old. I used to enjoy crossing swords with a master. Now it just gives me a stomach ache.”
“You are not old, my hero,” she replied, slipping out of her chair to crawl to him, open his robe, and lower her head to his lap. He sighed and ran his hand through her hair as she began to suck. Then he said “No, child. I know you mean well, but I’m too worried right now!”
*
Later, up in the Sierras above Mazatlán, Gaston was worried, too. He’d done his best to whip the guerrillas into shape. They were a hell of a lot better than when he’d started. But he still wasn’t ready to pit them against a band of determined bloomer girls. He was sure the new feminist movement had more real fighters in its ranks. These pobrecitos now at least moved when he told them to move and then watched them to see that they did. But he couldn’t be everywhere at once. The stronghold was too spread out to set up a decent perimeter, and when he’d ordered them to move up to one end of the valley and dig in, some snitch had run crying to El Aquilar Negro an
d the delirious, useless leader had countermanded the idea.
Gaston heard a shrill whistle as he hunkered in the meager shade of a rock on the ridge east of camp. He turned to see Felicidad coming up the slope. The girl flopped beside him and said, “Our lookout atop the potato rocks to the east says he sees dust to the west. You said if they attacked before Captain Gringo and the others get back, they will hit us from the east, no?”
Gaston said, “I still say so, my worried beauty. I have a map of the hills all around etched in my fantastique brain, in ink. I used to serve in the Mexican army. Before that, I fought them as a Legionnaire. Don’t tell anyone, but Mexicans are smarter. What the lookout saw to the west was the dust of a dispatch rider. If your spies are correct, and a column of federales is moving in after failing to trap our friends to the south, which I could have told them was impossible, they will not be allowed to raise dust. They will have dismounted and they will move in on foot, as usual. Los federales are good dragoons. They know better than to try cavalry charges over hogback ridges and through boulder fields sloping at crazy angles. Mais non, if they intend to do it at all, they will do it right! They have El Aquilar Negro down as an untrained bandit leader, which is only just, when you think about it. They will expect him to prepare for an attack from the west, as unskilled military minds are prone to assume. Ergo, they will attack from those higher hills, over that way. Trust me. I, Gaston, am never wrong.”
“You were wrong about how soon they would be arriving. Both you and my Deek said it would not be for days.”
“Girls do not have dicks, but no matter. I confess we assumed we were up against the usual cautious mind of a sensible professional. Since your spies from town tell you a battalion of manic federales marched over the coast hills with orders to get right to it, I take it on faith they mean to throw some caution to the wind. No doubt they have heard that your leader is ill and your best men are not here. Nonetheless, federale officers are not picked for stupidity. Knowing our location, they may advance with uncharacteristic boldness. Nonetheless, they will want to attack in a manner offering them the advantage, hein? Eh bien, to the west, the approaches are trés steep. The few men I posted on that side have trés formidable cover. The reason I have most of our so-called soldados on this ridge with me is because, as anyone can see, it’s trés lousy. The slopes to our east are gentle. The next ridge to the east is higher. If they mass behind it, dust us with artillery, and make a determined downhill charge… ah, well, we shall doubtless beat them back at least once or twice. After that, I promise nothing. You are pretty, Felicidad. When the shooting starts, you and the other pretty girls had better run over the western ridge and make yourselves scarce, hein?”
“Never! I have spoken to the other adelitas. We too are armed and dangerous. We mean to fight shoulder to shoulder with you hombres!”
Gaston grimaced and said, “I wish you would not. It unsettles a green soldado to see a woman hit nearby. As it is, I expect half of them to run as soon as they see the enemy. Can’t you girls find something better to do?” She stuck out her lower lip and said, “We are determined to man the front line!”
“That is a contradiction in terms. But if you have to woman some line or other, you have my permission to set up on the ridge across the valley.”
“But you said nobody was liable to attack from that direction!”
“Oui, but you said they might. Tell your savage Amazons to dig in and keep their heads down as we guard each other’s rears, hein?” He laughed and added, “Speaking of rears, you said something about a friend of yours who admires older men, remember?”
“Si. If we live through the battle, I will introduce you to her. I must go now. There is so much to do if we girls are to be prepared in time.”
He watched her fondly as she scampered down the slope. He wished there were some way to leave women, horses, and other pretty creatures out of wars. If she and the other girls were on the far side when things got bad, at least they’d have a chance of getting away. He knew that was more than he could say. He muttered to himself, “Really, Gaston, my old and wiser, this is no time to consider promises, even to Dick! Oh, I know he’s depending on you to hold here until he gets back. But he’s an idiot, too! This position is hopeless, the men are worthless, El Aquilar Negro did not have a chance even before he came down with the fever, and what do we owe him? Surely not our lives!”
He grimaced, stood up, and started walking the ridge to make sure every man was in place. He knew it really didn’t matter. But he had said he would try.
*
Getting rid of the stolen vehicles was no problem. Packing all the loot was going to be the problem. Less than an hour’s hike south of Rosario, Captain Gringo ran the vehicles up a wooded ravine, emptied the truck, and stripped the armored motorcar of its machine gun, ammo, and grenades. Then he and Morales drove back to the coast road, saw nobody coming either way, and sent the two vehicles over the edge of the cliff to vanish at sea with q pair of mighty splashes.
Now came the hard part. Leaving Morales, the supplies, and most of the men in the ravine, Captain Gringo took Robles, four scouts, and the machine gun farther into the chaparral to see if they could scout the rurale-held village without being spotted.
They could. They ran into a young goatherd and his goats on a north-south ridge. He called out, “Viva la revolución!” even before they could ask him his political persuasion. So Captain Gringo knew he was a smart kid and enlisted him on the spot as a guide.
He told the goatherd to leave his damned goats where they were and told Robles to kill him if he made a break for it. Then he had the goatherd lead them along the ridges to a saddle overlooking Rosario.
They had a neat bird’s-eye view from up here. The village lay by an inlet with an offshore bar forming a natural harbor. The goatherd said most of the people were fishermen. It was just as well. Los rurales could use only so much fish. As Captain Gringo had hoped, the rurale corrals lay south of die village, beside the highway they patrolled. But then the bastards had gotten even smarter and built their headquarters between said corrals and an easy romp south. The solidly built semi-fort controlled all entry and exit from Rosario. The goatherd said no pretty girl or man with a gold watch could get in and out of Rosario these days, since the route north to Mazatlán was blocked by mountain spurs running out into the sea.
Captain Gringo stared thoughtfully up that way. On the horizon he could see purple mountains getting their feet wet. Closer in, he saw the smoke plume of a vessel moving their way, fast, with a bone of white water in its teeth. It was a gunboat – American, by her lines. It figured that someone had picked up those seamen stranded in Mazatlán by now.
Turning his attention back to the business at hand, Captain Gringo gazed down at the rurale post. The slopes running down to it from here were steep and, thanks to the damned goats, covered with dusty scrub instead of the natural vegetation these hills should have had. He asked Robles what he thought. Robles said, “We could most probably slip down to the corrals without getting shot. We could most probably gather some mules to ride and head south without getting shot. Getting them out of the corrals past that outpost without getting shot is impossible. Even if most of los rurales are out bothering people, there are always some left behind to guard the post. Those walls are thick. Those loopholes are narrow. There is no cover around the place within carbine range. Not even your machine gun would be able to make much of an impression on that place. But the noise would surely bring every rurale within kilometers.”
Captain Gringo nodded, but asked the goatherd if he knew how many rurales there were to worry about down there. The kid said about a dozen. Most of the company had headed north into the mountains at dawn for some reason. The route over the spurs toward Mazatlán was supposed to be impassable. But rurales had ridden that anyway.
Captain Gringo nodded and told Robles, “There’s always a way. And we don’t have much time. The only reason those guys would have to ride for Mazatlán
would be if someone told them to. They’ve been sent to beef up God knows who, to attack the stronghold!” He asked the goatherd if he’d seen any federales from his hilltop range. The kid nodded and said a steamer carrying army troops had stopped at Rosario the day before. Captain Gringo swore and said, “That ties it. If we abandon the fresh supplies and ammo, we could just about leg it back to the stronghold in time to get in on the fighting.”
Robles said, “But, Captain Gringo, if we go back without ammo, what will we fight with?”
“Yeah, meanwhile it would take at least a couple of shells to reduce that post down there, and this Maxim only fires .30-30s.”
He saw the gunboat was close now. The skipper must have been a curious cuss. He was steaming a lot closer to shore than Captain Gringo would have. They were passing Rosario just outside the bar. He could make out the Stars and Stripes and faces gawking shoreward on the bridge. It was probably dull, looking at most of Mexico from out there. A village of whitewashed walls and red tile roofs was apparently worth going out of one’s way to see. Captain Gringo snapped his fingers and said, “That’s it!” Then he said, “Everybody on the far side of this saddle and keep your heads down!”
He followed, flopped on his belly with the dismounted machine gun angled skyward over the ridge, and muttered to himself, “Let’s see. Forty-five degrees is too much. There, that ought to do her.”
Meanwhile, out on the gunboat, the skipper was watching with some disdain as Lieutenant Carson scanned the shoreline with his binoculars. They’d been told to cooperate with Intelligence. But Carson wasn’t showing much intelligence, in the skipper’s opinion. Even if the men Carson was hunting were skipping down along the coast road in broad daylight, what the hell were they supposed to do about it? There was no place a deep-draft gunboat could put it, this side of San Blas.
