by Lou Cameron
Hakim smiled and said, “Perhaps you haven’t been really trying, Colonel Maldonado. Gaston Verrier and Captain Gringo were last heard from, here, after taking part in another revolution a few months ago in Mexico. Perhaps, like them, this mysterious Garcia doesn’t care what government he fights?”
Brown muttered, “Goddamn anarchists!” and Maldonado nodded thoughtfully. He said, “We were sent to round up a handful of Balboas. Now we find ourselves embroiled with what would seem to be a strong force with outside help. All in all, I think I’d better take what’s left of my forces back to Panama City and await further instructions from the central government.”
Greystoke protested, “I tell you, Colonel, you’re dealing with no more than a dozen-odd guerrillas led by one man with a battered old machine gun! You can’t give up now!”
Sir Basil laughed cruelly and observed, “How courageous we become, seated at our desks, Mr. Greystoke. May I point out, in all modesty, that the rebels you ask the colonel to keep after are armed not with an old battered gun at all? I have no idea as to their numbers, but I can vouch for the gun they stole from me. It’s in mint condition and without a doubt the best, most modern machine gun there is!”
Maldonado nodded and said, “Yes, and they have at least two of them! Sir Basil’s point is well taken! What interest is it to Her Majesty’s Government whether my men and I live or die in this green hell?”
Before Greystoke could answer, the annoyed officer snapped, “Don’t bother to explain! I know you British could not care less whether we or those guerrillas win! I am sick of the way you big powers play us off against one another in this part of the world!”
“I assure you, Colonel, we desire nothing but peace!”
“Really? How do you spell your English word, senor? Are you certain you don’t mean piece? I’ve no doubt England wants a piece in Panama. The Yanquis want another piece. France already owns a piece. So let me give you a piece of advice! Keep your gringo nose out of our business! You are not risking English blood out here between the ranges. Don’t tell me what my duty to my men is! I am tired of being a pawn of the Great Powers! I will not have it!”
“I assure you, sir, I meant no disrespect to you or the grave men under you.”
“Then stop telling us how to fight our own war. If you are so brave, I give you carte blanche to chase rebels armed with machine guns anywhere you wish to. My troops and I are returning to our base!”
As Maldonado left the observation platform in a huff, Sir Basil followed him into the club car. He steered the angry officer to the bar by one arm and held up two fingers to the bartender. Then he laughed and said, “I like the way you told Grey stoke off.”
Maldonado accepted the drink the bartender slid across the polished mahogany to him, but said, “I’m not sure I like you, either, gringo. All of you seem to think we are a bunch of colorful comic-opera singers, here. I know my people tend to be dramatic about politics, and our wars are small by European standards, but I am an educated man, and my men are professionals.”
“I can see that. No real officer would press on into the unknown against two machine-gun squads and who knows what. You’ve taken serious casualties and have no automatic weapons. I once knew a Turkish officer who found himself in a similar position chasing Bedouin.”
“The Turks are said to be quite ruthless.”
“This one was. He pressed on into the desert after a Shiite mahdi. The Turkish leader lost contact with the Bedouin and came back with less than a third of his men. His commanding officer ordered him shot.”
“Shot? Is that not a bit severe for a brave officer, Sir Basil?”
“He wasn’t shot for being brave. He was shot for being foolish. The Bedouin had automatic weapons and led him into a trap. A really good leader would have pulled back when he saw he was getting in deeper than his orders called for.”
Maldonado sipped his drink and said, “My point exactly. We were sent here in order to kill rebels, not in order that rebels should kill us.”
Sir Basil raised his own drink to his lips, dabbed his satanic mustache with a napkin, and said, “If your superiors in Bogota saw fit to arm you properly, no doubt this distressing affair would have been over by now.”
Maldonado raised an eyebrow and shot back, “If you’re trying to sell me another machine gun, forget it, Sir Basil. I’ve already told you we have machine guns and, frankly, I don’t like the tricky things.”
“The French model has its limitations, Colonel. But I should think the job those rebel gunners did on your advance patrol would have shown you the possible error of your ways.”
“Oh, I’ll give the machine gun one point and one point only. It’s a nasty ambush weapon. But once the novelty wears off you’ll find few real uses for it. It wastes more ammunition than mobile forces can hope to carry in the field. If I were being besieged by rebels I might have a use for our French machine guns. But, as you see, they are not after me, I am after them. You can’t beat the bayonet and bolt action when it comes to steady slaughter.”
“Perhaps, if one can get close enough to the enemy to use them. We live in changing times, Colonel. Did I mention the news from Japan? The Japanese Imperial Army is investing heavily in machine guns and barbed wire. They seem to feel a regiment dug in with automatic fire behind that new American fencing is impregnable.”
“Indeed? Well, my men and I will never face the Mikado’s strange tactics. Our home-grown enemies are not polite enough to dig in anywhere. The bastards cut and run like bandits. I’m not impressed by Captain Gringo or Garcia or any other guerrilla. I’m not worried about their machine guns. In the open, I would simply surround them and let them run out of ammunition before I moved in for the kill.”
“True, but the Balboa Brigade refuses to fight you in the open. They are playing tag with you in this jungle and, forgive me, cutting you up a bit in the process.”
“That is why I’m pulling back for the moment. This jungle is a two-edged sword. By now the fugitives are a mass of insect bites and the jungle fevers will take care of any left alive by the snakes of San Bias. My men and I will rest and refresh ourselves in Panama City while we await reinforcements. In a week or so, we’ll come back to mop up what’s left of the so-called Balboa Brigade.”
Sir Basil looked out the window at the green wall growing by the track as he considered how he was going to get rid of this unpleasant person. Maldonado was one of those officers who stood in the way of progress. He was intelligent.
Aloud, the arms merchant said, “I can see you’re not in the market for my nice Maxim guns, Colonel. Could I interest you in something even better?”
“I doubt it. I’m a fighting officer. You have to- pester our purchasing officers if you expect the Colombian Army to buy any of your toys.”
“Now, did I make any uncalled-for remarks about chocolate soldiers, Colonel Maldonado? The goods I sell are hardly toys. If you’re really satisfied with those rather cranky French machine guns, I was about to suggest the latest thing in light mortars. I can offer you a real buy on some factory seconds rejected by Her Majesty’s Indian Army. Rapid fire, portable, very good at clearing jungle. The British have been using them against primitive tribesmen with considerable success.”
Maldonado put his glass down with a frown. He didn’t like to admit he might not know everything there was to know about modern weaponry, but his ego was tempered by a fairly good mind, so he said, “Forgive me, I am not quite clear about this weapon we’re discussing. A mortar is a short-barreled siege cannon, is it not?”
“Oh, I’m not talking about those old-fashioned cast-iron pots. The new British field mortar is a three-inch tube of tempered steel, light enough for a four-man crew to carry at a trot. It fires nearly straight up. The explosive shells drop nearly straight down. You can lob thirty or forty rounds a minute into the enemy position. You may well imagine what the results might be against irregulars lightly dug in or hiding in the underbrush.
“Hmm, what
is the range of this new weapon?”
“From a few yards in front of your own position to as much as two miles, in a full circle. Anyone close enough to have you under small-arms fire would be catching mortar rounds from directly overhead. A machine-gun nest would be particularly vulnerable.”
Maldonado sighed and said, “I’d like to try one of those things someday. Unfortunately, this particular revolution promises to be over long before we could work out the details.”
“I am rather famous for quick delivery, Colonel.”
“Perhaps. But I would never send my men into action without training them a bit with an unfamiliar weapon.”
Before Hakim could counter this argument, another officer came back from the front cars to join them. He said, “I have just been in touch with headquarters by wire, Colonel Maldonado. They want to know what we know about the San Bias Indians.”
Maldonado swore softly and said, “Who cares about those naked savages? Didn’t you tell them we have enough trouble with our Creole pests, Major Valdez?”
The junior officer nodded and said, “Bogota seems upset about them, too, Colonel. They seem surprised we haven’t rounded the last of them up by now. Headquarters is also concerned about reports of odd activity along the north coast, and there’s a rumor the San Bias may have joined up with the rebel guerrillas.”
Maldonado laughed harshly and said, “I wish some of those limp-wristed fops would come down here to the lowlands and take a look at this damned jungle before asking stupid questions! It’s easy enough to plan a roundup on the map in some cool office. The distances and conditions don’t show on paper. What did you wire the idiots?”
Valdez said, “I said we had the situation well in hand, of course. I said we’d look into the matter of the San Bias taking part in the latest rebellion.”
“Jesus Christ! The very idea is ridiculous! The San Bias are Carib!” He saw that his mountain-bred junior officer failed to grasp his meaning and added, “The Indians in this part of the world come in two sizes: Arawak and Carib. Most of our mestizo peones and those Creoles who admit to any Indian blood at all are descended from Arawak. Columbus himself described the two races rather neatly. The Arawak were mild-mannered types who took to civilization after a few beatings to gain their undivided attention. The Carib were, and are, unable to grasp the idea of civilization.”
“Then you don’t think the San Bias would join the Balboa Brigade?”
“Hardly. They might eat them, but join them? The idea would be most comical, if there was anything at all amusing about unreconstructed San Bias. I, too, have read the reports about the San Bias moving in from the coastal keys. It’s obvious to me they mean to take advantage of the confusion caused by our fighting among ourselves. They are no real danger to anyone armed with guns. Fortunately for us, the Caribs reject all of civilization’s advantages. The police and planters on the north coast are used to dealing with the San Bias.”
Major Valdez nodded and Sir Basil held up three fingers to the bartender. Colonel Maldonado shook his head and said, “I’d better go up to the communications car and wire headquarters. They seem to be most nervous about Captain Gringo and those other pests.”
Sir Basil nodded and said, “We’ll find use for any drinks you leave behind, Colonel.”
When Maldonado left, Sir Basil slid the extra drink toward Major Valdez and observed, mildly, “Your colonel seems a bit nervous about a rather small rebel force, too. He tells me he intends to pull back.”
Valdez frowned and said, “I know. The colonel is a good man, but inclined to be a bit cautious. I don’t think headquarters is too pleased. They seem to think we’re dragging our feet.”
“Well, the jungle out there is a bit much, and the rebels are led by at least two professional soldiers of fortune.”
“I spit on soldiers of fortune! I, too, am a professional. I heard what Verrier and Captain Gringo did in Mexico, but what of it? Everyone knows the Mexican Army is made up of barefoot bandits. We Colombians have a modern army.”
“I agree. May I assume, if it were up to you, the pursuit would be pressed with a bit more enthusiasm, Major Valdez?”
“I’d hardly order a retreat from a handful of mere bandits! But the colonel gives the orders. I have no choice but to obey.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I have friends in Bogota. We live in changing times, as I keep saying to my … friends.”
Valdez answered cautiously, “May I consider myself one of them, Sir Basil?”
“Didn’t I say so the other night when you were so entertaining at my dinner party? I noticed Colonel Maldonado didn’t see fit to join us at my villa. He was busy, no doubt. I like Maldonado, but I’d feel safer if an officer I trusted took a bit more interest in this revolution.”
Valdez looked around, saw there was nobody but the impassive half-breed bartender within earshot, and said, “I told you the other night I am not a treacherous man. I do not like the idea of backbiting a superior officer.”
“Now, have I asked you to do anything a patriotic gentleman would find dishonorable, Major?”
“Not in so many words. But I got the distinct impression you were trying to replace Colonel Maldonado with myself, and, while I am as ambitious as most men ...”
“Leave the details to me. I assure you I’ll not ask you to lift a finger against your comrade in arms.”
“You couldn’t get me to, even for the promotion I’ve been waiting for. But let us be frank, Sir Basil: What is it you want from me?”
“Have I said I wanted anything, dear boy? You mustn’t be so suspicious. Just do your job as your conscience directs, and, when you find yourself in command, we’ll talk about running these rebels to earth in a more scientific manner.”
Valdez grinned crookedly and said, “In other words, if I get the job, you’ll expect me to order machine guns and mortars from your company?”
“Only as many as you really need, dear boy. I assure you I’m only trying to be helpful.”
Valdez put down his glass and said, “I think we’ve said enough. I’d better go forward and see if the colonel has any orders for me.”
“We do understand one another’s position, then?”
“I understand yours, Sir Basil. I promise nothing, but I am a man who adjusts to new events perhaps more rapidly than our more conservative officers. And now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“I’ll walk forward with you as far as my own compartment. I, too, have a few wires to get off, as soon as possible. They will, of course, be in code. You can trust me not to involve you in anything you may feel dubious about.”
A few minutes after they left, Greystoke of British Intelligence came alone to the club car. He ordered gin and tonic and as the bartender put his drink in front of him, Greystoke asked, “Well?”
The bartender said, “You were right, sir. They’re trying to sell Colonel Maldonado out. Valdez is playing it very cool, but he wants the promotion so badly I thought he’d wet his pants.”
Greystoke muttered, “Damn! We don’t want this mucking little revolt blown all out of proportion, but Valdez is the bloody-minded idiot Sir Basil takes him for!”
“I know, sir. Hakim is out to sell the Colombian Army a complete line of modern arms. After Valdez leads his men into a few more ambushes the central government will probably think they need them!”
The British agent sighed, sipped his drink, and said, “Well, I don’t like what I’m going to have to do about it, but there’s nothing left open to us. Our orders are to keep a lid on things here in Panama, and Sir Basil’s really out to muck up the status quo.”
“Wouldn’t it be simpler to just do away with Hakim, sir? I can think of any number of ways a man of his age might suddenly contract a jungle fever. He’ll be coming back for a few more cooling drinks before this train runs back to the city.”
Greystoke shook his head, but said, “Murdering the flaming beggar would not only be a pleasure, but also a service to humanity. But I’m afraid hi
s friends in London might not approve. The Prince of Wales not only drinks with Sir Hakim, but also owns stock in his perishing London operation. Sometimes I wish we worked for the Czar or the Kaiser. It must make life so simple not to have to account for one’s grimmer moves.”
“Isn’t there anything we can do to save Colonel Maldonado, sir? He seems rather a good sort.”
“I know. He’s quite civilized and sensible. That’s why he’s doomed to be kicked upstairs and replaced by a bastard. Decent soldiers seldom get anywhere in this world. It’s the bloody bastard’s who make the history books.”
He sipped his drink, consulted his watch, and sighed, “Well, I see I’m wasting time thinking when the situation calls for action. We’ve simply got to settle the hash of those perishing rebels before the situation gets completely out of hand and Her Majesty’s Government has to move before they’re ready!”
Chapter Fourteen
The remnant of the Balboa Brigade broke fast on roasted tree sloth and howler monkey, seated around the fires with their Indian hosts or captors. The distinction remained a bit fine. Captain Gringo watched Sor Pantera gnawing on a roasted monkey’s forearm with apparent enjoyment, but contented himself with some less human-looking sloth meat. The Creole widow had taken to jungle living with enthusiasm and some of the other Balboas seemed as Indian, now, as the naked San Bias. The veneer of civilization was thinner than it appeared, he knew. A few days without a bath and a couple of running gun-fighters tended to turn a shopkeeper into as much a savage as he needed to be. The tall American knew he’d once been an officer and a gentleman with polished table manners. But it was hard to feel it, squatting in a jungle gnawing half-raw meat from the bone and wiping one’s greasy fingers on one’s pants.
Gaston, as a born gourmet, said he was willing to eat anything from a truffle to a brunette, so he sampled sloth, howler, and some monkey brains toasted on a stick before deciding the Indians were not very good chefs no matter what they cooked.
