by Tony Roberts
The word came to cease firing and on the morning of September 25 the Mexicans marched along the streets and down the Saltillo Road and out of the city. Case leaned on his musket and watched the ranks of dusty, tired men in rags walk past, heads lowered. Feisler whistled under his breath. “So many! No wonder it was hard to make progress!”
“Look,” Jimmy pointed, “Quinn and his cronies!” Sure enough the green flag came into view and the company of deserters marched past, heads high defiantly. The men whistled and hooted in derision, but the Irish unit ignored them although some faces turned a shade of red.
“One day I’ll get that bastard,” Case said to nobody in particular.
“Well, now the easy bit’s finished with, let’s do the hard. Let’s find some alcohol and get blind drunk!” The others laughed at Jimmy, except Michael. He had done his bit in the fighting, but it was automatic, like a machine. He seemed to have drained himself of all emotion, and Case was very concerned about his state of mind.
“Come on, let’s go to the plaza,” Case said standing up, “that’s where they’ll all be gathering.” They made their way east to the city plaza and were ordered into a parade where losses could be assessed. They found they had lost 120 dead and over 330 wounded, a high proportion. Mexican forces had over 400 casualties but it was a lower percentage, and the Army of the North was still intact and a distant threat.
General Taylor sent a dispatch to Washington and set about fortifying the city and the men settled down to a life in Monterey. There were far more entertainments here than in Matamoros and many nights were spent in bars or bordellos – or even both. Case and Michael still received nothing in the mail and Case decided he would write but deliver it to the dispatch clerk himself. That way he was certain it would be sent. He had a funny feeling about Michael’s insistence on bringing and fetching the post; it was one of the few things he was still bothered about.
General Taylor received a response from Washington. However, instead of congratulations it was a stinging rebuke. President Polk was furious at the surrender terms and demanded to know what that was all about. Taylor’s reply was colorful to say the least.
Case sat in his room in the taverna his men had been assigned to and studied the latest batch of orders. They were forever revising schedules and command chains. Officers rotated in an ever increasing pace and it was difficult to know who the hell was actually commanding you. He snorted in disgust. Playing games because they were bored.
The officers were bored, the men were bored. Hell, he was bored! Somebody needed to make a decision fast about what the heck to do next. Sitting around getting drunk and laid was all very well but it made the men soft.
The door knocked. “Come in.”
Pickering entered, followed by another man, a soldier he’d seen a few times from another platoon in the company. Smith was his name. “Hello Pickering, what can I do for you?”
“We want you, Longinus, you Spawn of Satan,” Pickering said threateningly.
Case’s heart turned a somersault and he stood up in alarm. “What the devil?”
“Devil is right, Longinus,” Smith said softly, his voice full of menace. “You are to give yourself up and be chained like the dog you are and put into the wagon outside this building. We will take you out of Mexico and then to a place of our choosing were you will spend the rest of your evil existence until our blessed Lamb returns.”
Case looked at Pickering. “I thought there was something odd about you. Those exercises you do; that’s a Chinese martial art.”
“Indeed. Now give up or we shall be forced to overpower you by that means and I don’t think a fighting man like you would find that acceptable. We are both skilled in unarmed combat and not even your strength would prevail.”
“You pair of freaks, come and take me if you can. I’ve killed more of your mad sect than I care to remember. Two more won’t make much difference.”
The two Brotherhood men separated, one to the left, the other to the right. Both lowered themselves, hands forward, in the threatening manner of those skilled in eastern combat. Case, though, had a secret that the two didn’t know about; he was no stranger to the Way of The Open Hand, taught to him by Shiu Lao Tze all those centuries ago. The Chinese sage had been skilled in the art perfected by Kung Fu Tzu, known in the west as Confucius. Lao Tze had taught Case the art while both had been slaves of the Romans and Case had never forgotten. Although he had gone years at a time when he didn’t use it, there always came a time when it was required, and now was one such moment.
He had to even the odds, and he had surprise on his side. Therefore he had to throw everything in one attack against one of them now. Smith was the nearest so Case feinted to move on Pickering, then pivoted on one heel and sent his other scything through the air through Smith’s hands into the center of his face. The sound of his neck snapping filled the room and Smith collapsed in a heap, stone dead.
Pickering stared at the corpse, then at Case who was lowered in a similar stance to that of the Brotherhood man. “So, Longinus, you know of the art!”
“Long before you were a dirty thought in your father’s mind,” Case said. “Now get on with it. You’ve made a mess of this. Your master won’t be pleased. Killing you will probably do you a favor.”
Pickering snarled and whipped into a furious assault, heel swinging through the air, and when that was blocked, chopped at Case’s neck. Every time Case deflected the blows, using the speed and strength of the attack to his advantage. Even so, it was the first time he’d faced such a skilled adversary, and a counter attack of his own was out of the question. It was as much as he could do to stop Pickering disabling him.
Finally, Case grabbed one hand, pulled hard and slammed his head into Pickering’s. The Brotherhood man was stunned and before he could recover, Case grabbed him by the neck and slammed it two or three times into the wall. The back of the skull caved in and pieces of bone pierced the brain.
Case dropped Pickering onto the floor and sat down, trembling. One thing he had discovered about the Brotherhood was once they knew where he was they never gave up trying to keep him in view. He wondered how many more were in Monterey.
The first thing was to dispose of the bodies, so he checked the wagon outside and saw a driver waiting patiently, a Mexican. He went downstairs out into the sun and stood by the driver who made no sign he knew him, which was good. Maybe a hired drover. “Senor,” Case said, “are you waiting to take your wagon out of Monterey?”
“Si, senor, I am to go once the goods are loaded up. Senor Pickering is to accompany me to Matamoros.”
“Senor Pickering is under my command and I forbid him to desert his post. However, I shall arrange for the goods to be loaded. Do you know where the goods have to be delivered?”
The drover shrugged. “Senor Pickering said he would direct me once we get to Matamoros.”
“Well then, I shall pay you to unload the goods in the countryside, since Senor Pickering is no longer concerned with the transportation of them. They are spoiled supplies and are dangerous to the soldiers’ health. You are not to open them as you will probably catch disease and die horribly. Comprende?”
The drover nodded eagerly, pleased to be receiving double pay for half a job. If the gringos wished to pay over the odds for a job, then who was he to complain?
Case searched for and found canvas sacks in the storeroom and took two up to his room. The bodies of Smith and Pickering were thrust into the sacks and Case tied them securely. Pickering’s head was oozing brain matter but Case wrapped it in a cloth and hoped it wouldn’t leak too noticeably out of the sack.
One at a time he carried the bodies down and heaved them with effort into the wagon. The drover stared at the sacks. Case caught his look. “These are slaughtered pigs, unfit for eating.” In many ways, Case thought, that isn’t too far from the truth!
The wagon set off and Case wiped his hands in his shirt, glad that distasteful episode was over. He’d have to file a
report to Lieutenant Grant that Pickering had deserted along with Smith. Soldiers were deserting all the time, as they yearned for home and boredom took its toll. Also many had signed up for just one year and were returning home when that period was up. It was all very chaotic and Case wondered if the Americans had the time to finish the war.
It wasn’t very long after that that orders came for all those in General Worth’s division to pack up and march north again, leaving Taylor in Monterey with a smaller force. The word was that President Polk had been so angry at Taylor for letting Ampudia off the hook too lightly that he’d turned to a rival general, Winfield Scott, to finish the war off. Some of the old hands spoke warmly of Scott, saying he was methodical and professional, and would do the job properly.
Case packed up and joined the rest of the 4th as they marched out of Monterey back north where transport was waiting to ship them back to New Orleans and there they’d join up with Scott and the rest of his force. From there they’d find out what their new orders would be.
The journey was uneventful and it was early in 1847 that they disembarked and found quarters outside the city where the rest of Scott’s army was training. Scott had asked for regulars to back up his largely untried force of volunteers, so they’d been stripped from Taylor’s army.
News when they settled in was interesting; American forces had marched west to California and captured much of it after a two-pronged attack. Some units of Mexicans were still holding out near San Diego, but units of Americans were closing in from the east under Kearney and from the north under Fremont. It seemed that part of the war was close to an end.
However most of Mexico proper was still alive and kicking. Santa Anna had seized control once again and was whipping up support and more armies to fight the invaders. Rumors were that one army was closing in on Taylor’s small force near Monterey. Case shook his head. If Taylor lost then all their hard work would be undone. Scott had better have a damned good plan up his sleeve to justify weakening the American position in northern Mexico.
Case welcomed two new volunteers into his squad. One was a Texan called Joe Hamble, a tall, rangy man with a slow, deliberate way of speaking, while the other was Ed Hughes, a short tough wiry Bostonian with Welsh ancestry. Other new faces filled the ranks decimated by Mexicans, desertion and sickness, and before long Scott had amassed 12,000 men to begin what he had decided would be the final campaign of the war.
News came that Taylor had fought off Santa Anna and the Mexican leader had retreated to Mexico City, but what wasn’t welcome was the fact a dispatch arrived informing the general that Santa Anna had managed to get hold of his plans and knew Scott was planning to advance from the sea. Scott decided to launch the invasion as soon as possible and issued orders to break camp and board the fleet of ships that had been assembled in the Gulf. Case was given the outline of the plan by the new regimental commander, Captain Reese. Reese called a meeting of all officers and NCOs in his command and gave them what he knew.
“Gentlemen, General Scott’s plan is to sail to Vera Cruz on the coast, land and capture that city, then march inland via Puebla to Mexico City itself. He feels that with the capture of their capital, the Mexicans will sue for peace and end this war.”
Case sat stunned. Vera Cruz! His mind drifted back to the time of Cortes, and the march overland to Tenochtitlan which was what Mexico City had been called in those days; the capture of Montezuma, the siege, the break out and the loss of the treasure. It had been the last time Case had been in Mexico, and now it seemed he was to retrace the very same route he had taken over three centuries before.
He knew exactly what was in store for them and realized his knowledge could save the lives of many men. He had to let General Scott know of his knowledge but in a way that wouldn’t raise suspicions. But how? He would have to find out who was close to the general and somehow filter information through to him that way. He’d have to learn who Scott relied on. And that wouldn’t be easy, but the sea journey may give him an opportunity to find out.
He’d need to speak to an officer who was in the inner circle.
He returned to camp and sat, his mind whirling. Once more he was returning to the city he’d once been a god in, and worshipped as such. Would he once more find the jade mask that he’d worn for his sacrifice? Would he find the old temple of Montezuma and the vast rooms he’d once fought in? Or had three centuries of Spanish rule erased all traces of what had been?
He would find out. He was returning to the Halls of Montezuma.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
John Fulton paced in frustration up and down the room of the hotel he was staying in. There had been no news from his two agents since he’d sent them details of how to bring Longinus to New York by sea from Mexico. He’d left orders for them to send a message when they had delivered the Beast to the port, but nothing had arrived, and now it was getting too long for his peace of mind.
Neither had he heard from Lynch since he’d dismissed him with orders to eliminate Whitby. Lynch had left to dispose of the criminal and then proceed to Philadelphia to await further instructions, but no news of Lynch’s arrival back in that city had reached him. It was beginning to be a frustrating mission.
He had not been very successful either in gaining new Brotherhood members in that time in Lynchburg. One main problem was a lack of a place in which to base oneself. A hotel room wasn’t the best, and he’d have to find an alternative if he was to recruit anyone. He was on his own and this would not do. What he needed was an ally, and there seemed none around.
Perhaps someone who hated Longinus? Whitby had been one but Fulton mistrusted that man’s reasons and besides, he’d sent Lynch to take care of him. The other possibility was the German farmer boy, Hans. He’d not seen him for some time, but it wouldn’t take long for him to track him down where his home was, and perhaps a meeting? A few words in his ears perhaps….
* * *
The last time Case had seen Vera Cruz was at its founding; that time, Cortes had dragged the neighboring tribesmen from Cempola to help build the city from nothing. During those days, he’d spent his time with the girl Marina. She’d given herself to him when she realized he was the man whose Jade Mask rested in the hall in old Tenochtitlan, and therefore was the Tectli Quetza.
Case nostalgically thought of his time as the Quetza. It had been a happier time, long ago. Long before the Europeans had descended on this land and changed it with their inflexible religions. People were far less complex in their ambitions then. He sighed. That was a time long before he realized the Brotherhood was after his ass.
Now Vera Cruz was coming into view and it hardly resembled the simple place he’d known. It had been a growing port, yes, and he’d left the New World in disgust at the whole set-up under Cortes. It had been nothing more than a grand expedition to steal from and enslave an entire people. Gold was what had driven the Spanish on like frenzied robbers. Gold! Damn their greedy avaricious hearts. All in the name of God.
God! He spat into the waters. In the name of God people burned, raped, pillaged and destroyed. And what did they preach about their God? Gentleness, forgiveness, peace. Pah! The only thing they demonstrated was hypocrisy, greed, lust, envy and hatred. Fuck the lot of them. Thank God for atheism, he thought sardonically.
Stood next to him by the ship’s rail were three men dressed in similar uniforms; each of them had dark blue woolen jackets and gray trousers with white cross-belts and leather work. All were members of the US Marines, and had befriended Case during the voyage down from New Orleans. Case had been intrigued by their presence on board, and had been told that the Marines were along in case any enemy ships tried to intercept them. That hadn’t been likely and none had in fact appeared.
The spokesman of the three, Rick Jackson, grumbled about missing out on any action. “Hell, some of our buddies went to California and fought there. We want to do our bit!”
“Don’t worry,” Case grinned in reply, “I think you’ll find some soon
er or later.”
“Maybe,” Jackson said morosely, “I sure don’t want to sit on my ass the whole time you boys get the glory of fighting the Mexicans!” The other two Marines nodded in agreement. Case had gotten friendly with the trio and was interested to hear the Tun Tavern in Philadelphia was regarded by all of them as their unit’s birthplace. It seemed every Marine was taught about the Tavern upon joining. Not a bad thing, Case mused, everyone should know where they came from. Too many ignore history at their peril.
The harbor of Vera Cruz was protected by the fort of San Juan de Ulua, and any of Scott’s ships that approached it would be blown out of the water. So Scott ordered the ships to disembark the men off to the left, or south. The port itself was surrounded by growths of palm trees amongst cultivated land, and stout stone walls surrounded the city. It stood on a slight rise above the general level of the land around it, and far inland rose the vague shadowy forms of the mountains that marked the way to Mexico City.
Case bade the Marines farewell and made his way to Captain Reese. “There you are sir, just as I told you.”
Reese looked impressed. “Well corporal, it seems you are right. When was it you said you’d been here before?”
Case looked out across the water once more to the half-seen blurred outline of the mountains. “A long time ago, sir. Too long to remember rightly.”
Reese grunted and folded his hands behind his back. “Things could have changed since then.”
“Not the land sir, or the rocks. Ambush points, elevations to view the enemy, watercourses. Places to find food and water. Those never change sir.”
Reese pursed his lips and rose up and down on his toes a couple of times. Odd man this Corporal Lonnergan. Damned professional in his attitude but showed little respect for officers. He fell just short of insolence, but he knew his job. “I know of a group of men assigned to scout out the lay of the land by General Scott. As soon as we are safely on land I’ll speak to Major Ross. He’s the man to decide whether your information is useful or not.”
