“Do you really think they’ll hang those deserters they caught?”
“Higher than an eagle can fly.”
“I reckon goin’ into battle tomorrow and gettin’ killed or wounded would be better than bein’ hung, right?”
“I reckon. Those they don’t hang are gonna have that big D branded onto their faces. There’s no way I’ll go around being seen as a coward. You got me into this mess, Randy Lucas, and now I’m stayin’. Sage MacKenzie never backed off from any fight, and this one’s no different.”
Randy sighed deeply. Chapultepec—the last stronghold before taking Mexico City itself. They were under the overall command of Major General Winfield Scott, and under the direct command of a General Pillow. They waited in darkness, poised near a cypress grove on the west side of Chapultepec, a castle-like structure that was used as a training academy for Mexican soldiers.
The building sat high on a hill, almost impenetrable on three sides because of its high position. But the west side could be approached along a more gradual slope. Attacking from that angle meant moving through a swampy area, a grove of cypress trees, and then up a hill dotted with mines. Once the hill was mastered, there was a ditch to get through before scaling a retaining wall with ladders.
None of the men wanted to be first up the ladders. And none of them looked forward to morning. The Mexican stronghold had been bombarded by cannon, and for days Scott had done all he could to convince the Mexicans that when the Americans finally stormed the structure, it would be from the south side. But during the night, Sage and Randy and others under Pillow and a General Quitman moved to the west, hoping that a concentration of troops to the south would give them an edge, just enough surprise in their attack to overwhelm the Mexicans inside.
Everything was set. None of the men really understood the overall strategy of those in charge. Theirs was simply to obey orders and hope the men who gave those orders knew what they were doing. None of them were sure just how well fortified the academy was. Some were sure there was no hope of taking it. Others speculated that many of the Mexican soldiers had deserted and that some of the cannon poised on the broad terrace along the front wall of the castle didn’t even work. They would all learn soon enough if it was true.
“Sorry I got you to come down here, Sage.”
“It’s all right. I’m glad you aren’t here alone. Besides, I told you before, I need a good fight.”
Randy ran a hand through his hair. “But we’ve already seen so much bloodshed. I keep seein’ it when I close my eyes—men with arms gone, legs gone, bloody faces, blinded, crippled, or dead. And I can’t help wondering what the hell we’re doin’ here at all. It all sounded so right at first, but why are we down here in Mexico? We got no right here.”
“I told you that. But the American government wants more land. They’ve gotten a taste of Texas and they want to get even more land now. Mexico wouldn’t sell, so they’ve decided just to come and take it. And they figure the farther back they push Santa Anna, the more land they’ll be able to claim when the Mexicans beg to have this ended.”
“Do you think it will end?”
“Sure.” Randy laid his rifle across his lap and leaned against a tree. “What will you be thinkin’ about tomorrow, Sage, when you charge up that hill and try to get over that wall?”
They both jumped slightly when an American cannon went off again, wreaking further destruction at the south end of the castle.
“Same thing I think about all the time…Mary…how she is…if she’s happy.”
“Comin’ down here with me didn’t help, did it?”
“Oh, some. But not much.”
Randy nodded. “Sometimes when I’m chargin’ an enemy, I pretend he’s my pa, and I’m stoppin’ him from hittin’ my ma. I should have stopped him back then, you know. I tried, but I wasn’t big enough. I always kind of felt like it was my fault.”
Sage put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “None of it was your fault, Randy. You get some sleep now. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow. If we can take Chapultepec, then it’s on to Mexico City. And right or wrong, we can say we were here and were a part of all this. The pretty girls back home will look at you like a hero.”
Randy grinned. “Yeah? You think so?”
“I know so.”
Randy laughed lightly, then closed his eyes. “Let’s try to stick together tomorrow, Sage.”
“It won’t be easy. It’s gonna be a bloody day, Randy. But if we look out for each other, we might make it.”
“Sure we will. We’ve both already been to hell and back. Tomorrow will be easy for us.”
Sage closed his own eyes, thinking again of Mary. “You’re right about that,” he answered.
Cannon roared off and on through the night, constantly interrupting the men’s sleep. Sage and Randy crammed down dried meat for breakfast before the sun even rose, every bone in their bodies aching from marching and lack of sleep. Their horses had been left at a main camp, and now they huddled with only rifles and small equipment packs, Sage wearing his ever-present hunting knife. It was approximately eight o’clock in the morning when the cannon stopped, the signal for Pillow and Quitman to attack. Forces also moved in from the south, and under the double attack, Mexican troops began falling back. Soon Sage and Randy were into the cypress trees. Sage noticed many of them had been scarred from being hit by gunfire. He kept an eye on Randy, who was still beside him. They broke through the trees and began making their way up the mined hill, meeting a rain of musket balls and cannon fire.
It seemed the world was exploding around them, but Sage and Randy charged ahead. Sage was aware that they had fallen. General Pillow had been wounded but was ordering the men to continue the charge. The 15th Infantry put forth a new surge, pushing the Mexican soldiers back once again and making them so hesitant that the Mexican officer assigned to set off the mines panicked and ran, and the Americans severed the canvas powder trains that led to the mines. None of the mines exploded.
Now they were jammed into the ditch below the retaining wall, and the men assigned to bring the ladders were not there yet. The next fifteen minutes were filled with gunfire and terror, for just above the Americans were Mexicans with guns and cannon. Men shielded each other, firing at the Mexicans above, each man sure the next musket ball or shell that came from the wall overhead would find its mark in his head or body.
Finally the ladders arrived, and some were used to bridge the ditch, then slammed against the wall for men to climb to the attack. The first to climb were mowed down by the Mexicans above, but the Americans used so many ladders that the Mexican soldiers could not keep up with the onslaught. Sage found himself shoved from behind and climbing. He had suddenly lost track of Randy, and just dodging bullets and bayonets once he was over the wall prohibited him from turning to locate the young man.
Once inside it was hand-to-hand combat. Quitman’s men were charging through the main gate of the castle, and Americans seemed to pour in from every side. Sage lost count of how many men he shot at or stabbed, but he suddenly froze when he raised his knife to yet another Mexican soldier, only to realize the “soldier” was a mere boy, perhaps thirteen or younger. He realized in that moment that many of the others were also boys, and he remembered that this institution they were attacking was a training ground for Mexican soldiers. Were they using these young students to fight this war?
The boy he was about to stab stared at him with big brown eyes, and Sage stepped back. The shock of realizing his intended victim was just a child momentarily caused him to let down his guard, and suddenly a wicked pain tore through his right hip when another young Mexican soldier rammed his bayonet into Sage.
From then on the roar of gunfire and the smell of blood and death swirled around him as he saw the ground coming up to meet him. He fell over a body, still grasping his own knife, wondering what had happened to Randy. He could hear the screams of death, hear the clinking of sabers and bayonets, hear the battle cries. The figh
ting seemed to move away from him then, and voices and noises began to sound very far away.
He wondered again about Randy, but as his consciousness dwindled, his thoughts moved to Mary. Mary, sweet Mary. If only she were here to help him now. How awful the pain would be when it was mixed with the pain of losing Mary. He thought about the cabin, lying there wounded by the grizzly, Mary holding his head in her lap and talking to him, soothing him, loving him.
“Mary,” he groaned aloud, tears falling then against the jacket of some unknown soldier who lay dead beneath him. Soon all was blackness, and to Sage MacKenzie everything that was happening around him was happening in a dream and not reality. Chapultepec was falling into the hands of the Americans, but he would not see the flag raised over the castle.
Chapter Twenty-six
Heavy loss of blood left Sage in a state of unconsciousness for two days, but that unconsciousness did not alter the horrible pain. He felt it in the deep recesses of his mind, and he groaned and cried out pitifully when the medic poured alcohol into the gaping wound in his right hip, then sewed it up. It was all the doctor had time to do. There simply were too many wounded men, and the first order was to stop the bleeding. If there was any real damage done to Sage MacKenzie’s hipbone and muscle, it was his problem.
Sage regained consciousness while lying in a makeshift hospital in Mexico City. The moment he started to move, the pain in his right hip became so agonizing that he cried out and felt sick to his stomach.
“Mary,” he muttered then. Mary would come. She would hold his hand and he would look into her beautiful face. Someone did take his hand then, but when he opened his eyes it was not his beautiful Mary he saw. It was Randy Lucas.
“Sage? You awake now?”
Sage just stared at him, trying to get his bearings. Randy. The war. He remembered now—remembered scaling the wall, remembered the face of a very young boy staring at him as he was about to sink his knife into the lad, remembered the horrible pain. There was nothing to remember beyond that moment.
“What…happened? Where am I?” Sage groaned out.
“We’re in Mexico City. We took it yesterday. Santa Anna ran like a rabbit. He’s holed up at Guadalupe Hidalgo, about ten miles north of here, but the fightin’ is over. We won. General Scott is pretty much in charge for now, and—”
Sage closed his eyes and shuddered. Randy leaned closer.
“Sage? I’m damned sorry, Sage.” Randy squeezed his hand. “I got you into this.” His voice became choked and he swallowed before continuing. “I didn’t think it would be this bad, Sage. It’s my fault you’re wounded, and I feel like a goddamned ass.”
“No,” Sage replied in a near whisper. “My fault. I wanted…to come along…forget Mary. Too bad…they didn’t kill me.”
“Don’t say that, Sage. You’ll get well, and we’ll go to California, like we talked about. You gotta heal, Sage, so we can get the hell out of here. I’ve had my fill of Mexico. California sounds awful nice. Or maybe you can show me them mountains you’re always talkin’ about. I’ve never seen the Rockies, Sage. You can show me.”
The Rockies. Sage’s mind wandered, and he could see them. He was standing on a high peak and looking out over an endless horizon of snowcapped mountains. It was peaceful there. Birds sang, and the wind moaned through crevices and canyons. A wolf howled, and an eagle quietly soared overhead. Then he saw it—the little cabin. Mary stood on the porch waving to him, telling him to come in for some freshly baked bread. He could almost smell the bread, and it made him smile, but then the pain hit him again, along with the reality of where he was, and he realized that he could not go back to that cabin and would never be with Mary again. A tear slipped down the side of his face.
“Sage? You’re gonna be all right, Sage. I’ll stay right here with you till you’re well. And you’ll walk again. I’ll help you. God, I’m sorry, Sage.”
Sage opened bloodshot eyes to look at him. “My choice,” he groaned. “Nothing to do…with you.” He looked the boy over. Randy still wore the clothes he’d worn the day of the fighting at Chapultepec. The clothes were filthy and torn, and blood was spattered over the front of them. His face was bruised and cut. “You…hurt?”
“Nothin’ serious, Sage. Just got banged around a lot. A musket ball grazed me across the back but didn’t do no damage. I was lucky.” He shook his head. “Soon as we started climbin’ that wall, I lost sight of you. After that, it was every man for himself. I’ve never seen such fightin’, and I’ve never been that scared.” He ran a hand through his thick, sandy hair. “Then I noticed a lot of them Mexican soldiers was just kids, younger than me! I couldn’t believe it.” He shook his head. “I’m done, Sage. I don’t want nothin’ more to do with war. Right now I don’t even care about gettin’ into a fist fight with anybody, and that’s somethin’ new for me. I been fightin’ all my life, but I sure got my fill the last couple of days.”
Sage tried to move but cried out with the pain again. Randy leaned over him, putting his hands on the man’s shoulders. “You gotta stay still, Sage. You’re all stitched up. You lost an awful lot of blood. If you move around too much, you’ll start things bleedin’ again.”
“What…happened to me?” Beads of sweat broke out on Sage’s forehead and he shivered. “How bad?”
Randy pulled a blanket up closer around Sage’s neck. “It’s your right hip, Sage. You took a pretty deep wound from a saber or a bayonet. It’s hard to say how bad it is until you feel good enough to get up and try to walk. I’m gonna stay right here till you’re completely well. I won’t go to California without you, Sage. Don’t you worry. I won’t leave you here alone. We’re friends and I’m gonna stay right beside you till you can travel.”
“Thirsty,” Sage whispered.
Randy quickly left and returned with a tin cup of water. He helped Sage raise his head enough to take a few sips, secretly wondering if Sage MacKenzie would ever walk again. He set the cup aside and Sage lay back against his pillow, the moans of other wounded men in the huge tent only making his own pain seem worse.
“Mary. Get…Mary,” he groaned.
Randy frowned, shaking his head. “I can’t get her, Sage. She’s not here. But I’ll bet she’s with you in spirit. You think real hard about her, and you can be with her, Sage. And you remember you’ve got a friend right here. I know I’m no replacement for her, but I’m here and I won’t go away. You’re not alone, Sage.”
“Mary,” Sage groaned again. Another tear slipped down the side of his face, and Randy cursed himself for coming to Mexico and talking this man into coming with him.
You cocky son of a bitch, he swore at himself. Always lookin’ for somethin’ different and excitin’. He wiped at his eyes and breathed deeply, angry with himself. Well, you sure found it here, didn’t you? He leaned closer to Sage, touching the man’s shoulder. “It should be me layin’ here, not you, Sage,” he told the man in a voice that broke.
Outside some guns were fired and he could hear cheering in the distance, as American soldiers continued to celebrate their victory. Randy didn’t feel victorious. He wondered if Americans had any right to be here at all, and he could still see the face of a mere boy he had killed. His idea to come to Mexico had been a lousy one, and he would be haunted by it for a long time to come, especially if Sage MacKenzie died or was crippled for life.
“How is she doing, doctor?” Rafe quickly rose from a chair in the hall outside his and Mary’s room. Mary lay in labor. It had been fourteen hours since it had started, and still the baby had not come.
“Everything seems normal. The child is simply being stubborn.” The doctor scratched his graying head. “This is quite unusual for a premature infant,” he added. “Your wife was quite sure the baby shouldn’t come until March, and she’s very upset that something must be wrong. The baby is a full month early, but early births usually happen fast. This birth seems more like that of a full-term baby. Isn’t it possible your wife could have miscalculated? It does happe
n, you know.”
Rafe ran a hand through his hair. “No. In this case—well, I told you what she’s been through. We didn’t even get back together until—” He hesitated, realizing for the first time what he was saying—what the possibility could be if the doctor was right.
He struggled not to reveal the awful thought that had leapt into his mind, the one thing he had not even considered until now—or was it simply that he had not wanted to believe it could be true? Sage MacKenzie! Was the child Sage’s? He turned away from the doctor. “No. It would have been impossible for her to have gotten pregnant before the middle of June last year,” he said aloud. Unless the baby is Sage MacKenzie’s! he thought. When this was over he would ask Mary. He would know by the look in her eyes.
“Well, it’s a very unusual birth,” the doctor was saying. “I’m going back in the room now. Have the maid send up some more clean towels, will you?”
“Sure.”
The doctor went to the bedroom door, then hesitated. “You relax, Mr. Cousteau. She’s going to be just fine. These things are sometimes harder on the husband than on the woman having the child.”
The man went back inside, deciding that if Rafe Cousteau wanted to believe this child was his, it was best left alone. But he still believed this was a full-term baby, and only the doctor knew that Mary Cousteau had not called for her husband while in the deep throes of labor. She had called for someone named Sage.
In order to take the best care of Mary, the doctor had needed to know her full background. He had not known her before she and Rafe Cousteau had moved to St. Louis. Her story had been moving, and the doctor felt sorry for her, as well as admired her courage, and her determination to return to a normal life and be with her husband again, have another child.
But it seemed something had been missing in her story, although he had not been able to put a finger on what it was. He knew some man had rescued Mary Cousteau and had brought her back to her husband. Had that man’s name been Sage?
Sweet Mountain Magic Page 39
