The Badlands Brigade (A Captain Gringo Adventure Book 12)

by Lou Cameron

  The band broke into a German version of a Polka, which was pretty stupid in this heat, but Yvonne laughed when he bounced her past the bandstand and her half-exposed breasts bounced pretty good, too. He raised his eyes to look at something less distracting just in time to see the muzzle of a machinegun parting the velvet drapes drawn across a corner window of the big ballroom!

  He yelled, “Hit the ground!” as he threw Yvonne to the waxed floor and dove on top of her, going for the gun under his left shoulder. Her tits were in the way after popping over the top of her low cut gown. She gasped “M’sieur!” but then the machinegun opened up and he didn’t have to explain as he dragged the .38 across her boobs with all hell breaking loose!

  The machinegun raked the crowded dance floor in an ear splitting hymn of death as men and women screamed, dove for cover, or died. Yvonne was screaming, eyes wide with terror as Captain Gringo tried to cover her with his own body until a fat woman in a white lace dress blotched with bright red blood flopped like a sand bag between them and the machine-gunner in that draped corner window.

  The air was full of blue smoke and the stench of cordite, but Captain Gringo could see well enough to aim as he braced his gun hand on the dead woman’s hip and started throwing slugs into the velvet drapes at crotch level. He couldn’t see if he was hitting anybody, but as his .38 rounds spanked little puffs of dust from the heavy drapes the machinegun fell silent, although the muzzle was still visible in its halo of blue smoke.

  The silence was deafening and for a moment all he heard was the ringing in his ears. Then people started screaming again. Yvonne tried to sit up, unaware her breasts were exposed and still shaken. He pushed her back down and growled, “Stay put!” as he broke open his revolver to eject the spent rounds. One of the warm brass shells landed on her naked left tit and she gasped, “Oh, Mon Dieu!” and hastily reloaded herself as the man atop her reloaded his .38 with loose rounds from his left tunic pocket. He saw others on their feet and nobody seemed to be killing them. So he said. “Stay right here and keep your head down.” Then, not waiting for an answer, he rolled off her and got to his feet, gun trained on the silent machinegun as he advanced on it, stepping over bodies and the moaning wounded. The people on the floor could wait for now, but he couldn’t help noticing what a ghastly hash the mystery gunners had made of a swell party. He gagged as he saw a once pretty girl at his feet with half her head blown away and a man in a white dinner jacket laying face down in an obscene position between her draped thighs. He’d have looked like he was sniffing her crotch if his brains hadn’t been oozing out the back of his head like that.

  Captain Gringo reached the window and yanked the bullet riddled drapes aside. The machinegun squatted alone on its biped mount, forked legs hooked over the window sill. He looked over it down to the flower bed below. The flowers were trampled pretty good and spent brass gleamed up at him in the light from the ballroom. But apparently he hadn’t hit anybody hard enough to matter, damn it.

  A Honduran soldier posted outside staggered through the shrubbery of the side garden of the legation toward the window as Captain Gringo stared out. He noticed the man was unarmed. He snapped, “Report!” and the soldier tried a salute, dropped his wounded arm as a lost cause, and said, “I have been hit, señor.”

  “I noticed. What else can you tell me? Where are the other security men that were supposed to be out there with you?”

  “Por favor, I do not know. I was walking my post in the military manner when somebody shot me. Twice, I think. I am having difficulty with my eyes.”

  “Lie down in the grass. I’ll send someone to help you when I can.”

  Captain Gringo turned from the window for a better grasp of the carnage. The smoke was starting to clear and it was pretty grim. There were at least thirty people on the blood slicked dance floor in various stages of disrepair and the survivors were milling around yelling like maniacs as they searched for companions or the nearest exit. Van Kassel, the German military attaché, stumbled over to Captain Gringo gripping his upper left arm with his bloody right fist, ashen faced, as he said, “This means war! I saw what you did, Herr Captain. In the name of Der Kaiser I salute you! But for God’s sake what ist going on?”

  “Well, it was a Belgian made Maxim .30-30 and you’ve been hit. So now you know as much as I do. It’s your legation, so you’re in command, sir. What are your orders?”

  “Orders? Ach, ja, we must help the wounded. I have not yet seen our military surgeon. He was dancing when the shooting started.”

  Captain Gringo said, “If he was still around he’d be on his feet by now. Excuse me, sir. I’d better round up some Honduran military, if there’s any left.”

  He headed diagonally across the dance floor, stepping around or over bodies. He spotted a man in Honduran officer’s kit face down in a puddle of blood. He knelt to roll the body over. It was Major Morales. He’d been hit in the chest. Twice. Either round would have done him in.

  As Captain Gringo rose to move on, he saw Gaston in the archway leading to the drawing room beyond. The little Frenchman was in his shirt sleeves and his cock was hanging out of his open fly. As Captain Gringo joined him, Gaston said, “What is going on? I was avenging the Franco Prussian War with a trés jolie German stenographer in her room upstairs when I heard machinegun fire.”

  “We all heard it. Put your pecker in your pants and get your damn hat and tunic. I’ve got to find the general.”

  He had a little trouble doing that. Now that the party seemed to be over everyone was trying to leave at once. The press of bodies on their feet closer to the front entryway slowed him down as he cut across the current.

  He found the drawing room almost cleared, once he got closer to the buffet and bar near the far wall. The bar was unattended but the J.G. from the U.S.S. Ramapo was helping himself to seltzer and white rum behind the bar. He nodded at Captain Gringo and asked, “How does it feel to be on the receiving end for a change, Renegade?”

  “Hang a wreath on your nose, your brain just died. Were any of your people hit?”

  “No. I sent a runner to get some navy medical corpsmen and our shore patrol. We gotta restore some order around here.”

  “Swell. Did you ask either the German legation or the Honduran officers here for permission?”

  “What permission? Can’t you see it’s total chaos here? None of these greasers know what to do in an emergency.”

  Captain Gringo spotted General Morales shoving through toward them and muttered, “Speaking of greasers, one of them’s coming our way and he’s a field grade officer, so watch the mouth, Uncle Sam.”

  General Morales joined them, looking green around the gills as the two-faced J.G. said, “You look like you could use a drink, sir. I sent for some of my men to help you out here. We should have things well in hand in no time.”

  Captain Gringo saluted and said, “Reporting for orders, sir.” And the general said, “I’ll have a straight rum. What’s the situation as you see it, Captain Walker?”

  “They knocked off our security guard and shoved a Maxim up our ass, sir. I make it between thirty to forty casualties out there on the dance floor. I’m sorry, sir, but one of them was your nephew, Major Morales.”

  “Madre de Dios! Was Hernan hit bad?”

  “As bad as it can get, sir. If it’s any comfort, he never knew what hit him. I managed to return their fire, but I don’t know if I hit anybody. We have a wounded guard outside. He couldn’t tell me much. So they were long gone before the two of us met by the window to compare notes.”

  The J.G. slid a glass and a rum bottle across the mahogany toward Morales. The general ignored the glass to pick up the bottle and take a healthy swig. As he came up for air, Captain Gringo said, “I’m waiting for orders, sir.”

  The general nodded and said, “I sent my aide out to gather any troops in town and throw up road blocks all around Puerto Cortes.”

  Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “Begging the general’s pardon, it’
s a little late for that. It’s not that big a town and they’ve made it to the surrounding countryside by now if they bee-lined. On the other hand, it’s not that small a town, if they’ve holed up in some local hideout.”

  “I can see that, Captain. What do you suggest we do?”

  “Secure a perimeter and police the area, sir. We ought to have some pickets around this immediate area while we clean up the mess they made. A lot of people need medical attention, fast, and if the bastards were to hit us again from the dark it could get even messier.”

  “Santa Maria! Do you expect them to double back?”

  “It’s what I’d do if I was in command of those guerrillas, sir. It’s a pretty standard ploy and it usually works. That’s how it got to be a standard ploy.”

  Von Kassel came in to join them, his wounded arm wrapped and in a sling. He said, “This still means war, if we ever figure out who did it! Have any of you seen that damn Greystoke, from British Intelligence?”

  None of them had. Von Kassel swore under his breath and said, “Very interesting, nicht wahr? Very well, we shall discuss the matter with the British later. Meanwhile I have ordered my legation guards to the rooftop with spot lights and we, too, have machineguns.”

  “Great minds run in the same channels,” Captain Gringo said, “then he turned to the J.G. and added, “You’d better run and head your sailors off, Sonny. Unless you want to have a messy accident when those Germans on the roof see a mess of guys double timing toward them in the dark with rifles at port arms!”

  The J.G. started to object. Then he said, “Jesus!” and came out from behind the bar to dash outside.

  Captain Gringo explained and Von Kassel shouted loudly in German. A uniformed aide came from the doorway to hit a brace as the attaché barked a string of orders at him. Then he barked back, “Jawohl, Herr Oberst,” and tore out himself as Von Kassel said, “We know what U.S. Navy uniforms look like. I gave orders not to shoot at them. Their guns we do not need, but medical assistance is another matter. Forgive me, gentlemen, I must see to my duties.”

  He clicked his heels and headed back to the shot up ballroom as Captain Gringo spotted Gaston coming, buttoning his tunic. Turning back to the general, Captain Gringo asked, “Any further orders, sir?”

  Morales took another gulp of rum before he wiped a hand across his face and said, “No. You haven’t assumed command of your company yet. You two had better return to your quarters until I get a grasp on the situation here. It’s still not clear if they were after us or the Germans. It’s going to take some time to sort things out and I must say it’s played hell with my timetable.”

  Captain Gringo had already figured out that was the likely reason for the hit and run attack. But he didn’t want to rehash it. He said, “Uh, there’s a lady who may need an escort home, General.” And Morales said, “By all means. We won’t need your services tonight, Captain. But make sure you are at the hotel where I can find you in the morning.”

  Captain Gringo saluted and left the general there with his bottle. Gaston had already lit out to recapture his German stenographer, apparently.

  Captain Gringo went back to the dance floor and now things were starting to look neater as he saw legation personnel and other volunteers bending over the wounded. He didn’t know if Yvonne would still be around, but when he caught up with her a few yards from where he’d left her the French girl was sitting on her folded knees bandaging the head of an elderly woman. It was easy to see where she got the white linen strips. Yvonne had hiked up her green skirt around her hips and was using up her white petticoat for bandages. Victorian ladies of her class weren’t supposed to show their ankles and he could see the creamy white flesh above Yvonne’s dark silk stockings, as she was wearing those somewhat shocking French underdrawers that only came down the thigh a short ways. He dropped on the other side of the wounded woman and felt the side of the victim’s neck as Yvonne said, “Oh, Dick, who could have done such a ghastly thing?”

  “Don’t know. Politics are complicated as well as rough in bananaland. You’re wasting your time on this one, honey. She’s dead.”

  “Oh, mon Dieu! I thought I heard her moaning just now.”

  “You might have—bodies make funny little noises for a while. You’ve done all you can here, Yvonne, and I must say you’re a real sport. But let’s get out of here. People who know what they’re doing are taking over and we’re just going to be in the way.”

  She nodded numbly and he rose to help her to her feet. He said, “I have to check on something,” as he led her over to the window where the machinegun was still perched like a spent cobra. He looked out, saw a German legation man helping the Honduran soldier on the grass outside and said, “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

  She hadn’t worn a wrap, but he had to get his uniform cap near the front entrance. At least it seemed to be his cap. The German girl who was supposed to be in charge of the cloak room wasn’t there.

  He waited until they were outside before he asked her where she lived and if it was far. She said it was only a few blocks and it seemed like a silly time to look for a horse drawn cab, so they started walking. Yvonne’s long red hair had come unstuck and was hanging down on one bare shoulder. She hadn’t noticed the blood down the front of her skirt yet. The lamplit street smelled of mimosa and it would have been a romantic walk home from the ball if men in uniform and packing guns hadn’t been dashing up and down the streets like chickens with their heads cut off. Captain Gringo told her to pay no attention to the shouting, some of it pretty vulgar, but she blushed when an American voice in the night yelled out, “Get those fucking litters over there on the double, you lazy sons-of-bitches!”

  It was quieter on the side street where she lived. Like most non-Hispanic people working in these parts, Yvonne’s salary, albeit modest by European standards, rated a higher standard of living than a Honduran secretary could have afforded. Her little house didn’t have a patio, but it was a private house and tastefully furnished. He hadn’t expected to see the furniture since he’d been expecting a handshake at the door. But Yvonne invited him in and built him a drink to nurse on the living room sofa by her cold fireplace as she went to change into something that wasn’t covered with gore.

  Unfortunately, when she came back to join him, he saw it was another dress. She’d pinned her hair up, too, and must have powdered her armpits and crotch if his nose was any judge. She sat down beside him and said, “I still can’t believe it. I joined the foreign service for a taste of adventure, but, mon Dieu!”

  He leaned forward to mix her a drink from the makings sharing the coffee table with his billed cap as he said, “Yeah, that’s the trouble with adventure. You find it popping out at you at inconvenient times. This brandy ought to steady your nerves.”

  As he handed her the snifter she said, “So much brandy, Dick? I generally only have a few drops before bedtime. This is trés heroic. The glass is half filled.”

  “Saves time fooling with glasses. You don’t have to drink it all at one gulp, you know.”

  She laughed and took a sip—a small sip. Then she shuddered and took a real belt before she lowered her snifter with a gasp and said, “I keep thinking I am going to wake up and find it was all a nightmare. I’ll never be able to wear that dress again, and it was new.”

  He didn’t think she wanted to be told that cold water and papaya juice would get the blood stains out if she let it soak overnight. She probably meant the green ball gown was haunted. He said, “I’ll buy you a new one, if you’ll let me.”

  “Oh, M’sieur, whatever are you saying? First you try to get me drunk and now you are discussing my wardrobe? Don’t you know no lady allows anyone but her husband or her lover to buy clothes for her?”

  “Well, I’m not the marrying kind, but I sure am friendly.” he grinned, putting his free arm on the back of the sofa strategically. Yvonne shook her head and said, “Please don’t, Dick.” So, while he left his arm where it was, he said, “Relax. I’m not
an early riser. If we’re going to be pals, we’d better work out some ground rules here. You look like a sensible human being as well as a hell of a nice-looking doll, so can we talk man to man?”

  She nodded and said, “Oui, although I confess you do not make me feel like we are the same gender, Dick. I think I am a little afraid of you.”

  “You don’t have to be. I deal from the top of the deck with people I like and you’re a classy little dame and I like you. I enjoy your company and I mean that on any terms you want. You’re a she-male and I’m a he-male and we’re alone and both feeling nervous about it. You don’t have to be, Yvonne. I’ll tell you flat out that I’d like to make love to you but that I respect you too much to act silly about it. It’s your house and it’s dealer’s choice. So quit dangling the bait if you don’t mean to haul me in and we’ll both feel more comfortable, okay?”

  She laughed and said, “I must say your approach is trés nouveau.”

  “There you go again, damn it. I just told you I wasn’t trying to feed you a line. What are you trying to prove? That I want to rip off your clothes and kiss you all over your body? That’s an established fact. But you know I’m not going to do it unless you want me to. Haven’t you ever had a conversation with a man that didn’t include fencing with words?”

  Yvonne took another sip of brandy before she met his eyes, soberly, and said, “As a matter of fact I haven’t. I have no false modesty about what I see in my looking glass, and you are pretty, too. You are right, I have been teasing, haven’t I? Very well. How do we start with this business of being ... what are we trying to be, Dick?”