by Lou Cameron
Shards of metal thunked into the far side of the tree they were against as the bomb blew the hammock he’d been in just now to shredded string. Captain Gringo slid down the tree with Golondrina, withdrawing from her orgasmic flesh as he fumbled for his .38, somehow losing interest in sex as he lay atop her, ears ringing, with everyone around them screaming fit to bust. Golondrina was screaming, too. She wailed, “What happened? It was so loud! I thought for a moment we had been blown up!”
He said, “That was the general idea. The son-of-a-bitch lobbed the grenade right in my hammock after directing you to it! Stay here, Kitten. I’ve had just about enough of this shit!”
He rose to his feet, gun in hand, and his half limp erection waving in the cool of evening, as he marched grimly toward the bivouac of his heavy weapons company not far away. As he spotted the fire between the machine-gun carriages, Gaston fell in at his side, observing, “I see you are still alive, albeit in a state described as out of uniform. I take it that explosion occurred close enough to startle you?”
“Yeah. In my hammock. Some guys just never learn.” He rounded the nearest carriage with Gaston following closely behind. He spotted Lefty O’Toole hunkered on the far side of the camp fire, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Captain Gringo walked right through the fire like it wasn’t there, scattering coals with his mosquito boots as he bore down on Lefty; gun in hand and cock hanging out, to roar, “Fill your fist, you son-of-bitch!” as the startled O’Toole tried to rise with his hands out to either side, away from his gunbelt. He obviously had no intention of going for his gun. So Captain Gringo swore and kicked him full in the face. The big grenadier landed spread-eagle on his back to stare bemused at the overhead sky, knocked semiconscious as, meantime, Gaston snapped, “Alors, Dick!” Captain Gringo crabbed sideways, turning gun in hand in time to see Bull Donovan sinking to his knees on the far side of the fire, smiling sickly up at him as Gaston stepped back, the firelight gleaming on his blood slicked blade. Captain Gringo said, “Thanks, Gaston,” as Donovan fell face down in the scattered coals. Gaston shrugged and said, “You really should learn to look behind you once in a while, my old and rare. By the way, are you aware your penis is hanging out?”
He was, now. He hastily tucked it back in his pants as men and women came from all sides yelling questions. Major Gomez came to join them, ordering one of the privates to haul Donovan’s smoldering corpse from the fire for God’s sake before he asked Captain Gringo, “What is the meaning of this? Who set off that explosion?”
Captain Gringo pointed his .38 at the still groggy O’Toole across the fire and said, “He did, I think. The two of them were in on it together.”
“But why? Are they enemy agents?”
“I don’t think so, Major. Donovan held a commission one time and it seems it went to his one brain cell. O’Toole, there, made no bones about being pissed at Gaston and me getting the ranks the boyos no doubt felt they deserved. They tried to blow us up back in Puerto Cortes. Tonight they tried again. But this time they screwed up and got caught in the act.”
O’Toole sat up, rubbing his face as he blurted, “Jasus, it’s mad you are, Walker! I was sitting here minding me own business when you leaped on me like a maniac and ...”
“Bullshit!” Captain Gringo cut in, pointing at the body of Donovan as he added, “We just tried and executed your pal there on a silent guilty plea. It’s unimportant which of you threw the grenade this time. We know you two were asshole buddies and it had to be you back at the hotel in Puerto Cortes.”
He raised his voice and called out to the people around them, “My adelita came here to join me tonight. Does anyone here remember directing her to where I was bedded down for the night?”
There was a puzzled buzzing and then one man raised his hand gingerly and called back, “Por favor, Captain Gringo. I, Alejandro Robles, told the woman she would find your heavy weapons company here and that they would know where you were.”
Captain Gringo nodded thanks and grimly stared down at the cowering O’Toole, who licked his lips and said, “Faith, maybe Bull Donovan done what you say, sor. It’s true he held dark thoughts about them passing him over for officer in favor of a Yank. But I was never in on it and sure I never left this fire tonight.”
Captain Gringo stared hard at the peon privates who’d been seated with O’Toole at the campfire before he’d scattered them and it. He could see they didn’t want to get involved in a dispute between an officer and non-com, but one of them sighed and shook his head to politely make a liar of O’Toole. Captain Gringo dredged up the man’s name from memory, and said, “Corporal Vargas, take a look in this man’s bedroll and report the contents poco tiempo.”
Major Gomez didn’t want to wait. He nudged Captain Gringo and said, “I have heard enough. I don’t have to know all the details, Captain. The first rule of Military Law is that officers are right and enlisted men are wrong. Everything else is commentary, true?”
Captain Gringo smiled crookedly as he replied, “They put it a little more delicate at West Point, but that’s the way most armies seem to work, sir.”
Gomez nodded, and said, “I see no reason to go into needless formalities when I find two of my officers accusing one enlisted man. It’s late. We have a long day ahead of us.”
Then Gomez drew his own .45, shot O’Toole in the head, blowing hair and brains all over the place, and added as he lowered his smoking muzzle, “The case is closed. Let’s all get some sleep.”
Captain Gringo and Gaston stared soberly at one another as the major walked away. Then Gaston shrugged and said, “A man after my own heart. You, there, Private Herrerra, see that these two bodies are properly disposed of. Make sure you bury them downwind of the latrines. You and any volunteers you can find are of course entitled to their boots and whatever you find in their pockets. So move.”
Vargas came over holding what looked like a tomato can in one hand. He held it out to Captain Gringo and said, “Sergeant O’Toole had this in his bedroll, Captain. It looks like a bomb to me.”
Captain Gringo took the homemade grenade, pulling the fuse to make sure nothing unpleasant happened this close to a scattered campfire, and said, “You’re right, Sergeant Vargas. Judging from its weight, I’d say he packed these cans with a fifty-fifty mixture of black powder and scrap iron. He must have learned how in his old grenadier outfit. You’d better bust it open and scatter the contents. Roll-your-own bombs have a nasty habit of going off when you don’t want them to.”
Vargas took the bomb back, but said, “Por favor, Captain, I am not a sergeant. Meaning no disrespect, I am not a corporal, either.”
Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “You’re wrong. You may not have noticed, but we just lost two sergeants and I like to keep my TO filled. You’re replacing Donovan. I know you don’t think you know how. But you’ve been listening to the son-of-a-bitch a while, and you proved tonight you’re smarter.”
Then the tall American turned to the crowd and added, “Alejandro Robles, front and center!”
Robles came forward, warily, as Herrerra and three other men were hauling the two corpses from the firelight by the heels. He saluted Captain Gringo, who returned the salute and said, “You’re taking Sergeant O’Toole’s place.” Then he raised his voice so all could hear as he added, “All right, I know some of you others had already been given junior non-com ratings and for now I’ll let you keep them. But the reason I’m promoting these two guys tonight is that when I yell froggy I expect to see somebody jump! The next time any man in this outfit stands around with his thumb up his ass when a commissioned officer is asking questions, he can kiss his stripes adios. None of you were issued stripes because we wanted the girls to admire you. Privates are supposed to soldier, and non-coms are supposed to show some damned initiative. We’ve got all the goddam privates we need, but the next noncom who lets me down is going to be a private anyway. Are there any gripes or questions?”
Nobody answered. Captain Grin
go nodded, holstering his .38 as he turned back to Vargas and said, “Police up the area and bed everybody down. We’ll reshuffle the deck some more in the morning.”
But as he turned to leave, Vargas said, “Por favor, Captain, where will you be if I need you before morning?”
“You’re not supposed to need me. I just put you in charge. I won’t be too far away to notice if the camp’s attacked or something. But just where I’ll be is between me and my adelita. These sudden discussions of promotion are starting to get on my nerves. Carry on, Sergeant.”
He left his men to let them sort things out and though Gaston followed him from the fire, the little Frenchman peeled off discreetly before they got back to where he’d last seen Golondrina.
The peon girl was fiddling with the strings of his blasted hammock when he rejoined her. Golondrina said, “It’s no use, Deek. The main ropes have been severed. We must find some other place for to sleep.”
He took her in his arms and said, “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I’ve got a poncho and a ground cloth rolled behind my saddle so let’s see if we can find some high ground.”
She giggled and replied, “I have never understood what you soldados meant when you said, always take the high ground. But I think I am beginning to learn. An adelita should be able to talk like a soldado, no?”
He said, “Honey, you talk any way you want to. But let’s get out of this ridiculous vertical position first.”
~*~
As the sun groped its way toward the zenith, the work details out in the sawgrass began to cast anxious glances at the sky and their non-coms.
.But Major Gomez was anxious, too, and since they were two thirds of the way across by eleven he ordered them to keep going. So they did, but it wasn’t easy. Working out in the open under the noon sun would have been bad enough. Working shin deep in mud that looked and smelled like shit and steamed like a Turkish bath in the shimmering heat was sheer hell.
But the men worked on, hacking the cruel razor bladed sawgrass and packing it in the gumbo to form, more or less, dry footing as the adelitas toted canteens out to them and offered praise, as well as water, to keep their men going.
Some of them just couldn’t, and as the sun rose even higher, a ragged line of heat prostration victims were laid out in the shade on the south side of the marsh. Captain Gringo noticed none of his own men lay among the sissies, so he didn’t protest when Major Gomez announced that all who dropped out would lose a day’s pay for every hour it took them to recover.
But by one in the afternoon it was obvious to everyone but the major that what he was asking of his men was bordering on suicide. So Captain Gringo went looking for the major and, finding him shirtless and seated on an ammo caisson under a live oak tree, saluted and said, “With the Major’s permission I’d like to order La Siesta at least until three.”
Gomez wiped a hand over his own sweaty face and said, “We are already late to the front, Captain. We should have been on the Motagua at this time yesterday.”
“I know, sir, but we’re never going to get there at all if the whole outfit’s down with sunstroke. The sky’s an open hearth steel furnace now, and the men will work faster once they’ve had a couple of hours in the shade. They’re just going through the motions out there, now. Most of them are too exhausted to know what they’re doing.”
Gomez didn’t answer. Captain Gringo could see he was groggy from the humid heat himself, so he volunteered, “We could all use a break, sir. How would you like to lie down deeper in the shade and maybe have the adelitas pour water over your head and chest?”
Gomez smiled weakly and answered, “Jesus, that would probably make me come. You do have a way with words, Captain. Very well, have the men take a break until three. But I warn you, I intend to cross that marsh today, if we have to work all night.”
Gomez rose, looking dazed and apparently trying to remember something. He started to walk back into the bivouac’s shade. Then he turned back to Captain Gringo and asked, “Have any runners come in from Bardo’s scouting operation yet?”
Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “No sir. Not since last night. Bardo’s last report said they were dug in alone on the far side. With your permission it might be a good idea to send our own runners forward to make sure he’s okay.”
“Bueno,” Gomez said nodding, “I’m leaving you in command while I clear my head with a nap in the shade. But be sure to wake me in an hour. I really must get a grip on this situation, but...” and then he wandered off, talking to himself as he walked like a dignified drunk.
Captain Gringo saw a non-com he didn’t know had been listening to the exchange. So he nodded and said, “All right, Sergeant. You know what the Major’s orders are, so get ’em in out of the sun.”
The sergeant saluted gravely and said, “I know what Captain Gringo’s orders are, and they are most compassionate. I am called Fernando Montez and should anyone in my company ever call you a fuckin’ gringo again I will cut his nose off.”
Captain Gringo returned the salute and said he’d settle for getting the men out of the sun for now. As Montez left, the tall American looked around until he spotted Sergeant Vargas helping a sun-struck soldier into the tree line. He moved over to join them and helped Vargas lay the semiconscious man in the shade before he said, “Vargas, I want you to pick a couple of guys who look like they’re still alive. We have to send a message to Lieutenant Bardo on the far side.”
“Consider it done, Captain’. But what is this message you wish for to send?”
“Just want to know Bardo and his riflemen are still covering our advance. They’re probably doping off in the shade like the rest of us right now. But it’s been a while since we’ve heard from them and that’s a sloppy way to- run a railroad or a war. Have somebody stroll over and back, then tell me what Bardo has to say for himself these days. I know it’s not our job. But I don’t like surprises. So let’s get a move on.”
Vargas nodded and moved off through the trees to find some runners as Captain Gringo felt the pulse of the downed man, saw he was going to be okay, and got to his own feet again. He distinctly remembered leaving a naked nubile adelita somewhere deeper in the trees, though he didn’t think he could get it up with a derrick right now as he was overdue for some rest and recreation himself. Maybe if they both took a sponge bath together he’d be up to at least kissing her if she promised to let him sleep an hour or so.
As he moved deeper in the bivouac grove the work details were filing out of the sawgrass, walking like zombies. He heard a soldier he didn’t know mutter, ‘There he is. They call him Captain Gringo, and he’s an officer who looks after his people. Montez said he stood up for us against that, cruel major who has no feelings. Despite his funny hair, Captain Gringo is one of us, no?”
The tall blond American pretended he hadn’t heard as he moved on, but not before he’d heard another soldier say, “Si, he is muy hombre. My cousin is in his company and he says he’s a good soldado, too, despite his big heart.”
“Aw, mush,” Captain Gringo muttered, and ducked into some gumbo limbo to scout up his bedroll and Golondrina. He found the canvas ground cloth and wool poncho where he’d left them on a grassy knoll between two rosewood trees. But Golondrina wasn’t there. He didn’t care. He stripped to the buff in the sheltered shade and poured canteen water over his scalp to run down his fevered flesh. Then, soaking wet but cooler, he flopped on the canvas, using the rolled poncho for a pillow, and closed his eyes as he lay spread eagle on his back.
He hadn’t really expected to fall asleep, but he must have, for he was dreaming that he was in a box at the theatre watching Miss Ellen Terry perform in As You Like It. While he believed As You Like It to be one of the dumbest plays Shakespeare ever wrote, Ellen Terry was the most beautiful actress in the world—so it evened out, especially since this evening Miss Terry for some reason was performing in the nude. He noticed he was nude, too, but nobody else in the theatre seemed to notice,
so what the hell. He tried to ignore his embarrassing condition, but then Ellen Terry was sucking him off and he said, “For God’s sake, in front of an audience?” and woke up.
Ellen Terry wasn’t sucking him off after all. It was Golondrina. She’d taken off her own clothes, too, and was on her hands and knees between his spread thighs, giving him a great French lesson. He caressed her long black hair as he murmured, sleepily, “Don’t stop, you’re doing fine, but you sure spend your siestas energetically, Doll.”
She giggled with her mouth filled and started swiveling around to offer her own’ groin for some sixty-nine. Captain Gringo considered himself a good sport, but it was broad daylight to begin with and they could both have used a bath. So he rolled her on her back, half on the canvas and half in the grass and fallen leaves, to mount her for some old-fashioned, albeit very hot and sweaty sex. Golondrina liked that, too. As he entered her she said, “Oh, I was afraid you would think it was too hot for to do it like this.”
He said, “It’s never too hot for to do it like this.” But as he started moving in her he wasn’t sure he was telling the truth. Her tight little love pit felt marvelous around his surprised and turgid shaft, but the rest of them felt like they were rutting like hogs in a steam bath. Golondrina’s tawny body was slippery with sweat to begin with and as he perspired atop her, it felt as if they’d been rubbed down with warm axle grease. She raised her slippery thighs to hug his sweaty hips between them but she couldn’t keep her wet heels locked and for some reason that made her laugh a lot.
He wanted to come. He had to come. But it was just too hot with their bellies together like this. So he hooked one of her knees over each of his elbows and rose in a push-up position to continue with their only body contact, the actual point of entry. She smiled up radiantly and marveled, “Oh, my toro, you are so strong,” as he pounded without answering until she suddenly gasped, “Oh, yesss!” and tried to chew his shaft off with her climaxing internal muscles. That made him come, too. But as he rolled off to lay panting up at the forest canopy, he wondered if it had been worth the effort. As his adelita sat up and began to sponge him off with a damp rag, he muttered half to himself, “I just figured out something: old men don’t pass on occasional opportunities because they’re old. They give the wild and crazy stuff a miss because they’ve lived long enough to know it’s not always worth the effort.”
