The Badlands Brigade (A Captain Gringo Adventure Book 12)

by Lou Cameron

  Captain Gringo shrugged and admitted, “We lose. Wars are funny that way, Colonel. Napoleon and Lee found out you can’t cover all the what-ifs, too. It’s not too late to just forget about it and practice up on yelling Viva Morales, if you don’t like shooting crap.”

  Duran’s shoulders sagged and for a moment it looked as if he was going to opt for sure survival. Then he said, softly, “I never knew, until now, what Caesar meant when he crossed the Rubicon. We are casting the dice indeed, Gentlemen. But the alternatives are even less appealing. When do you suggest we start, Captain?”

  “A couple of days ago. But I think we can still make it if we start tonight, sir.”

  “Tonight? It is past midnight and we have such a short way to go.”

  “My boys are used to night marches and it’s a good idea to move out under cover of darkness, sir. God knows how many spies Morales has here in Puerto Cortes. If everything goes smoothly, a twenty-four hour lead on Morales is more than we need. But that’s another thing I’ve learned the hard way in a couple of wars. Nothing ever goes smoothly and there’s never enough time when it starts running out on you. We might not find a choo-choo waiting for us in Omoa, for instance.” He turned to Gaston and asked, “Can you haul that last 75 along the tracks if we can’t get a plantation train?”

  Gaston shrugged and said, “We can try. Just getting it to Omoa will be trés fatigue. Counter-fire with a 75 playing a solo composition against a battery of four 155s is liable to be even more tiresome, non?”

  “Don’t worry about that. Worry about getting the only artillery we have into position. Anything’s better than nothing and we have the machineguns.”

  He turned back to Duran and said, “With your permission, sir, we’d better start moving our asses. Naturally, you’ll want to stay here and hold the fort, right?”

  Duran shot him a surprisingly boyish smile and said, “Surely you jest, Captain Gringo? I wouldn’t miss my first battle for all the world!”

  ~*~

  Captain Gringo had been right. Things started going wrong right away. The non-coms of course hadn’t known they’d be marching out again so soon, so they’d given half the men permission to go into town to el paseo. Now that he was keyed up to do battle, Colonel Duran wanted to march out with the men on hand. Captain Gringo had Gaston sit on him while he, Robles and Vargas went looking for the missing men. Morales had more troops with him that the whole outfit here at the presidio could have mustered if it had been at full strength. So they needed everybody they could get to pack a gun.

  It took them half the remaining night to round up the stragglers, and they never found some of the picked men he’d wanted to take along. They’d been lucky at el paseo and were shacked up somewhere for the foreseeable future. Half the losers they rounded up were drunk. Captain Gringo could only hope they’d sober up on the trail.

  The Iron Brigade, which might have made a couple of companies in any other army, marched out of Puerto Cortes as the roosters were starting to crow. But it was still fairly dark and nobody seemed interested. Dawn found them on the road to Omoa, already pissing and moaning. Captain Gringo had let Gaston hitch mules to his one 75 and ammo caisson. But he’d told the officers they’d have to walk and they weren’t used to it. The portly Duran was trying to be a sport about it, but a lifetime of taking a carriage just to visit the neighbors had left him in lousy shape and he kept asking how much further it was.

  The whole stupid march was less than the length of Manhattan Island and should have taken them less than four hours with time out for piss calls. It took them over six and when they staggered to the railroad yards, a surprised mestizo switchman told them they’d just missed the west-bound produce train. When Captain Gringo asked when the next train was due in, the switchman shrugged and said he didn’t know. They didn’t run the line on a timetable; they just puttered up and down like a street car, dropping things off and picking things up. It was a hell of a way to run a railroad, but Captain Gringo wasn’t in charge of it. He told the non-coms to have the men fall out and eat their noon rations. It wasn’t noon yet, but he decided to give them a half hour’s break before he gave them the news. He actually gave them almost forty-five minutes before he lined them up again and called out, “All right, muchachos. We’ve waited for a choo-choo long enough. We’re going to have to get there the hard way. Right face, forward march, guidon, dress on the rail to your right and follow the roadbed.”

  The men knew better than to mess with Captain Gringo, so they were already moving out as he finished. But Duran limped after him and gasped, “Are you serious, Captain? I thought we were going to ride the rest of the way aboard a train!”

  “So did I, sir, but, as you see, there isn’t any train. We’ll flag down anything that comes along, but meanwhile, these tracks lead us to the crossing we have to reach before Morales does.”

  “How far is that?”

  “About twenty-five or six of your kilometers, sir. It sounds shorter when you measure distances in miles.”

  “Goddamn it, I’m not in shape to march that far!”

  “You could ride the caisson, sir. I see Gaston’s got it on the roadbed back there. Look at that little Frenchman cuss!”

  Duran grimaced and said, “I’d look like a fool and you know it I overheard some of the men talking about us as we marched. Apparently they admire officers who share their hardships with them. Is that why you do it?”

  “It worked for Alexander, sir. He got a bunch of idiots to follow him out of the known world by sharing his canteen and other simple stunts. They never noticed that at night he got to sleep on silk between his favorite girls, or boys, depending on his mood.”

  Duran laughed, bitterly, and said, “All right. I see the advantages in pretending to be one of the boys. But can’t we even slow down a bit? We have a hell of a lead on Morales now. He won’t even be leaving the seacoast before late tonight and it’s not noon yet!”

  “Yessir, and in a little while it’s going to be too hot to walk these tracks. We’re going to have the siesta before we get to Plantation Cinco Palmas. See what I mean about time running out on you?”

  “All right, all right, so walk like a fuckin’ maniac and I’ll try and keep up. I suppose you know what you’re doing. But, frankly, I still don’t see what all the rush is about. Even if we broke here now and waited until three to push on, we’d make it to Plantation Cinco Palmas before dark, no?”

  “I don’t want to get there when it’s starting to get dark, sir. I want to get there well this side of dark.”

  “What is this, your Yanqui business of hurry-up-and-wait?”

  “Nossir. We’ve got more than waiting to do. These guys don’t know it, but they haven’t even started to work yet! Don’t sweat it, Colonel. You’re an officer and I didn’t bring that many picks and shovels, anyway.”

  ~*~

  Plantation Cinco Palmas didn’t look like a plantation and there were way more than five palms along the graded crossing where the east-west trail met the north-south railroad bed. The so-called plantation was really a big expanse of pepper fields stretching out from the tracks about a mile to either side. The pepper plants weren’t ripe for picking and there was no house in view. The landed hidalgo who owned the standing crop doubtless had his peons working somewhere else while they all waited for this one to ripen.

  Gaston admired the field of fire. He ordered his gun crew to wheel out the 75 and it’s caisson into the field to the west and to hell with the peppers. He stood on the higher roadbed with Captain Gringo and the other officers to observe, “Regardez. I shall make the mincemeat out of anyone coming out of the treeline to the east. But then they will open up on poor little me with four 155s and, merde alors!”

  Captain Gringo said, “You’d better get yourself dug in and sand-bagged good. You know more about gun emplacements than I do, for God’s sake.”

  “Oui, I know enough to know this is a trés stupid place to dig in, too. Ordinarily I would agree with you that o
pen ground is best for a standing battle. One can see how nicely this higher roadbed dominates the open fields those others will have to cross. But every time I mention those 155s, you tell me not to worry. Were you not paying attention the last time they opened up on us with those big guns, my old and rare?”

  “I haven’t got time to argue, Gaston. You see where that trail breaks out of the trees a mile away to cross these fields? That’s what I want you to range on. You hold your fire until your observer signals they’re falling back. Then start lobbing 75 canisters as fast as you can. Got it?”

  “I understand your plan. Meanwhile, long before I fire so dramatically, four 155s will have pounded me and my little treasure to scrap metal and hash! Don’t you see what they will do, Dick? Morales will have his men advance across that open ground covered by his heavy guns, from back in the jungle. He does not have to know we are here. It’s a standard procedure when moving into dubious country, and anyone can see that crossing open ground is trés spooky.”

  “Goddamn it, Gaston ...”

  “I’m going. I’m going. But I warn you, if I’m killed I shall never speak to you again!”

  Captain Gringo chuckled fondly and called out to Vargas, “Sergeant Vargas, front and center!” as Colonel Duran muttered, “I wish I knew what was going on.”

  Vargas came over and saluted. Captain Gringo returned the salute and said, “You just made Sergeant Major, Duty Sergeant, and anything else you need to be. Are you paying attention? Good. I want the men to dig individual foxholes, on the roadbed, between the ties. That gives every rifleman a steel rail to use as a rifle rest as well as a bullet-proof shield. Some of the ties are too close together. Have each man start where they’re far enough apart to fit his ass. They’re going to say it’s impossible to dig through the rock ballast. Tell them to dig anyway, and they’ll find dry earth under it. Tell them to do it, now, and send Robles to me.”

  As Vargas hurried away, Duran said, “My God, I see the sense of that last order. But the Frenchman has a point about those big guns.”

  Before Captain Gringo could reply,* Robles came up to them. The tall American said, “Robles, pick a squad of good men and get over to the treeline to the east. Take water and grub. You’ll probably be there a while. Move in a few hundred yards and cover the trail. When and if you see their point, don’t try anything cute. Run like hell back to me and I’ll write you all up for medals or something. Remember I don’t want a fire fight over there where we can’t get into it. I just want to know when they’re about to arrive. Tell your guys that if there’s any sniping, I’ll be mad as hell. Do you understand your mission?”

  Robles said, “Si, you can depend on me and my scouts, Captain.”

  “I am. We all are. Move it out, muchacho.”

  As Robles went to get his men, Captain Gringo sighed and started to walk back to where his packers had put down the two Maxim guns and ammo cases he’d ordered them to carry this far. Duran and one of the junior Honduran officers followed. Duran asked what he could do to help and Captain Gringo asked, “Can you man a machinegun, sir?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “I was afraid of that, too. I’m not going to be able to set these guns up right. They ought to be down at each flank, covering that pepper field in a big X. But I don’t have gunners and I have to be near the middle to yell orders so ... okay, we’ll just use them as glorified rifles. It’s a hell of a waste. But it’s the best we can manage.”

  The younger Honduran asked, “Are you going to try and fire both of those big weapons at once, Captain? I have heard of two gun men, but a two machinegun man sounds very wild indeed.”

  Captain Gringo smiled thinly and said, “I usually fire one while the other’s cooling off, but I’ll take your suggestion under consideration. I expect a hell of a mess of guys to come boiling out of those trees at us. By the way, don’t you have anything more serious than that pistol, Lieutenant?”

  “Of course not. Officers do not shoot rifles. But don’t worry, I am very good with my pistol.”

  “I’m sure you are. And if we let Morales and his real Iron Brigade get within pistol range, it’s not going to matter.”

  Colonel Duran patted his own side arm and looked sheepish as he said, “I am ashamed to say it, but all of your military suggestions make so much sense, as soon as they are pointed out. How is it that nobody but you professionals seems to think of such simple matters ahead of time, eh?”

  “I don’t know, Colonel. I guess that’s why they call us professionals. We’re ahead of schedule now, and nobody’s more surprised about that than me. You may as well hunker down on the safe side of the tracks and I’ll order coffee and grub in a little while.”

  “Oh? Are you hinting we’re just in your way, Captain?”

  “Yessir. You are. This is your outfit and I want you to get the credit if we win the coming battle. But you may have noticed this job is sort of complicated.”

  ~*~

  The sun was down, the moon was high, and Captain Gringo and Lieutenant Colonel Duran inspected their defenses along the railroad right of way. The four hundred and six foxholes between the hardwood ties stretched the whole length of their open front with their flanks well protected by the drainage ditches along the tree walls north and south of the pepper fields. Duran was starting to remember military tomes he’d read in his youth, now that he found himself for the first time in his career on a possible battlefield. He stared soberly at the inky black trees to their north and asked, “What if they circle us through the jungle?”

  Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “We’ll be flanked.”

  “Doesn’t this worry you, Captain?”

  “Of course it worries me, Colonel. It’s worried every commander who ever tried to set up a defensive position. But I told you war is a crap shoot. There’s just no way you can cover all bets. If we formed a circle they wouldn’t be able to flank us. But we’d be covering such a small front they could simply walk around us. Our only advantage, here, is that Morales isn’t expecting to run into us. So he won’t be advancing on a broad front. He’ll be in a hurry to reach the capital with his liberators and you can’t move fast off the trails in mucky jungle country.”

  “I can see that. But once he marches into us, won’t he have the manpower to spread out and envelop us?”

  “Yes, if we don’t whittle him down pretty good with our first fusillade. You’ve got to stop planning your battles on paper from a bird’s eye view, sir. Put yourself in the other guy’s shoes, over there where they’ll be coming out of the trees. Morales won’t know who or how many he’s getting hit by. It figures to be noisy and he’s going to have to yell like hell as he makes up new orders, confused and under fire. Nine out of ten leaders get as rattled as their men and give orders they’d never give if they were sitting in an arm chair with a cool drink in one hand and a well-marked situation map in the other.”

  “What if Morales is the tenth man?”

  “We lose. But look at the bright side. If Morales is another Napoleon maybe he ought to be the boss of Honduras!”

  They stopped near the last men dug in on the north flank. He nodded down to them and said, “Well done, muchachos. Who’s the squad leader, here?”

  A corporal who looked about fourteen stood up in his hole and saluted. Captain Gringo returned the salute and said, “Right. It’s going to be a long night. I don’t think we’ll see action before dawn. But you never know. You can let one third of your men retire at a time to the far side of the bank to piss and stretch their legs. Don’t build any fires. If you smoke, do it below grade level. You can see a glowing cigar-tip kilometers away at night. As long as you and your men have the time to kill, you may as well camouflage a bit. Pull some peppers up by the roots and lay them over the rails behind you.”

  The young corporal blinked and asked, “Don’t you mean in front of us, Captain Gringo?”

  “If I’d meant in front I’d have said in front. You and your men have to have a clear field
of fire in front of you. Some clumps of brush against the sky in back of your heads will make them less obvious targets, see?”

  “Oh, I understand, sir. Forgive me. It is obvious, once one thinks about it!”

  “Yeah, carry on, Corporal.”

  They turned back. Captain Gringo repeated his orders every few yards as they retraced their steps. Duran said, “I know how they feel. Everything you say makes sense. But there are so many of these petty details. How do you remember them all?”

  Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “I read a lot at West Point. Then I got to soldier against Apache for a while. They sort of rounded out my military education. Don’t think I know it all, Colonel. I learn something new in every fire fight. Guys who think they know it all don’t live through many fire fights. I sure hope General Morales thinks he’s smarter than all the rest of us.”

  Duran grimaced and said, “He should be picking up his supplies on the coast any minute now. I see what you meant about there never being enough time. When do you think he’ll get here?”

  “Hard to say, sir. That’s why it’s hurry up and wait. Everyone knows Sherman said war was hell. Some smarter soldier once said war was a bore. Now that we’re dug in and as ready as we can get, it’s going to seem like a million years if they start marching right this minute. If you want an educated guess, they’ll screw around with the ammo and stuff, have a long early breakfast, and start about dawn. They ought to get here before siesta time. If they start late and siesta along the way, it’s going to get even duller around here. Hotter, too. Those foxholes will bake like ovens if we’re still in them at high noon.”

  “Can’t we take La Siesta, too? If they don’t arrive by noon we’ll know they won’t show up until after three, right?”

  “No offense, sir, but that’s a good way to lose down here. Morales could be one of those military geniuses you run into in the tropics who’s figured out the advantages of advancing through La Siesta. That’s one of the tricks Juarez used to get Mexico back.”