A Dishonorable Few (The Honor Series)

by Robert N. Macomber

  “No. We don’t know where they are.”

  Wake was studying the chart as Kramer spoke and had a thought. He held up finger, prompting Russell to say, “Yes?”

  “Perhaps we can determine where they did not go, though, gentlemen.”

  Toledo, receiving translation from Monteblanco, smiled and said enthusiastically, “Yes, señor, say the idea you possess.”

  “Well, it’s simple really. Through the process of elimination perhaps we can narrow down where to look.”

  Wake paused, thinking, hand on the position of Colón on the wall chart. He learned upon anchoring when the others had arrived. That gave him a basis for his conclusion.

  “Captain Toledo arrived here yesterday from the west, close aboard the coast, just after the time of the attack, and saw no steamer along the coast, yes? Plus, there aren’t that many places to hide to the west within thirty miles, correct?” Toledo nodded his assent when it was translated.

  “And I came in this morning from the east, but saw nothing coming from Cartagena. We arrived at the coast in the area of Punta Manzanillo, then steamed close by that coast where Porto Bello is, but there were no steamers along the shore and no smoke on the horizon.

  “So that tells me that the pirates came from the east, but not from the Colombian mainland by Cartagena, most probably from the coast of the isthmus further east than Manzanillo. And further east than that point are these scattered islands,” Wake’s hand traced them on the chart as he tried to read the faded print, “called the San Blas. Would that area of the coast be a good hideout, Mr. Kramer?”

  Kramer, hitherto subdued in manner, perked up, his hands spreading in excitement. “Lieutenant, I think you have something there. Those islands are secluded. The Cuna people that live there are pretty much left alone by the Colombian authorities, only an occasional trader or labor contractor calls there.”

  Suddenly Kramer hit the palm of his left hand with his other fist. “And by God, there are only a few islands the Cuna allow outsiders to visit.” He pointed to one of the largest of the cays at the western end of the archipelago. “Cayo Holandes is the closest to us. I wonder if they’re holed up there?”

  Russell stepped forward to the wall chart and waved a hand northward over the Caribbean. “What if they came in from, and departed back into, the vastness of the Caribbean Sea? We are presuming they made a coastal approach, which I feel may be too presumptive, gentlemen.”

  Wake shook his head. “You are right, sir. But if they did disappear back out there into the Caribbean, we can’t pinpoint them and take action—they are lost to us. If we are to do anything that might have a chance of stopping them, then I think we need to operate on the assumption that they are hiding out on the coast.” Wake turned away from the chart and faced the men around him, all of whom were now standing, examining the San Blas coast.

  Wake continued. “And I think that Mr. Kramer’s information supports that. I say we go to the area of the San Blas Islands, dividing up the chain of islands into search areas between our three ships according to their speed of arrival. That way we can all arrive at the same time and flush them out. The fastest, your ship Plover, sir, takes the area farthest to the east, my ship takes the area in the middle, from Iskardup west to Cayo Holandes. The Sirena takes the area to the west, between Cayo Holandes west to Punta San Blas. That gives us about ten miles at most between us, easy to hear gunfire and thus to go to the support of each other. We leave tonight and arrive at our coordinated sectors at dawn. If the pirates are there, we’ll find and destroy them.”

  Russell looked pensive for a moment. “I agree with you, Lieutenant. It sounds like a good plan of action. But what about Captain Terrington? We are still under his command on this expedition and he should approve of this plan.”

  Wake felt the eyes of the others on him. He had forgotten about his captain in the excitement of formulating the operation. “He is, ah, incapacitated by his illness, sir. I am certain that he would approve of it. You, sir,” Wake glanced at Russell, “would be the senior officer in charge due to Captain Terrington’s illness.”

  The nodding of heads sealed the agreement, and the men took one more round of drinks. As he poured, Kramer made a suggestion.

  “How about if I go along with the Sirena as a guide and English translator. I speak a little Cuna also. And I have personal reasons to want to watch those bastards die. Those men on the Colón American were my friends.”

  “Excellent idea, Kramer, and yes, of course, we understand your reasons,” said Russell.

  They drank a toast to success, then made their way to the doorway. Wake heard Kramer mutter something and asked him what it was.

  “Oh nothing, just that the pirates picked the wrong place to hide out. The Cuna have quite a reputation.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They are diminutive in stature and pleasant-natured. Nice people, actually. Very slow to anger. It takes a lot to get them inflamed. But once they are at war, they’re extremely cold-blooded. No one, and I mean no one, among their enemies lives.”

  “Really?” inquired Russell.

  Kramer ruefully chuckled. “How do you think they kept independent all these years from the Spanish? The Cuna, Lieutenant Wake, have never been conquered.”

  ***

  The arkar felt chills go through him but maintained a monotone as he told the elders what the sayla’s chant was revealing. He spoke as if he were the sayla.

  “Last night I saw a strange light in the sky over Iskardup. It came to me in a dream and when I awoke I saw it in the sky. The light was different from the others that cover the night sky, it had great force and was as if on fire. In the vastness of the black sky, it made me think of the power of Muu, who forms the children in the vast and dangerous womb of a woman. And that made me travel in my mind to the chant of the story of Achu Simutupalet, the dragon who eats the moon once every many days. And that brought me to the story of the Nusu worms and the Nuu bird—the prophecy of the monsters that will come to us, as they had come to our ancestors. The strange light in the dark sky was a sign. The sign of the prophecy I have long feared.

  “When, long ago, the Nusu worms were living quiet lives among these islands, there came a monster in the form of a giant bird known as Nuu, from the sea. It was the most evil of all evil things and had teeth that could bite and kill any living creatures. It flew from island to island, reaching down and killing all of the worms who had lived there in peace for many generations. The lust of the bird for eating the worms was overwhelming. Nothing could stop this Nuu.

  “The elders of the worms met one night at sunset, just as we do now. They talked about what they would do. All were fearful. Only one had any hope. He said that the Nuu had shown one weakness and that they had to use that against him or everyone would die, one at a time. The Nuu was greedy and because of that was always predictable. It would ignore all else to eat worms—that made it weak. It would take courage, he warned them, but they could kill the Nuu.

  “They waited for the right moment, then they paraded worms who offered themselves willingly out in the open, in front of the Nuu as he flew over the island. The giant bird grabbed several of the worms that he saw, thinking of nothing but eating his prey, but other worms were waiting and got on the Nuu as he went back into the air. Those that were caught in his mouth died, as a fish eats bait we give him, but those that were not in the mouth crawled to his eyes as he flew and made their tiny bites, slowly eating his vision. The bird could not see any longer and fell to the earth, dying when he hit a coral rock. The worms crawled off the dead body of the bird and returned home, and peace was known for many generations.

  “It is a prophecy of these many generations that in time another monster, like the Nuu but in different form, will come to us and we will be tested again. The prophecy says that the sky will tell us when. The light in the night
sky last night was a sign to me that now is the time. The drum warning from the zambo people confirms it—that these are not only bad outsiders, but are truly evil. I had hoped all my life that I would not see the coming of the monster of the chant, but it has come. This monster, which hides in human skin, is more powerful than any before, and we know that it is evil from what it did to the zambo people.

  “The monsters have been increasing their violent ways, fighting among themselves. Their lust and greed for flesh is getting worse. They have attacked the zambos. They will attack us next. They will come for us at our village that is closest to them. They will come to feed off of us. Tonight.

  “We are but worms. But even worms can kill a giant bird. Tonight some of us may die, some will be hurt, but we will kill the monsters and make them go away. It is our time. We are the chosen generation.”

  The sunset had given way to the quick darkness of the tropics, and the sayla stood up from the circle of elders and looked to the east, where he pointed to a star.

  “The sign of the prophecy is even brighter tonight. By tomorrow morning the monsters will be gone if we are brave tonight. It is so said in the sacred chants and therefore is true.”

  He sat back down in the sand and spoke directly to the elders, no longer in a mystical chant to be interpreted by the arkar. In the calm voice of a grandfather, the sayla, two generations older than the elders surrounding him, laid out his plan for how the Cuna would defeat the latest monsters to visit them. The elders were afraid when he told them the plan, but they trusted him and went on their way afterward to carry out their tasks. There was no hesitation because there was no alternative. Tiolele, the great god, had sent a sign.

  The prophecy was going to come true.

  29

  “Painted Savages from the Ground”

  At midnight the naval vessels departed the harbor as quietly as possible—no one knew if the pirates had spies at Colón—and proceeded out of the bay and east along the coast.

  Wake had gone below to tell Terrington of the plan but the man was passed out, so he decided to tell him later in the morning. A guilty feeling touched him as he felt relief at not having to deal with his captain. That feeling turned to dread as he realized the situation was rapidly getting to the point where they might be in battle and Terrington would be in a position to get men killed through his altered state of mind. Wake knew that something would have to be done soon about Terrington, and that he was the only one who could do it.

  Custen and Connery were discussing the state of the boilers with Winter, the engineering officer, when Wake came up on deck in the darkness. The boilers were giving the mechanics some problems, and Winter advised Wake that within a month or so the tubes would have to be cleaned and patched or replaced.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but that is the state of things. They’ve got to be maintained or they’ll get much worse. We’ve been steaming hard lately.”

  “Yes, I understand,” Wake acknowledged. “We’ll do that when this is all over.”

  He thought wistfully of the simple days of sail. Then he remembered Terrington’s admonition to use the engines as little as possible, in keeping with the attitude of Admiral Porter that sails should be the primary motive power. I understood sail better than steam, Wake thought, but the legendary and all-powerful David Dixon Porter is absolutely stupid for still insisting on naval vessels using canvas for long transits. Steam is more efficient, especially for ships of war.

  Wake realized that he had used more coal fuel already in this voyage than the ship was allocated for six months, and would have to justify it. It made him feel very tired just contemplating his professional troubles ahead, not even considering the enemy they were after.

  He took a telescope from the rack and surveyed the coast, then the horizon to the east along their course. A star, he thought it Albireo, shone particularly bright in the inky darkness, right along the forestay. Focusing the lens he saw it was really a pair of stars, one fiery gold and the other icy blue. Dead ahead and about twenty degrees above the horizon, in the clear air it looked as if Albireo was drawing them forward with some sort of ominous cosmic energy. It was a beautiful sight, but for some reason made Wake feel uneasy. He kept staring at it, wondering why.

  ***

  Cadena peered ahead in the darkness. The small island was undisturbed. They would be among them soon and this time there was nowhere for the women to run and hide. His admonitions to stay silent as they slid through the bay in the light of a half moon were unneeded—his men were eager. As they sailed east under jibs only—the creaking gaffs and booms of the main and fore sails were too noisy—Cadena saw a bright star in the sky that he hadn’t ever noticed before. Good for steering, he registered in his mind. Maybe I’ll use it to steer for Cartagena if we ever go back there.

  It took over an hour, but finally they reached the island and doused the jibs, coasting forward until the lowered anchor caught and spun them around to a stop. Slowly they climbed down into the launch and gig and rowed the few dozen yards to the coconut palm–fringed beach, watching the thatch huts for any sign of alarm. There was none.

  He could barely contain his rising excitement as he quietly walked up the beach while others pulled the boats further on the sand. “Spread out!” he whispered. “Kill the males and round up the females back here. I get the best.”

  ***

  The sayla had last been in a battle four generations before, when he was very young and strong. It was against the Choco people who had come into the Cuna lands on the mainland from the east. The Choco were known as vicious fighters, but the Cuna kept them away after several fights. The memory of the horror, and of his personal terror during the fighting, had always stayed with the sayla during the rest of his life. Now the younger people would know this horror. There was no other way.

  He watched as the monsters came closer in their big boat and he thought of the worms and the giant bird. His people were ready. The village was apparently asleep. The dugout log cayucas were gone from the island, as if the men were away fishing. Everything looked peaceful. An easy meal for the monsters.

  The females in the huts were only those who had asked to help—after they had been told of what was expected of them. His respect for those women was large before—now it was bigger than he had ever had for anyone. He, and they, knew that many would be hurt, and some might be killed. But still they had trusted in his chant of the prophecy. Still they had asked to help defeat the monsters.

  His hunters were there also. Only the most skilled were chosen, those who had faced and killed large animals. Each was wearing his clan’s color and design on his face and arms, special paintings worn for the most dangerous hunts, put on with colors from the plants among the islands and coastline. The designs made the men more terrifying and not human-looking, with their faces having huge painted teeth. The sayla remembered the effect their painted faces had on the Choco long ago. Yes, his hunters were ready.

  Some were buried in the sands under bushes, flat on their back with only their noses and eyes above the sand, ready to leap up, their bows and arrows or blow dart sticks buried by their sides. Some were under the water in the shallows, using cane sticks to breathe and similarly armed with bows and blow darts. Others in the water were waiting to go onto the big boat, with still others given the task of taking the monsters’ little boats away from the island so they could not escape.

  All the hunter men had understood and agreed to wait—no matter what they saw and heard—until the sayla called out to attack. It would take strong hearts for his men to endure the waiting . . . and the screaming. He wasn’t sure they could.

  The sayla crawled back into his hole under the bush. The monsters were here. The time of the prophecy had come. It was time for the worms to kill the giant bird again.

  ***

  The first shriek was quickly followed by a dozen more. The
village was small, only eight or ten huts, and it was all over in a minute. But to Cadena’s surprise there was no one to kill. The men were all away on their fishing boats. The pirates, already drunk with rum from the anchorage across the bay, howled with delight at their good luck.

  The women—there were no young girls—were dragged to the beach where Cadena stood. He examined each of them, then picked the youngest, who was probably a grandmother. He grabbed her hair and began dragging her to a hut, setting off a frenzy as the others seized other females and started toward huts. The women began wailing but did not fight. Soon, none of Cadena’s men was focused on anything other than the woman in front of him, lust and rage combining to deny him hearing and peripheral sight.

  ***

  The sayla waited. What he saw and heard made his soul hurt more than ever before. His eyes were crying, but he waited. He glanced around and through his tears saw no movement from his men, knowing what it was taking for them not to attack.

  But he knew that the monsters must be attacked at the correct time, when they could not reach their guns. The loud wails and shrieks of the women became muffled whining as the shouts of the monsters ended. The monsters were now away from their guns.

  It was time.

  ***

  Cadena had flung her down, ready to end the building rage he had felt about everything in his miserable life. The Indian was barely human, yes, but she was a female.

  From somewhere outside the huts he heard an animal sound, deep throated and gaining in volume as it continued. The sound was like an animal in pain, lashing out.

  “Ahhh . . . Reee!”

  Disoriented in the dark, Cadena struggled with his trousers, angry that one of his idiots was making him stop right now, of all times. He stumbled out of the hut, about to ask what the hell was going on when he stopped, stunned at the sight around him.

  Tiny men with grotesque faces were coming up out of the ground and shooting darts and arrows. Others were coming out of the water stabbing Cadena’s men with knives and shooting arrows into them. The little men were everywhere, taking aim and killing his men. Cadena stood there, for a moment unable to understand it, then felt the deer bone knife plunge into his back and go upward, twisting as it made its way inside him. He turned to see the woman from the hut smiling at him just before she ran away, taking the dripping knife with her.