Hells march, p.42
Hell's March, page 42
Now, like the rest, he was waiting to hear what news First Lieutenant Semmes brought, but Holland took his time, reading the dispatch twice, occasionally glancing at Don Hurac and Captain Roderigo as if wondering how much to tell them. He trusted them more than he’d ever expected to, at least to look out for their own interests and those of their people, but it was possible they’d spill something he said. They couldn’t have rounded up every Blood Priest in the city. Some had been hiding already, as spies.
“So,” Holland said at last, whacking his leg with the two pages of thick paper, still looking at Don Hurac. “We wondered if Agon got the message you added to the note proclaiming the ‘elevation’ of Don Julio an’ the power play by the Blood Priests when that flyin’ lizard landed here.” That had been rather nerve-racking. All the usual handlers had fled, and though Don Hurac told them they must fly the yellow pennant to attract the frightening beast, he had only the vaguest notion how to catch it, remove the message it already bore, add another, and send it on its way. A squad of Ixtla’s Ocelomeh infantry drew the memorable detail and managed it only by stuffing the thing with food. One trooper lost a finger to its ravening jaws. When the time came to release it, it could barely get off the ground. In any event, they’d never known for sure if Agon got either message, because the dragon didn’t return. Don Frutos or Father Tranquilo must’ve controlled it by then and simply sent it back to the capital.
Holland waved the pages. “We still don’t know if he got yours, but I reckon he got the one about Don Julio takin’ over instead o’ your friend Don Datu. Probably a little late, accordin’ to this, since he attacked Colonel Itzam at Nautla an’ got licked. The more I think about it, that musta been when he learned that Frutos an’ Tranquilo stole a chunk of his army back at Campeche an’ ran off. Why even attack Nautla if he already knew?”
“Does it say what Don Frutos and Father Tranquilo have done with those men?” asked Don Hurac.
“Yeah,” Holland acknowledged. “Set off in this direction, overland. No ships to come straight at us. We must’ve taken ’em all.”
That remained a source of contention because Don Hurac was insistent that the Dominion was mightier at sea than he, or even Capitan Razine, were aware. Holland didn’t think so. If the Dom navy was so big, where was it? Why did it allow them to harass shipping with impunity? Still, that was why he wanted their captures turned into warships. Just in case. “Anyway, Colonel Itzam figures Agon lit out after ’em because he never renewed his attack. After awhile, Itzam’s scouts figured he was gone, leavin’ only a token force to fool everybody. Which it did, for too long,” Holland grumbled. “Itzam’s comin’ down the Camino Militar now, but Agon’s got a fair lead.”
“I’d so hoped we could enlist General Agon’s aid against the Blood Priests,” Don Hurac said miserably. “They’re his chief enemies now as well. What about your Colonel Cayce?” he suddenly asked in an urgent tone.
“He’s . . . comin’ too,” Holland hedged. “He hopes to catch Agon near a place called Gran Lago. Still close to five hundred miles from here. Not much chance he’ll catch Frutos an’ Tranquilo, though, so we’ll have to deal with ’em ourselves, an’ whatever they scrape up on the way.”
Don Hurac was nodding grimly. “Our two best commanders, leading our strongest available forces, will destroy each other when they should be working together.”
“Stow that shit, Hurac,” Holland growled. “I told you before: I can see ’em both fightin’ the same enemy, but not exactly workin’ together! The enemy o’ my enemy ain’t always my friend.” He paused thoughtfully. “Still. Too bad we couldn’t get ’em talkin’ again.”
“Ain’t we workin’ together, with the people here in Vera Cruz?” Sal asked.
“That’s different,” Holland insisted.
“How?”
Holland waved outside, past the arched entrance at the plaza beyond. The horses had been moved, and the grass was returning to life. “Because those’re just people out there, who never came against us. They don’t care if we believe the same way they do, an’ don’t deserve ta die just because we came. That’s how!”
“But . . .” Don Hurac sputtered, “can’t you at least tell Colonel Cayce the possibility for—call it a ‘cooperative campaign’—exists? Isn’t he with Colonel Itzam? He was just at Nautla and will soon be at Campeche. Can’t you communicate with him?”
“It’s . . . not that simple,” Holland said, unwilling even to imply that Cayce had another entire column, much less where it was coming from. “Colonel Cayce moves fast when he’s a mind to, and I expect he’s already past Campeche. With this wind, it’ll take even Tiger at least a week to beat down the coast. Where will he be by then? We could try to catch him somewhere else,” he qualified, “but I’m afraid, no matter what we do, there’ll be a fight before we can get a message to him.”
“I see,” said Don Hurac, rising with a groan. Zyan quickly helped him stand. He wasn’t an old man, but a life of ease and recent stress had left him weak. “Well, as you say, we must see to our own defenses. Come, Don Roderigo, I’ll join you in inspecting your newest recruits.”
“They will be inspired, Your Holiness,” Capitan Roderigo replied. There was obviously more in the dispatch that Holland wanted to discuss with his own people, and like Don Hurac, Roderigo was no fool. He and his lieutenants escorted Don Hurac and Zyan out the front entrance.
“What else does it say?” Hayne immediately asked.
Holland grunted. “Some o’ this is pretty old news. The latest is that Itzam’s Third Division has already reached Campeche. The rearguard prisoners he took—yep, they surrendered, an’ willingly told him Frutos an’ Tranquilo left with two or three thousand men. Agon’s tryin’ to catch ’em, but he won’t.”
Sal furrowed his brow. “If they volunteered that information, it means Agon does know Don Hurac hopes he and Colonel Cayce can cooperate.”
“Could be,” Holland agreed. “Doesn’t mean they should, though.” He sighed. “We been around these people a while, an’ they are just people. Maybe we think they’re kinda silly for puttin’ up with their crazy system, an’ Don Hurac’s bent over backward ta help ease ’em into some different thinkin’. Still squirrelly, but he ain’t sacrificin’ folks on a whim. By all accounts, he never did.” He frowned. “Only when he ‘had’ to.” He shook his head. “But the Doms in general, meanin’ the ones in power, buildin’ armies, the sort Agon hopes to restore, ain’t enough different from the Blood Priests to matter. It ain’t just the Blood Priests that’ll come here an’ wipe out everybody that ever seen us. It’s the Dom way! You think Don Hurac himself could ever be accepted back by what he’s tryin’ to save? Even if he succeeds, he’d have to lead his own revolution to change the Doms enough to let his people live.
“Shit!” he snapped in frustration. “I’ve been all over the world—the ‘old’ world—an’ seen some really weird cults an’ cultures. Some maybe weirder than this,” he confessed, “but I never got caught in the middle of ’em!” He looked back at Sal. “So Colonel Itzam’s keepin’ the possibility o’ cooperatin’ in mind, even while he chases Agon as fast as his supplies can keep up. That’s the most recent thing we know. Trouble is, we got no way to tell Colonel Cayce an’ let him decide what to do. Before his last report started out on horseback to Cayal, then by semaphore from there to Uxmal, an’ finally here by ship, we only knew First and Second Divisions met up at Cayal an’ licked the Holcanos. Now they’ve moved down the Usuma River, by land an’ raft. Made good time, an’ destroyed a ‘detachment’ o’ Blood Priests an’ Dom soldiers split off from Tranquilo an’ Frutos. They was runnin’ wild up an’ down the river, murderin’ everybody they came across! That’s what’s in Colonel Cayce’s mind while he chases General Agon, an’ if I know him, he’s got blood in his eye.”
He was silent while they considered that, then finally spoke again. “So far, we’ve had two little ‘armies’ come against us here, to ‘eradicate the heretics an’ punish the people who “allowed” us to land on their sacred soil.’ First, there was those three hundred men that marched down from Techolotla”—he nodded at Hayne—“that the dragoons chased off with a couple o’ cannon and their rapid-fire Halls.” Even aside from the huge 36pdrs in the fort, they’d found quite a few cannon in the city, a total of twenty-two, either waiting to go forward to join General Agon or more likely hidden by the alcalde to “find” and sell back to the army. They were all 8pdrs, on vastly inferior “local” carriages, but carriages hardly mattered in a defensive position when they didn’t have to move the heavy things around. “Didn’t even have to send anyone to help you,” Holland went on with a smile at Hayne. They’d been lucky with that, the Doms arriving boldly in the middle of the day amid a thunder of drums and a dirgelike melody played on their horns. With no experience fighting the American-led alliance from the Yucatán, or anyone, for that matter, they’d expected their mere appearance to dissolve all opposition. It hadn’t, and they’d been ravaged by fire before they even deployed from their column. The survivors were allowed to straggle away.
“The second bunch was a little tougher,” he conceded. Nearly a thousand men had come from the west, from Actopan, likely with the same expectation that no one would resist them. Wrong again. Still, this force deployed more professionally, under fire, and it took all of Ixtla’s infantry, the Rangers and half the dragoons, as well as the three-hundred-odd milicia Don Roderigo thought competent by then to see them off. That was an eye-opener for everyone in the city, who finally realized not only that the rest of their country wanted them dead, but that it could still send troops who’d fight. Most important, they’d begun to accept that the lethal strangers they still feared but desperately needed couldn’t defend them alone. Trepidation increased dramatically, but so had recruitment, and the ranks of Don Roderigo’s milicia expanded to over three thousand almost overnight.
They needed more, and could still arm more, since a surprising number of the alcalde’s “hidden armories” had been found. They needed crews for all the field guns as well, but could only train so many troops at a time while maintaining a labor force sufficient to build defenses around the city. They did what they could. Like the army had done elsewhere, it formed all the civilians into labor battalions who’d receive basic military training even as they worked.
“So, what’s next?” Holland asked, shoving the dispatch into his coat pocket and belatedly offering Semmes a seat. Everyone took that as an excuse to find chairs and the alcalde’s old servants used the opportunity to sweep in and provide more refreshments. “I may be ‘in charge’ of . . . whatever we’ve wound up doing here, but I’m just a sailor. I ain’t no general!”
Captain Ixtla allowed a pretty young girl in a belted white tunic to pour him a cup of juice. “Well, the defenses we’re building remain problematic. As you know, Vera Cruz isn’t only a large city—much bigger that Uxmal!—it’s a crossroads. The enemy can approach from four different directions, not counting the sea. And despite the impressive nearby mountains, the plain around it is broad enough that they can deploy and attack from just about anywhere. The roads in the city are good and the avenues wide, so troops—if not guns—can quickly move from place to place, but the overall perimeter is too big.”
Sal was nodding. “Yeah, even with most of the Dominion’s first-line troops a long way off with their ‘Cruzada’ against the ‘Empire of the New Britain Isles’—whoever that is—we have to count on Tranquilo and Don Frutos, with three thousand men already, probably gatherin’ that many more as they pass through some other good-size cities on their way here.” At least they had access to excellent, up-to-date maps of the Dominion now, though they’d found nothing showing the rest of the world beyond its borders. Not even on the ships they’d captured, which had apparently only been used for coastal trade or protection within the bounds of the Caribbean. They didn’t need charts of other places. And perhaps no one wanted people to know the Dominion wasn’t the center of everything, and how vast the world beyond it was.
Sal continued, “As much as we need to keep up recruitment an’ trainin’, we need a smaller perimeter to defend.”
“Yeah, I know,” Holland agreed tiredly. They’d discussed this before. “An’ I still don’t know what to do about it.” It turned out the most influential, indeed generally helpful “Vera Cruz Patriots” lived in impressive homes and villas on the outskirts of town. Those buildings not only made good fighting positions themselves, they obstructed fields of fire. They really needed to be demolished. “I’ve talked to a bunch of ’em, an’ so’s Don Hurac. They’re all, ‘Oh, of course! Those buildings must be demolished! Just don’t tear mine down!’ ”
“Might change their minds if we stand a bloody impalin’ pole outside their front doors!” Hayne grumbled.
Holland looked at him with widening eyes. “Damn. It just might at that! Who wants the detail?”
“My dragoons, by God.” Hayne grinned, rubbing his hands together. “Who else? It was my idea!”
Sal laughed, but then sobered. “Well, the way I see it, we have some time. On top of that, we should know if Colonel Cayce met General Agon in battle before Don Frutos an’ that damned Tranquilo get here. If Colonel Cayce wins, we might get some help. Send ships for some of his men, or Colonel Itzam’s.” He paused and glanced around, making sure none of the servants could hear. “Somethin’ we need to think about, though. If we hear General Agon whipped Colonel Cayce, Colonel Itzam”—he pursed his lips under his big mustache—“an’ Cap’n Anson, o’ course, is there any point in us stayin’ here? The Doms’ll retake this place whether we’re here or not. Seems that would be the time to get the hell out.”
“Just leave these people?” Holland asked softly.
Semmes shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
Sal simply nodded. “Sure. Go defend ours. I know you feel kinda responsible for the way things turned out, but if nobody ever told you what would happen after we left—like we planned—they’d all be dead anyway. And that’s their fault, not yours, that they didn’t rise up against the maníacos who rule them a long time ago.”
“I have to agree with Lieutenant Hernandez,” said Captain Ixtla. “If we can still get out by then,” he emphasized.
“There’s that,” Sal agreed, then looked back at Holland. “You’re right, you’re in charge, an’ I know holdin’ Vera Cruz’ll help if our army ever gets here. But if it can’t . . . this ain’t the pass at Thermopylae or the Alamo, an’ us dyin’ here won’t do our people an’ our cause any good at all.”
Holland sighed, then snorted. “An’ I damn sure ain’t Leonidas or William Travis. I guess we’ll just have to wait an’ see what happens somewhere else before we make up our minds. But that means the final decision for us to stay or go is up to Colonel Cayce, in a sense, an’ I can’t say I don’t prefer it that way.” His expression hardened. “But in the meantime, we need eyes of our own down around Gran Lago.” He looked speculatively at Sal. “So we’ll send some, as soon as a couple of our prize ships get back. The rest of us’ll do our best to get ready for . . . whatever we have to do.”
CHAPTER 22
ARMY OF GOD’S VENGEANCE
Not quite seventeen years old, Sonez Rinco was a mere soldado de Dios, the second-lowest rank in the army, just above recluta, or “recruit.” And the only advantage he had over the very newest recruits was that he’d arrived at Campeche and embarked on General Agon’s campaign up the Camino Militar against Nautla in a real uniform of yellow and black with durable leather boots instead of the coarse white linen shirt, trousers, straw hat, and sandals that fresh conscripts received. He’d also been issued a proper musket, bayonet, and all the accompanying accoutrements instead of a simple pike. Pikes were primarily for training, so the new men would get used to carrying weapons, particularly when engaging in close order drill and learning the new bayonet techniques General Agon insisted everyone acquire. It hadn’t been intended that anyone actually march to war with them. A few didn’t have any choice. Though everyone’s training had been complete before they set out to the north, there still hadn’t been enough weapons and uniforms to properly equip the whole army. Most said it was because the all-important Gran Cruzada had soaked such things up, but even as young and inexperienced as Sonez Rinco knew he was, all the young freemen where he was raised in Oaxaca understood what really happened. Of all the military equipment sent to alcaldes of cities where recruits were mustered, barely half ever got to the troops.
