Intervention by Margaret P.
(With thanks to my beta, Terri Derr)
Chapter Ten (Words: 4,720)
The next morning the company received its orders, and by noon it was preparing to leave with four supply wagons and a few extra horses and mules. The Third was to travel south west away from the main fighting, along back roads hugging the foothills of the range between Durango and Sinaloa. They were to dispose of any enemy that happened to cross their path, but their main purpose was to gather information and to supply ammunition to any friendly militia.
"We head for a pass through those hills. It is the main transport route from the Pacific coast." Tomás stood with his hands resting behind his back as he addressed the lines of infantrymen before him. Johnny knew the city of Durango had fallen to imperial forces in July, and the situation in the port of Mazatlán was dicey, because rebel factions were squabbling. The talk was that the port would fall to the French soon, and when it did, the pass could become too dangerous for them to cross. "Emperor Maximilian has appointed a commander of military affairs for Sinaloa, but rebel militia and republican forces prevent him from reaching the capital of Culiacán. Once we are through the pass, we are ordered to resupply and reinforce those troops."
The company was divided up for this journey. Lieutenant Garcia's troop would be the rear guard to prevent any attack from behind. Tomás and Lieutenant Vasquez's troop would accompany the wagons, and Lieutenant Herrera's troop would be the forward guard, travelling a day or two ahead of the transport.
Johnny listened to Tomás without enthusiasm and cursed the need to march again so soon, but he started to smile when he learned the details of this new duty.
"During the day we divide into four sections so we can move quickly and cover a larger area. We will change out of our uniforms so we can go into villages without causing alarm. Our job is to make contact with friendly militia and to ensure the way is clear." Lieutenant Herrera paced up and down the lines of his troop as he talked. "I will lead one band of men with Cabo Fernandez to assist me. Sargento Moya, Sargento Lopez and Cabo Estrada will lead the others. We reunite each night. Sargentos, divide up your men."
Much to Johnny's surprise, he was placed with Corporal Estrada along with Manuel and Cervantes. It appeared Sergeant Lopez had decided Johnny Madrid and the other younger convicts had learned their lesson well enough to be left in the care of his junior. He kept the older ones with him.
"Perez, Rodriguez and Leon did not flinch as Gonzalez died. Men so hardened to death cannot be trusted." Diaz handed Johnny some peasant clothing from a large canvas bag. "Sargento Lopez is a fair reader of men, even if he is a bastard."
It irked Johnny to think he was among those Lopez could read so easily, but he wasn't complaining about the outcome.
The four sections cast a wide net, moving forward at a steady pace. Lieutenant Herrera's men stayed on the same route as the transport, travelling with a horse needed for dispatches and two mules carrying their knapsacks and bedrolls under canvas. Sergeant Lopez's section took the hill side of the trail, and Sergeant Moya covered the rolling land closest to it on the opposite side. Estrada took his men further out into farmland where they would be most at risk of encountering the enemy.
This was no slow march behind wagons. With only their weapons to weigh them down, they moved quickly, trying to stay out of sight, checking for any sign of enemy soldiers, and meddling with milestones and markers. Johnny learned to make more use of his bayonet than his bullets, and he learned that this kind of warfare was rather like a range war—a ruthless one.
"No prisoners," Estrada stated without emotion on their third day as Johnny, Manuel and Cervantes watched him search the saddle bags of a dispatch rider whose throat he'd just cut. Diaz, Soto and Garza were digging a shallow grave to bury the evidence while Sanchez and Rivera guarded the road.
"But we could have tied him up and left him," Cervantes protested, looking at Manuel and Johnny for support.
"So he could alert his friends when he gets free or they find him? The Imperialists aren't stupid, Cervantes. They might not catch us, but they'd soon find the transport." Estrada hauled the saddle off the horse's back and shoved it into Manuel's chest. "Hide this."
"I thought there were rules about prisoners of war," Cervantes persisted. He was a clerk. He read things.
"There are. That's why we don't take any." Estrada slapped the reins of the horse into Cervantes's hand. "Stop your bleating and tie this horse to a tree out of sight of the road. We'll tell the next militiaman we meet where to find it. Madrid, get the bastard's feet." Estrada bent down and lifted the dead man's shoulders as Johnny grabbed his legs. "There are only two rules worth remembering on this duty, muchachos: obey orders and do it to them before they do it to us."
Johnny didn't much like the new rules either, but shoot, even Manuel understood why they were necessary. Cervantes didn't live in the real world. As the days passed though, Johnny noticed something interesting; Estrada never asked him, Manuel, Cervantes, Garza or Sanchez to do more than defend themselves and help clean up. Only the older, more experienced soldiers made sure that there were no prisoners to take.
Corporal Estrada led his men to farmhouses and villages, making discrete enquiries and arranging meetings between militiamen and Tomás. Every evening they camped with the others somewhere near the road, and Herrera sent a report back to the transport. After a week, almost every day saw information being exchanged for ammunition. Mexico was largely under the official control of the Imperialists, but the majority of local people favoured liberty.
About two weeks into this new routine, as they neared the pass, Johnny and his companions entered a small village. It was on one side of a crossroads about two miles south east of the wagon train. Estrada ordered Rivera, Soto, Cervantes, Manuel, Garza and Sanchez to spread out around the half-dozen buildings while he, Johnny and Diaz went into the cantina.
The three men bought beer and took a seat at a table that gave easy access to the door. There was only one other customer and he appeared to be asleep.
"I like this job," Johnny murmured, savouring the cool ale.
"Just remember it is a job, amigo." Estrada leaned back on the bench seat, and pulled out the pack of cards needed to play Cunquián. Militiamen friendly to the republic would recognize strangers playing this game as possible allies. If no one joined them after three rounds, the soldiers would move on.
They were starting the second round when the sleeping man awoke and left without making any attempt to talk to them.
They were in the middle of the second round when a door opened at the top of the staircase.
"Au revoir, ma chérie." A French officer emerged, straightening his jacket. He banged on the door further along the balcony. "Caporal Dupont, venez. Les autres seront bientôt là."
"Mierda!" Diaz reached under his poncho for the Bowie knife belted to his waist.
"Keep playing, muchachos." Estrada melded the card on the table and discarded one from his hand. "He is a cavalry officer. Their horses must be out back. When they go to collect them we shall follow."
"Did you understand what he said?" whispered Johnny, wishing he had his Colt or Deringer or even his knife instead of just a rifle. The Minié, resting against the bench below the height of the table, was loaded, but in such close confines, it would be little use to him. Johnny could see the revolver on the officer's belt. If the Frenchman cottoned on, he could kill all three of them before they had a chance to aim.
"He ordered his corporal to come immediately and said others would arrive soon." Corporal Estrada smiled. "Pick up the card or pass, Madrid. You do not want to leave a hand unfinished if you are about to die."
A tousle-haired Corporal Dupont appeared above, hurriedly doing up his fly. He stood to attention and saluted. "Prêt, Lieutenant Moreau."
The two Imperialists descended the stairs and paused at the bottom to survey the room. The lieutenant looked straight at the table where the Juaristas were playing cards.
Johnny forced himself not to make eye contact. "Paso."
Lieutenant Moreau tossed a coin on the bar. "Gracias, señor. We will be back."
The tabernero bit the coin and nodded. As Moreau turned, Johnny saw the tabernero glance in their direction, but he said nothing. Was he on their side? If so, why hadn't he warned them? Perhaps he hadn't recognized them for what they were in time. Maybe even now, he wasn't sure.
As Estrada predicted, the Frenchmen headed for the rear entrance. Sweeping up the cards, he put them back in his pocket and stood up. "Time for us to leave too, amigos."
Picking up their rifles, they followed the enemy. As they passed the bar, Estrada held a finger to his lips and then slashed his thumb across his throat—be quiet or be dead. The tabernero stumbled back against the wall; he'd got the message all right.
Through the beads at the end of a short hallway, they saw Lieutenant Moreau lighting a cigarillo a few yards ahead of them. Dupont was on his way to fetch the horses from a tumbled-down stable on the far side of the yard. Estrada waved Johnny and Diaz into position either side of the hall. They crouched and aimed their rifles. As soon as Dupont disappeared into the stable, Estrada slipped into the yard. The stranded beads knocked together as he exited.
Moreau turned, but not fast enough.
Estrada grabbed him in a stranglehold and pressed a knife to his throat. "Bonjour, Lieutenant. Welcome to Mexico."
Diaz ran forward, and Johnny followed.
"Madrid—his weapons." Corporal Estrada adjusted his grip on the struggling Frenchman. Then he nodded at Diaz, and the private kept on going to the stable as Johnny threw the lieutenant's sword aside, lifted his revolver from its holster and searched for any other firearms or blades.
Moreau's gun was a LeMat like the one Holy Moses had owned back in Santa Fe. Johnny checked the loading and spun it on the trigger guard, enjoying the feel of a handgun after so long without one. He threw a questioning look at Estrada.
"Sí, keep it."
Johnny grinned and stuck the gun into the front of his belt.
"Go with Diaz. Only shoot if you have to."
Johnny swung wide so he couldn't be seen from inside the stable and crossed the yard to where Diaz was waiting. He came up on the opposite side of the doorway. Diaz held up his hand, and Johnny watched for the signal.
Corporal Dupont was bending over scraping a stone out of a horse's hoof when they entered. Diaz stabbed him from behind with his bayonet, twisting the blade and pulling it out to stab down again and then a third time upward into the nape of the Frenchman's neck. Dupont's agony was bloody but short-lived.
Johnny guarded the doorway while Diaz scavenged ammunition and checked Dupont's pockets for anything of value. All he found were a few reales. He gave Johnny a third share and pocketed the rest. Then he snatched up Dupont's rifle, and they returned to where Estrada was disposing of the lieutenant's body in a hayrick.
"Here." Estrada shoved an ammunition belt into Johnny's chest. "We haven't much time. A whole cavalry troop is coming."
Johnny was still buckling the belt when gunfire began out on the street.
"Maldita sea! Back inside, muchachos." Estrada led the way, barring the door behind them.
When they ran into the main room, it was deserted.
"Secure upstairs, Madrid, and then guard the window at the front." Estrada threw his back against the wall next to one of the windows downstairs, and Diaz did the same against the other. Both were shooting through the partially-open wooden shutters before Johnny reached the balcony.
He entered the first bedroom carefully with revolver high, but there was no one inside. The barkeeper and whores were in the second room, huddled together in a corner behind the bed. The trembling tabernero pointed a shotgun, and Johnny ducked back onto the balcony.
"Please, amigo, we are for Juárez." The tabernero placed the gun on the bed and held his hands in the air as Johnny peeked in and then re-entered. He would have to trust that the tabernero was telling the truth.
"Stay here. Guard the window and shoot at any enemy you see."
"I am not a good shot, amigo."
"Don't matter. Just shoot." Johnny waited for the tabernero to nod before pulling the door shut. If it opened again, he would know the old man had changed sides, but otherwise a shot fired would warn him of men approaching from the rear.
Johnny went to the window overlooking the street front.
Below him was mayhem. Horses were snorting and twisting, kicking up dust, and the cavalrymen were firing rifles and handguns. Most were still on their horses, but some had taken cover. Two lay dead on the ground. The men from his squad were spread out along the street; he couldn't see them all, but he could tell roughly where bullets were coming from.
Suddenly, diagonally opposite, Cervantes stood up by a trough in clear view, fumbling to reload his rifle.
"Get down, idiota!" Rivera shouted from somewhere Johnny couldn't see, but it was too late. A Frenchman sliced down with his sabre, cutting Cervantes across the back.
Then Manuel jumped out from a recess and fired, blasting the man from his saddle.
"Battre en retraite!" An officer raised his sword and led his remaining men past Manuel and beyond Johnny's sight. They would regroup out of range and come again; Johnny was sure of it. The Imperialists had been caught by surprise. The next time they rode into the village, they would be prepared, and from what he had seen, they outnumbered the Republicans by at least three to one.
There wasn't much time. He could see Manuel struggling to lift the wounded Cervantes. Why was no one helping him? Johnny dashed down the stairs and out the back door sidling around to the front of the building, his back to the adobe walls, his eyes searching and the LeMat in his hand.
When he reached the street corner he whistled to get Manuel's attention. "Over here!"
Edging further out, he saw Rivera and Soto trying to stay undercover as they moved towards the front door of the cantina. Where were Garza and Sanchez?
Suddenly, a rifle fired from the east, and he ducked back into the alley. The bullet had come from carts overturned in the street about fifty yards down.
How? Johnny looked desperately about him as Manuel crouched behind a rainwater barrel, supporting Cervantes. They wouldn't have a chance out in the open if the cavalry charged again.
Another rifle fired; this time from further along the barricade. Peering around the corner, Johnny saw Rivera get to his feet and make a second attempt to cross open ground. This time he made it to the safety of a door way. No shot was fired. Johnny squinted at the barrier, and then turned his eyes to a horse standing over its owner. It was the only way, and if he was wrong, he would be dead.
Taking a deep breath, he made a dash for it, shooting once on the cross. He got a foot into the stirrup as a bullet bit the dust. The horse panicked forward, and Johnny steered it into an alley on the other side of the street.
"Help me get Cervantes into the saddle." He pulled and Manuel pushed the wounded man until he hung over the saddle, groaning, blood flowing from the great gash across his back. "There are only two at the barricade, and no handguns. We need to get to the cantina. You lead the horse. Give me the rifles."
Johnny loaded all three rifles. He had to empty Cervantes's one first; the fool must have forgotten to use a percussion cap, misfired and double-loaded. "Ready?"
"Sí."
"When I say 'go', you go."
Manuel nodded.
Johnny leaned out twice in quick succession from the corner of the alley, first firing Manuel's rifle towards the left of the barricade and then Cervantes's towards the right. There was a response, but only from one rifle. That's what he'd been afraid of. Johnny thrust the empty rifles at Manuel, and this time stepped out in full view of the enemy to fire his own. He dodged back fast. The second Frenchman's bullet sent a large chunk of plaster spinning out from the corner of the wall three inches from his head.
"Go!"
Counting the seconds, Johnny fire the LeMat towards the carts as he sidestepped, keeping pace with the horse. He left it as long as he dared and sent another bullet towards the first Frenchman. Then another and another towards the second, and gracias a Dios, they made the cross before the imperial soldiers had time to reload their Minié. The first man fired just as they reached safety. Bullets replied from the front of the cantina. Now there was no chance of shooting the wrong person, their friends joined in the fight, and almost certainly, the enemy would stay behind cover.
Johnny and Manuel dragged the frightened horse around to the rear of the cantina and unloaded Cervantes. Rivera was waiting for them. He and Soto must have made it inside as Johnny and Manuel crossed the street with Cervantes. He threw the bolt and barred the door behind them while they carried Cervantes and lowered him face down by the fireplace.
Blood flowed from the two foot slash across his back. Johnny pulled Cervantes's poncho over his head, rolled it up and pressed it hard against the cut. "Go upstairs, Manuel. Ask the señoritas in the second bedroom to come down." They would need to make themselves useful.
When the women took over, he and Manuel went to Estrada. Diaz now manned the upstairs front window, Soto had gone to fight alongside the tabernero, and Rivera was guarding the rear entrance.
"Ruiz, help Rivera. Madrid, you stay here."
"Where are Garza and Sanchez?" Johnny hadn't seen their bodies, but they would soon be dead if they were outside. Maybe they had taken cover in one of the other buildings, but he hadn't noticed anyone shooting from them.
"Garza is dead. Somewhere behind the well where we can't see him, Rivera says." Estrada pointed with the barrel of his rifle. "Sanchez was wounded, but with luck he got away. When Rivera saw how many there were he grabbed a horse and sent him for help."
Diaz shouted from above, "Soldados!"
The French came from all sides. Men approached on foot over the adobe walls at the back while riders and men on foot attacked from both ends of the street. Johnny and the other Republicans kept them at bay as best they could, but it would only be a matter of time.
"Mierda!" Estrada fell back against the wall as a bullet grazed him. He tore his bandana from his neck and wrapped it roughly around his upper arm, pulling it tight with his teeth.
Then suddenly something heavy collided with the door. The Imperialists had somehow got under the windows and were trying to break it down. Johnny sent a rifle bullet into their midst, but a barrage of lead forced him to yank the shutter to. He dived as shots at short range blasted the timber, sending splinters flying.
"Where's Lopez when you need him?" It was a joke, but seconds later as Johnny lay on his back to reload, he heard gunfire from further out, and the enemy stopped battering the door.
"It's Sargento Moya…I think there are militia as well," Diaz shouted excitedly from above. "Viva la Républica!"
Republican soldiers and militia appeared in every direction, shooting as they ran. The Frenchmen and their horses were trapped between buildings barred against entry. Someone shouted and the imperial soldiers formed four lines, one behind the other across the width of the street. Two lines faced west as the troop moved rapidly east, shooting with well-trained precision.
"There are more horses down there." Diaz fired and fell back to reload as his bullet found its mark. "They're trying to reach tethered horses."
The Republicans took cover and fired their bullets from the safety of barrels and carts. A few of the enemy had handguns, but most on both sides only carried Minié and had to reload after every shot.
"What the hell?" Diaz shouted in time for Johnny to see Duran walk straight out in front of the French line. He was mown down before he got off a shot. Johnny wasn't even sure he had attempted to shoot.
The other Republicans responded the only way they could. The fighting got faster and more frenzied until most of the French troops were dead on the ground.
But a handful reached the horses tied to rails just behind what was left of the cart barricade. They threw themselves into the saddle and took flight.
"Stop them!" Estrada darted out of the door with Johnny close behind. "Kill them!"
Estrada and Johnny fired their rifles together. One fleeing soldier jerked in the saddle and fell sideways, another was brought down by someone else, but two Frenchmen urged their horses to a gallop and barged their way through, knocking over a militia man as they passed.
"Maldita sea, they'll bring others," Estrada cursed. "We need to warn the transport."
Johnny caught the words, but he had a different idea. As soon as he fired his rifle, he dropped it to the ground and ran. Grabbing the nearest horse, he swung himself up and dug in his heels.
"Madrid, stop!"
Shit! Johnny heard the corporal shout, but it was a full second before he realized what he must look like. Urging the horse to a gallop, he rode as low as he could, praying Estrada would understand. He was gaining on the enemy soldiers. Once clear of the village they slowed, but glancing back they saw him chasing and spurred their horses again.
One cavalryman twisted in his saddle and fired his handgun. He missed Johnny by a mile, and the horse slowed. He was an idiot. It would have been a miracle to hit anyone at that distance with anything except a rifle.
Estrada had a rifle.
Johnny didn't dare look back. He was still in range of a Minié in the hands of the best marksman in the company. Focusing on what was ahead he kept galloping and bided his time. The horse responded to his touch. They were getting closer. Nearly there, girl. Nearly there. Now!
Johnny clicked the hammer back on the Le Matt, aimed and fired. The Frenchman that had shot at him toppled from his saddle. His foot caught in the stirrup, and he was dragged into the field bordering the road, maybe a thousand yards from the village.
The other cavalryman rode on. He and Johnny exchanged bullets. This time Johnny felt the shot pass. This second soldier knew what he was doing; he rode low, hugging his horse's neck, and firing back without breaking stride. A bullet sent Johnny's hat flying. There were trees ahead. If the Frenchman got to them he could take cover. There was no other choice. Johnny aimed the LeMat and sent a bullet into the biggest target. The enemy's horse stumbled forward, screaming, its legs buckling beneath it. Johnny fired again and again before the Frenchman could do anything to save himself as the horse came down sideways on top of him. Any life left was crushed by eight hundred pounds of horse flesh.
All the same, without dismounting, Johnny put another bullet into both man and beast to make sure they were dead.
Ahead of him was the grove; a chance at freedom for more than just the imperial soldier now lying in the dirt. Johnny looked back along the road. A single rider was leaving the village. Johnny knew who it would be. He would have to go now if he was going.
Damn it! With a sigh, he raised his arm to the on-coming rider, signalling everything was okay. Then he got down from his horse. He hadn't thought of deserting when he began the chase, and he wouldn't change his mind now.
Tying a rope to the horn of his saddle, he dragged the dead animal off the French cavalryman. Then he tried to heave the man's body over the back of his horse.
Estrada only rode up as Johnny made his second attempt. The corporal had taken stopped on the way to collect the body in the field.
"All right, cabo?" Johnny panted under the cavalryman's dead weight.
"Sí, Madrid." Estrada dismounted and watched him struggle. He lit a cigarillo and gazed around. "I ordered you to stop."
"I'd have lost them." Johnny let the body slide back. It was just too heavy for him to lift on his own. He lowered the Frenchman to the ground.
"You need to learn to follow orders. Someone might get the wrong idea."
Johnny ducked his head. "Thanks for not shooting me."
"You're welcome." Estrada exhaled smoke and looked Johnny straight in the eye. "I did think about it."
"I'm glad that's all you did."
"I'm glad you did not try to desert." Estrada walked over. He hauled the dead man up and together they finished the job.
"I thought about it, but I decided one good turn deserved another." Johnny winked.
Estrada snorted. "You're a cocky bastard."
"Well, I also figured if I did get away, you'd tell the militia to be on the lookout. The odds weren't good." That wasn't the whole story—or even the most important part —but it would do.
"I'm glad I've taught you something, muchacho." Estrada cuffed Johnny around the ear. "Maybe you've a chance of staying alive until Navidad." He remounted. "Come; the militia can deal with the Frenchman's horse. Our amigos are waiting for us."
The first of their amigos, Diaz, slapped Johnny on the back as soon as they got back to the village. "Bravo, Madrid. I hate to say it, but when you enlist for real you should join the cavalry."
Johnny laughed and tied his horse to a hitching post.
Leaving others to deal with the body, he went to find Manuel, his laughter fading fast as he looked around. French cavalrymen and dead horses littered the street. A shot rang out as someone put another poor beast out of its misery near the west end of the village. At one corner of the cantina Rivera and Moya's men were creating a row of republican dead: Duran, Garza, Ramos and Castillo as well as two militia men. Johnny breathed deep. Six compared to what must have been twenty-six and more could not be considered a defeat, and he wasn't close to any of the fallen men, but they were comrades-in-arms. He felt their loss.
The leader of the local militia stood looking down at the row of bodies. Hat in hand, Corporal Estrada approached him. "Gracias, amigo. Here is money. Take care of the dead, por favor. Hide all trace of the French if you can, and bury our men well."
The militiaman nodded. "We keep the horses?"
"Sí, they will be more use to you than to us. There are three more behind the cantina."
The men of the Third Company gathered their weapons. They borrowed a mule and cart to carry Cervantes and the other injured, and trudged or limped towards the hills.
Notes:
1. This story is the sequel to Hate. Like Hate, it has its roots in The Beginning and From Highlands to Homecoming. All of these stories are back stories for characters created by Samuel A. Peeples for the TV series Lancer.
3. Several Spanish swear words appear in this story. You will recognize them from their context, but for those who want to know their precise meaning, here is a list in no particular order: cállate (shut up); pendejo (coward/dickhead/idiot); lárgate/lárguense (fuck off); mierda (fuck/shit); cabrón/bastardo (bastard/asshole); maldita sea (damn).
5. For more information about the French Intervention in Mexico, 1861-1867, see wiki/French_intervention_in_Mexico and for a list of battles see wiki/List_of_battles_of_the_French_intervention_in_Mexico
6. For more information on the Minié rifle and the Minié ball see wiki/Mini%C3%A9_rifle and watch?v=spvI-95Goe0 and watch?v=dBjJS42VnyE
7. In this story the soldiers of the Republic of Mexico are referred to as 'Republicans' and 'Juaristas'. The term 'Juarista' means a follower of Benito Juárez, President of Mexico, during the period of resistance to the French occupation of Mexico.
8. For more information about the card game Cunquián (Conquian) see wiki/Conquian
9. For more information about the LeMat revolver see wiki/LeMat_Revolver and watch?v=P5M-QQIOc5k