Crossed Arrows 3 Read online

  “Naturally.”

  “And you no doubt have knowledge of the execution of Irish deserters at Chapultepec?”

  “I wasn’t there, of course, but I know about it.

  “The sons and grandsons of those men have been recruited into a small detachment,” Harrigan explained. “They have adopted the name of los Vengadores—the Avengers—and their mission is to raid across the border into the United States to stir things up.”

  “I know about the raiding activities,” Densmore assured him. “I was informed by Washington that a unit of the United States Army has been deployed to take care of the matter. That seems adequate enough to stave off any potential invasion.”

  “The Mexican generals’ goal is to draw a portion of American troops into the area,” Harrigan continued. “Their attacks are designed to force the Gringos—excuse me—to be spread thinly along the border. Then an all out attack will be made to destroy them.”

  “That would be impossible!” Densmore exclaimed. “Impossible!”

  “They have an ally,” Harrigan said.

  “Who in hell is going to back them up in such a fiasco?”

  “The German Empire.”

  Densmore was silent for a long moment. When he recovered, he uttered, “That’s incredulous!”

  “I was informed about all this at the German Embassy by Von Wurthardt and a German general. Colonel Juan-Carlos Valenzuela was also present.”

  “I don’t have any German generals within my circle of acquaintances, but I certainly know Von Wurthardt and Valenzuela.”

  “The facts behind this plot are a bit complicated,” Harrigan informed him.

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Did you know that a corps of the German Imperial Army is in Cuba waiting to come to Mexico to join in the fight?”

  “Good God! Is that godamn Kaiser out of his mind?”

  “Valenzuela and Von Wurthardt are dead serious about it,” Tim stated. “Their final plan is to take back those lost states, then make Mexico a colony of Germany. After that is accomplished the Germans will move down through Central and South America and put it all under the Kaiser’s authority.”

  Now Densmore was seriously worried. Germany had a very large, well-trained and equipped army that was maintained by a program of mass conscription. The United States Army had no more than 17,000 troops in the combat arms out of an authorized strength of 25,000. The militias of the 44 states and four territories were even more under strength and not adequately trained or equipped to take part in a war. If Imperial Germany landed a total of 75,000 to 100,000 troops in Mexico, it would be a military and political disaster for the United States of America.

  The ambassador nervously cleared his throat. “I shall inform President Harrison of this grave situation. He will immediately send protests to Germany and Mexico regarding the—“

  “Mexico doesn’t know about this,” Harrigan interrupted. “And any protests from America would incite a military coup d’état so fast that Valenzuela and the rest of the rebel officers would overthrow the government. And they are capable of doing this in an incredibly short time.”

  “Oh, God!” Densmore exclaimed. “Then the Germans would proclaim Mexico as a protectorate and march in to take over the country.”

  “What must be done,” Harrigan said, “is to first defeat the vengadores. Then it will be safe to take care of Colonel Valenzuela and his henchmen. Right now he has only twenty battle-ready soldiers who are billeted in the village of San Patricio in Chihuahua.” As the old Irishman continued, he readily admitted participating in the plan and even surreptitiously raising money for it. “I did this before I had any knowledge of German participation.”

  Densmore’s eyes widened and he leaned forward in his chair.

  Harrigan went on, “I can make arrangements for secret arrests and immediate executions of Valenzuela and his henchmen if those young men are defeated. That will make it a Mexican issue. That alone will force the Germans to back away from the plot.”

  “In other words, we’ll have to send in a small unit that won’t attract much attention,” Densmore said.

  “Right. And you have that detachment already patrolling along the Rio Grande.” Harrigan got up and went to a satchel on a shelf. He returned and gave it to the American Ambassador. “I wrote it all down here. There is a list of possible dates and times of actions to be taken. I also included the place where the young avengers have a camp they’re raiding from. It’s the Cupula Mountain in the Chihuahuan desert. There’s a map in there giving its exact location. If it is attacked and those young volunteers are defeated and captured, the confusion along the border will come to an end.”

  “You’re not doing this out of love for the United States of America, are you, Tim?”

  “Hell, no! I’m doing it out of love for Mexico.”

  “All right!” Densmore said, standing up with the satchel in his hand. “I’ll take care of this. Our generals will give it a good going over. But if it appears that you’re setting us up for failure, you’ll pay dearly for it.”

  Tim grinned sardonically. “Will you brand my other cheek?”

  “Nope. We’ll hunt you down wherever you go and hang you as we did those other Irish traitors.”

  “That doesn’t sound very diplomatic, Alan.”

  The ambassador frowned. “I am not in a diplomatic mood right now!” He nodded toward the window. “Even Fidel could not protect you from American retaliation.”

  Old feelings of hatred rose up in Tim, but he fought them down. Mexico’s sovereignty was too important to him to antagonize the old enemies he now had to depend on to save the country he loved.

  ~*~

  The appearance of the Kiowa-Comanche Scout Detachment on the streets of Tobeyville, Texas caused immediate excitement among the citizens. But this wasn’t because they were alarmed; it was a matter of friendly curiosity. The population had already heard about the outfit’s presence along the Rio Grande and were happy to see the scouts’ arrival in their midst.

  Captain Hawkins, Lieutenant Dooley and Ranger Buford halted the unit in front of the sheriff’s office. The three dismounted, and Ludlow noticed the stagecoach agency next door. “Excuse me, sir,” he called out. “I have a letter to mail.”

  Hawkins and Jesse watched the young officer hurry across the boardwalk and enter the building. He emerged a few seconds later and Hawkins grinned. “Another letter for your sweetheart, Mr. Dooley?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve been carrying it around for a week now waiting for a chance to mail it. And she’s not my sweetheart. We’re merely good friends.”

  Jesse laughed out loud. “Are you gonna marry that good friend of your’n, Ludlow?”

  “I’ve not given the notion a thought,” Ludlow lied.

  When the trio entered the sheriff’s office, the lawman, a strapping six-footer by the name of Rafer Stillwell, was pleasantly surprised. “By God! Jesse Buford! I ain’t seen you since Heck was a pup!”

  “Howdy, Rafer,” Jesse said. They shook hands and Jesse introduced everyone. “Me and Rafer was together in the Texas Rangers awhile back.”

  “Quite awhile back,” Sheriff Stillwell said. “I got a telegram from Fort Duncan that the Army was gonna pay a call on me. But they didn’t say nothing about a ranger being with ’em.”

  Hawkins wanted to avoid any unnecessary conversation. “We were ordered here to get information on that massacre of stagecoach passengers.”

  “There was a survivor,” Stillwell informed him. “The guard was shot three times, but he played dead. He’s recovering at his home right here in Tobeyville.”

  “I’d like to talk to him, if he’s up to it,” Hawkins said. “Fact is, I want to talk to him even if he’s not up to it.”

  “I just visited him yesterday,” Stillwell said. “C’mon, I’ll take y’all down to see him.”

  The group walked out of the office and saw that the scouts had dismounted and were surrounded by friendly townspeople. Both Michae
l Strong and Charlie Wolf, speaking fluent English, were explaining about the U.S. Scouts to a rapt audience.

  Sheriff Stillwell escorted his guests down the street to the edge of town. A modest home with a small fenced-in yard complete with a flower garden was the last house on the street. Beyond that was open Texas prairie.

  A rap on the door brought the presence of a plump middle-age lady. Her eyes opened wide at the sight of the sheriff in the company of two army officers and an armed civilian. “Howdy, Rafe. What can I do for you?”

  “These fellers have come to talk with Tom about that shooting, Holly.”

  She opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Why surely. Tom’s doing right well today.” She grinned. “He ate enough flapjacks at breakfast this morning to feed a pack of wolves.”

  She took them through the house to a back room where the stagecoach guard was sitting up in bed, smoking a pipe. Holly left the men to their business, and Tom remained silent as Stillwell introduced the visitors, explaining the reason for calling on him.

  “Well!” Tom said, brightening up. “What can I do for you?”

  Hawkins replied, “We’d like to hear as much as you can tell us about that stage coach shoot-up.”

  “It was a robbery too, Cap’n. They went through the passengers’ pockets and took what they could find. But they didn’t touch Alfred—he was the driver—or me. I reckon they figgered we didn’t have anything worth stealing.”

  “How many of them were there?” Ludlow inquired.

  “That’s the strangest thing about it,” Tom answered. “Fourteen! Fourteen! That’s the biggest damn gang of stagecoach robbers I ever seen.”

  The three visitors exchanged glances. Jesse asked, “Are you sure you’re recollecting correctly, Tom?”

  “I remember ever’ single thing about those murdering bastards!”

  Hawkins was impressed by the man’s gumption. “Can you tell us exactly what happened from start to finish?”

  “I sure can,” he answered. He talked slowly as he puffed on the pipe, describing seeing the tree across the road, the unusual gang coming out of hiding, getting the passengers out of the coach, and finally the cold-blooded murder of unarmed men. “I got hit and fell to the ground. I laid there playing dead ‘til they left.”

  Jesse was curious. “What made them do something like that?”

  Tom shrugged. “Maybe they got mad when Alfred told ’em there wasn’t a strongbox.”

  Hawkins was perplexed. “This is the strangest thing that’s happened since we got down here. And that’s saying a hell of a lot.”

  “Oh!” Tom said. “There was one more thing. They acted like soljers. While I was laying there, a feller hollered out some words in Spanish. They all saluted then got on their horses and got into two lines. Just like I’ve seen soljers do. That feller yelled again and they rode off staying in that same formation or whatever it was.”

  Jesse looked at Hawkins. “You don’t suppose they was renegade Mexican troops, do you?”

  “Who knows?” the captain replied. “At any rate, we have to go down into Mexico if we’re gonna put an end to these killings. The best place to kill rats is in their nest.”

  Ludlow didn’t like the sound of his commander’s statement. “We have explicit orders not to do that, sir. Those instructions were inflexible. Even the slightest disobedience could lead to serious consequences for the detachment. And there’s always the chance we would encounter well-trained Mexican cavalrymen. And if that’s what they are, we’re sure to be heavily outnumbered.”

  “I hate to say it, Mr. Dooley, but it’s dawned on me that we’re on a deployment that cannot be completed.”

  Ludlow was shocked by the words. It was the first time he’d ever heard his commanding officer express the possibility of not accomplishing a mission.

  Hawkins said, “Well, Tom, we appreciate the information you’ve given us.”

  “What do we do now, sir?” Ludlow asked.

  “We’re gonna go to Fort Duncan and report what we found out here,” Hawkins replied. “Then we’ll find a nice cozy spot to organize a bivouac. When that’s done we’ll just sit there and twiddle our thumbs until some son of a bitch of a staff officer sends us further orders.” He growled deep in his throat. “But I ain’t following any instructions unless I want to.”

  Ludlow understood his frustration. “If nothing else, we’ll catch our breath and be ready when something happens.” He was trying to be optimistic, but he knew if they established a bivouac, Hawkins would sit all day staring across the Rio Grande glaring into Mexico with a fierce longing.

  Nineteen

  Dusk had just begun to overtake daylight as the vengadores set up a firing line that spread out along the trees and brush on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande. They had their carbines with plenty of bullet clips within easy reach.

  Comandante Karl Jager and Sub-Comandante Santiago Gomez had seen that the young fighters observed unit integrity in the selection of their firing positions. The sergeants were placed in the rear to ensure their respective teams properly utilized their fields of fire when the time came. Their target would be the steamboat Viajero coming down from El Paso on its way to Sumter Landing. The two spies Gonzales and Sanchez had supplied them with the time the vessel would be steaming past that particular location.

  A flock of flycatcher birds suddenly fluttered into the vicinity, landing in the trees above the firing line. This had been their nesting and resting area for decades. When the creatures realized there were humans just under them, they broke into excited chirping, hopping from branch to branch in a panic. But they eventually calmed down when there were no threatening moves below their roost.

  Jager, satisfied all was ready, left the ambush site and walked in a westerly direction down the river bank. After reaching a good viewpoint, he settled down to listen for the approaching steamboat. The Teutonic mercenary lit a cigar and languidly smoked as he kept his ears tuned for the chug-chug sound of the vessel’s steam engine.

  Lately he had begun to consider the possibility of returning to Europe after finishing this latest contract as a mercenary. He already had plenty of money in an Argentine bank that could be transferred to any financial institution in Switzerland. Some wise investments would set him up for a dignified and luxurious existence in that country. His French identification papers from the Foreign Legion would allow him to reside there permanently using the name Karl Jäger.

  Jager smiled as he considered the possibility of getting a young and beautiful blond wife. After his career in the Legion and mercenary employment in Latin America, all his sexual partners had been brunette women with yellow or brown skin. As a wealthy man he would have no trouble finding a European beauty who would consider him the perfect choice for a husband. No doubt the potential bride’s family would also approve of him. Jager smiled to himself as he suddenly considered keeping a mistress on the side as well. He could set her up in a luxurious apartment for occasional trysts.

  Suddenly the German caught the distant sound of a steam engine. He got to his feet and stepped back into the trees. Ten minutes passed before the Viajero came into view, moving ponderously down the river. Jager hurried back to the scene of the planned ambush to alert the vengadores.

  He arrived at the site, loudly announcing, “Get ready! The target will be here within a quarter of an hour.”

  Sub-Comandante Gomez grinned in anticipation. “This is going to be easy, eh?”

  “Easy?” Jager remarked with a smirk. “It is going to be murder.”

  The steamboat appeared with sparks flying out of its twin smokestacks. Jager waited for the right moment, then hollered the command, “Fire!”

  Fusillades of aimed shots burst from the riverbank into the craft, causing the birds in the trees above to frantically flap their wings into flight, climbing upward away from the rattling detonations.

  A mass of bullets hit the pilot house, shattering the wood superstructure. The captain and pilot shuddered v
iolently under the impacts of the volleys as other rounds cut down crewmen on the bow and stern. The paddlewheel collapsed under numerous bullet strikes, causing it to jam to a stop until the cylinders on the port side were unable to function. Within moments the blocked steam pressure began to build up until it went past the danger mark on the engine gauge. But there was no crewman alive to open the safety valve.

  The explosion was sudden and devastating as the boat shattered into several pieces, and careened across the water. The vengadores ducked their heads as boards, slats and splintered hunks of wood rained down on them.

  “I certainly was not expecting that!” Jager exclaimed.

  When the last of the debris hit the ground, the young fighters got to their feet. Sergeant Jaime Rayan looked up at the birds frantically circling above the trees. “They will never come back to this spot again to seek sanctuary.”

  His fellow noncommissioned officer Roberto Sulivan agreed. “That is very sad, is it not? Pajaritos pobres— poor little birds!”

  ~*~

  Alan Densmore, the American ambassador to Mexico, had been called back to Washington to make a personal report on the information he had dispatched to the Secretary of State regarding German intentions toward Mexico.

  Before leaving, he had his secretary type up several copies of the documents given him by Minister Tim Harrigan. The ambassador had decided it would be worth the effort to have enough bundles of evidence to pass around when he reported to the Secretary of State.

  On the morning when Densmore arrived at the State Department, he expected expressions of alarm from the foreign relations staff. But that was not the case. A low level bureaucrat had passed on an order for the ambassador to take the information to the War Department.

  Densmore protested. “This is obviously a situation for the State Department to deal with first. If a satisfactory solution cannot be reached, then we turn to the Army.”

  The bureaucrat was adamant. “The Secretary of State does not consider this matter important enough for his attention.”