Home of the Brave (46 page)

Yank relit his cigar. “It
was a short barrage. They might have stumbled into a trap that was
set for the main body.” He pointed up the road with his cigar.
“About two miles ahead, the road goes through a narrow canyon
before it reaches the village of Cerro Gordo. Cortés was ambushed
there and he took a hell of a beating from the warriors of Jalapa
who didn’t have cannons. Santa Anna does have cannons. Cerro Gordo
could be a death trap.”

“Is there another way
around?”

“Maybe. If we could move our
artillery north through the rocks we’d be able to flank his guns
from higher ground and silence them.”

Scott shaded his eyes and
looked toward the rugged, mountainous terrain. “We’d move so
slowly, make so much noise and raise so much dust that Santa Anna
would know what we were doing.”

“He’s dug in on the ridges
on both sides of the road with nowhere to maneuver. He either has
to retreat, or slug it out.” Yank pointed. “Here comes the message
rider from Harney’s dragoons. He must have passed your aide on the
road.”

Scott nodded and waited for
the man to ride to them.

“Colonel Harney’s
compliments,” the messenger said breathlessly.

Scott returned the man’s
salute. “How many?”

“At least twelve-thousand,
sir, judging by the battle flags. They’re well dug in and they have
good positions for their batteries. Colonel Harney says there’ll be
Hell to pay for passage through that canyon.”

“Very well. Tell Colonel
Harney that we’re scouting a route to march around the enemy’s
flank.”

“Yes, sir.”

Yank turned in his saddle
toward another aide. “My compliments to Captain Lee. Ask him if he
would join us, please.”

“Yes, sir.” The man turned
out of the column and rode toward the rear.

“At least it’s cooler here,”
Scott observed. “We should get some relief from the yellow
fever.”

Yank nodded. “We’ve lost
more men to the fever than to combat.”

“Jack should have reached
Port Isabel by now,” Scott said.

“Yes. I think Zach Taylor’s
there. I’m hoping that Marina’s with Zach and that she’ll be
motivated enough by Jack’s illness to take him north. I’d feel
better if she was out of harm’s way.”

Scott looked
stricken.

“What’s wrong, Win?” Yank
asked in alarm.

“While you were in the
dungeon we received a message from General Taylor saying that
Marina had been captured by Santa Anna. In the confusion of your
being released as we were moving out, it must have slipped Robert’s
mind to mention it to you.”

They waited in silence until
Captain Robert E. Lee rode up to join them and saluted.

“Santa Anna has set an
ambush for us in the canyon ahead.” Scott pointed toward the
mountains to their north. “I want you to find a way to move your
artillery into a flanking position.”

“Yes, sir.”

Scott watched Lee ride back
then looked at Yank. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

April 18, 1847

San Antonio,
Texas

“Are you sure this is a good
idea?” Clementine Rodgers asked Jack Van Buskirk.

“I’m much stronger today.
Besides, it’s rougher riding back there than it is up here with
you. The seat has springs. The wagon bed doesn’t.” He was looking
out over a broad meadow of bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush. “I
never expected to see so many flowers in Texas.”

“Enjoy them while they last.
In another week or two the grass will be up so tall that you’ll
only see some long-legged sunflowers, primrose and few Mexican hats
here and there. Good for cows, but not as pretty.”

“Have you been here
long?”

“This is my third spring in
Texas.”

“Where are you
from?”

“Buffalo, New
York.”

“Really? I was stationed
there for some time. Perhaps I know your family.”

“If you discover that you
do, please don’t mention that you saw me to anyone that might talk
to them.”

“Family feud?”

“Only me with them as long
as they can’t find me.”

“You can’t have come here
alone.”

She glanced at him. “Why
can’t I have?”

“Well,” he looked
embarrassed. “You’re just a girl.”

“I’m eighteen.”

“If this is your third
spring in Texas, you were fifteen when you came here.”

“Yes. I was fourteen when I
left Buffalo.”

“That’s very young to be
traveling alone to such a dangerous place.”

“Staying in Buffalo was more
dangerous. I had to get away from my mother’s new
husband.”

“How do you get by on your
own with no family?”

“I’m a whore. Didn’t Josiah
tell you?”

Jack’s face turned red. “I’m
sorry.”

“About what?”

“Prying.”

She laughed. “I didn’t think
you were prying. Why does it embarrass you that I’m a
whore?”

He looked away at the
wildflowers. “I don’t know. It just does.”

“Because of your mother’s
past?”

Now he turned back toward
her. “You know about that?”

“Yes. She doesn’t seem to be
troubled by it and discusses it openly.”

“Her past is a matter of
some shame to me.”

“Shame? Why? She didn’t have
any choice.”

“One always has
choices.”

“Too right. She had the
choice of dying or living.” Clementine shook her head in
disgust.

Jack didn’t offer a
reply.

“Dying would have been a bad
choice for you since, if she’d made that one, you wouldn’t even
exist,” Clementine continued angrily.

“I’m beginning to feel
poorly. Perhaps you could stop a moment to let me return to my
place in the wagon.”

“No. I’m not stopping the
whole column just because you’re a prig.” She looked at him for a
moment. “Don’t worry. I don’t have anything contagious that you can
catch by sitting beside me.”

“I’m not a prig,” he said
after some time.

“A prude, then. A
narrow-minded bigot. A woman hater. Whatever you are, I don’t like
you any better than you like me.”

“I have nothing personal
against you but I don’t approve of prostitution. And, I’m a
widower, not a woman hater.”

“I don’t approve of
prostitution either. It’s a degrading, demoralizing and dangerous
way to make a living. It does, however, have an advantage over
starving, freezing to death or being raped regularly. And it is
legal.”

April 18, 1847

Cerro Gordo,
Mexico

On General Scott’s order,
Captain Lee opened fire on the Mexican flank. After a fierce
artillery duel, Scott ordered a bayonet charge and the much smaller
American force swept down from the higher ground to rout Santa
Anna’s army.

At the end of the day, Scott
suffered sixty-three dead, three hundred-sixty-seven
wounded.

Santa Anna losses included
four-hundred thirty-six killed, seven-hundred-sixty-four wounded,
and over three thousand captured. Santa Anna also lost forty
cannons and six generals.

April 20, 1847

Chapultepec Castle,
Mexico

There was no moon and a low
cloud cover had created a nearly opaque night. The only visible
light was a single candle in the watchtower that stood high above
the center of the castle’s roof. Marina was wearing only a black
chemise tucked into black pantalettes. She had wanted to darken her
skin but could find nothing that could be applied and then easily
removed.

After searching in vain for
a way to climb down to the ground and escape, she had, with a great
deal of difficulty, climbed up from the terrace of her apartment to
the castle roof. The effort had so far proved to be of no value
however, because the stairs and ladders down were either locked or
heavily guarded.

At the front of the castle,
facing the King’s Mill, there were two seemingly identical
cylindrical, tower-like structures on each corner. Closer
inspection, however, proved that the tower on the right contained
apartments and the tower on the left was in fact a water tower,
open at the top to collect rainwater. Out of options and with dawn
approaching, she climbed the iron ladder of the water tower and
discovered that inside, floating on the surface of the water, was a
small boat. After climbing down the interior ladder and capturing
and searching the boat, she found nothing else useful and returned
to her apartment.

When the sun arose and the
maid came in with Marina’s breakfast, the woman noticed the
abrasions on Marina’s hands. “I will bring you a little extra food
each day if you will swear not to tell.”

“I swear,” Marina said. “I
need a water-proof bag or a box too and some rope.”

“I can get you the bag or
box for the food but you will have to get the rope from someone
else.”

“Thank you.”

“For nothing.”

“How much support does Santa
Anna have from the people?” Marina asked.

“Very little. When the North
Americans came to Puebla the people, because of their hatred of
Santa Anna, surrendered the city to them without firing a
shot.”

“Will Mexico City fall as
easily?”

The woman shook her head.
“No, but if the North Americans capture this castle, only a small
number of citizens in Mexico City will resist.”

“When this castle is
attacked, how much time will I have before I am killed?”

“None, Señora. The guards in
the hallway have orders to kill you when the first shot is fired.”
She hurried from the room.

April 21, 1847

Fort Fisher,
Texas

Charlie Lagrange reined in
his horse and took out his telescope to train it on the wisp of
smoke emanating from a ruined building at Fort Fisher. He scanned
the area and saw one saddle horse tied to a tree but no other signs
of life. He put away his telescope to ride cautiously
onward.

The fort, named for
Secretary of War William S. Fisher when it was built in February of
1837 by Major William H. Smith’s battalion of Texas Rangers, was
garrisoned by Captain Thomas H. Barron’s company until June of the
same year, when it was abandoned.

Lagrange drew his pistol as
he left the cover of cedars and then looked at the fresh hoof
prints in the soft earth. To his relief, he saw the right forefoot
print did not have the familiar notch of the horse he’d been
following. However, he remained wary and dismounted with his horse
between him and the old building. “Hello in the fort.”

“Who’s that?” a voice
replied.

“Captain Charles Lagrange,
Texas Rangers.”

“Come on in, Charlie. It’s
just me. Willard Jones.”

Charlie tied his horse and
keeping his back to the wall edged toward the door and looked in.
One man was sitting stiff-legged on the earthen floor next to a
small fire. Lagrange went through the door fast, checking the
corners and then walked toward the fire. “What are you doin’ here
all alone, Will?”

Jones turned to look at him.
His face was very pale and his lips were blue. “I’m
dying.”

Lagrange holstered his
pistol and knelt beside the other Ranger. “What’s wrong with
you?”

“Gut shot.” He moved his
hand and showed Lagrange his blood soaked abdomen.

“Who did it?”

“Bad man name of Lucky Billy
Van.”

“I’ve not heard of
him.”

“They’s many a poster
out.”

Lagrange shrugged. “Whipple
and I don’t seem to get regular messages from headquarters. I think
they forget us.”

“Yer out there on the edges,
alright,” Jones agreed.

“What are you doing up here?
I thought you were working the coast.”

“We been workin’ that new
town down by Fort Brown and got mixed up with some Mexican bandits
called the Red Robbers of the Rio Grande. The leader, Chino
Cortina, crossed the river and run back into Mexico but this one,
Billy Van, turned north. I tracked him this far but my horse went
lame. I decided to hole up here ‘till the hoof mended and then head
back south. Been here about a week and a half now.” He grimaced in
pain. “Then yesterday,” he said through gritted teeth. “I was out
there in the grass, sleepin’ in the sun and Billy Van just rides up
and shoots me, then rides off. I wasn’t even wearin’ no gun. How
stupid is that?”

“Not so stupid. This place
has been safe for years now, since The Wacos left. Who’d expect
this man Van to double back after a week and a half?” Lagrange got
up and tore some of the rotten wood planks from the collapsed roof
and tossed them on the fire. “You say you tracked him up
here?”

“Yeah. It was easy. His
horse’s right front shoe’s got a notch in it.”