1882: Custer in Chains (39 page)

As the men scooted off, bells, bugles, and rifle fire came from Havana. Ryder recalled that the Navy was supposed to provide a diversion. Then he wondered whether his attack was to be a diversion for the Navy. Either way, a major battle was brewing.

“Jesus Christ,” said Lang. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“At your service,” said photographer William Pywell. “The sun is going to rise shortly and this will be a lovely spot to place a camera.”

Ryder shook his head. “It would be an even lovelier spot for a Gatling gun.”

* * *

Everyone at British Consul Redford Dunfield’s extensive home was suddenly awakened by the alarms going off all over the city. Custer had been roused from his sleep by the familiar sound of gunfire and was already dressed when everyone gathered in the main dining area. A slightly sleepy Spanish navy Commander Clemente Cisneros addressed them.

“This may be a false alarm, but I think not. It appears that the Americans have either forced the channel or somehow stormed the forts across the channel. Either way they are now able to bombard the city. It may well be that a major infantry attack will soon be launched against Havana.”

“We must get to the hospital immediately,” Sarah announced. “If you are correct, there will be many wounded to care for.”

“Your devotion to your duty is praiseworthy,” Cisneros said, “but I cannot allow it. My orders are to keep all of you safe and sending you out into what might be the midst of a climactic battle for Havana is not keeping you safe. With or without your permission, you will remain here.”

Sarah was aghast. “Then who will care for the wounded?”

“They will have to fend for themselves until and if it is safe. I cannot run the risk of any of you getting hurt.”

“I assume that your soulful concern applies to me as well,” said a clearly annoyed President Custer.

“Frankly, sir, I don’t much care what happens to you, but my government does. Therefore I am required to protect you from both yourself and the numerous enemies outside the walls of this place who would like to see you dead. Or perhaps they would like to hold you hostage for a large cash ransom and safe passage somewhere.”

“Would Villate or Weyler sink so low as to do that?” Custer asked.

Cisneros laughed harshly. “Most people would do just about anything to save their lives, don’t you think?”

“What about me?” asked Kendrick. “I’m a reporter. I have a right and an obligation to observe and write about the coming battle.”

“I applaud your devotion to your duty and the next book you plan to write, but kindly recall that you have enemies outside these walls who would dearly love to see you dead. Your lovely Juana would be most upset with me if that were to happen; therefore, it will not happen. You will remain here and safely out of the reach of Diego Salazar.”

Custer was incredulous. “You would order your men to fire on other Spaniards?”

“If those so-called Spaniards were to attack this place they would be violating their orders as well as what passes for international law. This is the British Consulate, not some tavern. If anyone attacks, they will have become rebels and criminals and, yes, we will fight them.”

“I’m relieved for Juana’s sake,” said Kendrick, “but I would still like to report on what I can see with my own eyes. I could use runners, but I don’t like to do that.”

“Perhaps you would rather get shot by either Salazar’s men or some trigger-happy Spanish recruit who has been poorly trained and barely knows how to fire his rifle.”

“Good point,” Kendrick muttered. “I’ll stay put.” At least, he thought, until he could figure a way out that would also be reasonably safe.

* * *

“Put your back into it, you lazy Irishman.”

Sweat was pouring down Sergeant Kelly’s face. “If the bloody general would mind getting us some bloody help pulling this dead rhinoceros, maybe we could actually move a lot faster. Kindly recall, General, that this beastie was designed to be pulled by horses and not people.”

Benteen laughed. Kelly was one of his favorite NCOs. “So we don’t have horses but we do have ignorant Irish mules.” He turned to a number of men who had been doing little more than gawk. “All of you, grab ropes, grab anything and pull and pull fast. I want those guns in position in minutes, not hours.”

More hands did help and the column of Gatling guns gained speed. Kelly took a deep breath and yelled for the men to move faster. Benteen helped by telling them all to run, which made Kelly swear loudly.

Kelly understood fully. The machine guns had to be in place before the Spanish swarmed out of their lines and towards the outnumbered Americans. This time there was no barbed wire or trenches to halt them. The hell being rained down on them by American cannons would hinder but would not stop the massed enemy. Only rifle fire and the precious Gatlings could.

Lang had done a masterful job of modifying them. The wheels were smaller and lower, which meant that the guns, now mounted on a swivel, could fire over them. Unfortunately, it also meant that the guns were harder to pull and, since horses were in short supply in Cuba, manpower was essential to move the weapons.

“Hurry up, Kelly, the war’s not going to wait for you to get out of bed and start moving.”

“Haney,” he gasped, “you may be bigger than me and have a couple more stripes on your sleeve, but, so help me God, I am going to kill your ass, you fucking shanty Irish bastard.”

“Quit fighting, children,” Ryder said as he grabbed a rope and joined in the effort. “Just a few more yards and you’ll be done and can start killing Spaniards.”

Haney shook his head. “Generals aren’t supposed to be pulling tow ropes.”

Ryder ignored him and, along with other men, manhandled the first gun into position. The next five followed in short order. Tow ropes were dropped and metal shields were put in place. The shields were another of Lang’s ideas. Nobody in the Army’s hierarchy could decide whether the machine guns were fish or fowl, cannons or rifles. Set too far back from the front lines, they were wildly inaccurate. Closer to the enemy, they were murderously effective but the crews were vulnerable to sniper fire or even massed rifle fire. The shields would provide a degree of protection for the four-man crews.

“Jesus,” exclaimed Haney, “it looks like someone kicked over an anthill.”

As the dawn was rising, the Spanish lines were erupting with men forming up for the attack. They poured out of the ruined buildings and into the narrow streets. The artillery was raining down on them and killing them by the score, but there were thousands of them and more forming up to attack with every minute.

“When should I open fire?” yelled Kelly.

“Now!” answered Ryder.

Five guns were in place with more arriving. Every machine gun the army had was going to support the attack. The weapons began to fire, and their demonic chatter was deafening.

Bullets fired from an extreme range rained down on the Spaniards, dropping still more of them. They were too far off for anything resembling aimed bullets, but were within killing range. To Ryder it reminded him of the time he’d fired on the Sioux at the Little Big Horn, only this time the Spanish were more numerous and farther away. The guns could not miss. They almost certainly had to hit something in the mass of humanity. The guns were more accurate than rifle fire. Even the most experienced soldier might just fire into the ground or in the air or worse, not fire at all in his fear. The Gatlings were handled by teams of men who supported each other and saw to it that the stream of bullets was not only fired, but that shots landed where they were intended. The result was carnage.

Trumpets blared and the Spaniards surged forward. It was like the attacks on Mount Haney, only this time on a level plain with no barbed wire to separate the two sides. Gunners made adjustments and riflemen fired. Smoke obscured the battlefield as the two forces closed.

Ryder pulled out his revolver and unsheathed his sword. He tried to remember the last time he had even practiced with a sword. He was more likely to kill himself with it than a Spaniard.

The Spaniards were emerging through the battle-smoke. They were screaming as if Satan was behind them. They were fighting for their lives.

So too, however, were the Americans. The machine guns were now firing point-blank at waist level. Each gun was on a swivel, which meant that each gun could spray bullets in nearly a one hundred and eighty degree arc.

Ryder threw down his sword and took a second revolver from a fallen soldier. The Spaniards were firing back and too many of his men were falling. Something hit him hard in the chest and he fell back, staggered. A Spaniard was directly in front of him and Ryder managed to shoot him. He lurched to his feet and quickly checked for blood. Amazingly, there wasn’t very much at all. Maybe it wasn’t a bullet that had hit him.

The battle was now between brave men on one side and brave men supported by cold and deadly technology on the other. Technology won. The Spaniards began to fall back just as reinforcements from the rest of Benteen’s division along with soldiers from Gibbon’s division filled the gaps caused by casualties.

Ryder’s arm was grabbed. “You all right, Ryder?” It was General Hancock. Ryder looked down. A stream of blood was visible on his shirt.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” said Ryder. Each breath was painful and he wondered if whatever had struck him hadn’t broken a rib.

“Go back and have that wound taken care of,” said Hancock.

“I’ll leave when you do, General.” Hancock laughed harshly and went on to another part of the battle.

The smoke was clearing and the Spaniards were retreating slowly and stubbornly. By companies and then by battalions, the American army began to move after them. Orders were not necessary. The Spaniards would be pushed and pushed hard until they surrendered or died.

Ryder looked around anxiously. Where the hell was Lang? The Texan had a job to do with his flying column.

* * *

The monsignor howled with joy. “We are to join the attack. By the Blessed Virgin we shall prevail.”

Diego Salazar was less than enthused but realized he had to obey the direct orders just received from Villate. The breach in Havana’s defenses had to be closed regardless the cost and it made perfectly good sense to send in the monsignor’s fanatics. The artillery barrage had been terrifying and from what he could see through gaps in the battle smoke, the infantry assault was wavering. The Americans must have a hundred Gatling guns, he decided, and all of them would be aimed at his body.

“Forward,” screamed Bernardi, “forward for Spain and Jesus and the Blessed Virgin.”

The men of the legion moved to the attack. Salazar noted that some were less enthusiastic than others. He understood them. Salazar tried to hold back, but the press of bodies propelled him onward. He wanted to run and hide but could not be seen as a coward. He had to do something, however, to get out of this terrible fight. A few yards ahead of him, the crazy monsignor was screaming and waving what looked like a sword. Where the devil had the fool gotten a sword, Salazar wondered.

And what the hell did he plan on doing with it?

Salazar stumbled over a dead soldier and fell on his face. He looked up in time to see Bernardi’s body convulse as machine gun bullets ripped through it. Salazar laughed hysterically. The madman deserved to die, but he, Diego Salazar, did not. He had a task to complete.

Salazar found a piece of a brick with a sharp edge and gouged it into his scalp and forehead. Like all head wounds, it quickly gushed blood that covered his face and made it look like he’d been horribly wounded.

He pretended to stagger to his feet. The remnants of his legion were fleeing. He joined them. Once again he was a wounded hero who would save what was left of his command. He would gather them and do what he truly wanted to do—take revenge on Juana and her bastard of an American lover. In the meantime, the Americans were advancing and there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

This time it was the Americans who were attacking. The siege of Havana was going to come to a conclusion this day. Carlos Menendez had been given a rifle and a dozen raw and confused recruits to lead. He’d protested that his leg wasn’t truly healed and been hit with the flat of a captain’s sword for his efforts.

The latest attack on the American positions had been as great a failure as the others. The machine guns were just too deadly and too terrifying. Even he had an almost overwhelming urge to piss.

Spanish soldiers were yelling and pointing at the advancing Americans. They were terrified and he saw why. The Americans were bringing their devil guns with them. Before this, the Gatlings had sat behind fortifications and killed from a distance. Now they were advancing with the blue-clad infantry.

Again, the Spanish lines broke. Men ran or threw down their weapons and held up their hands in meek surrender. Carlos thought for a moment and decided on the latter. He laid down his rifle, never fired, and raised his hands. He trembled in fear as the Americans came near. Would they kill him? It could even happen by accident. What if a foolish Spaniard decided to shoot an American? The Yanks would be furious and doubtless massacre prisoners.

To his astonishment, the Americans swept by with barely a glance. A few seconds later, he and the others were ordered by gestures to head out of Havana. It dawned on him that the Yanks weren’t interested in keeping and feeding prisoners and that he would be on his own. He had his cane to help him walk and he would head back to Manuel Garcia’s lovely mother. But first he had to find the damned boy.

* * *

The boys huddled in the crypt. The skulls of its occupants and assorted other bones no longer bothered them. They were terrified of the man-made thunder that was coming ever closer. Another had joined them. They had been adopted by a small thin dog that they fed with scraps, which was something they felt was hilarious. They too were existing on scraps. The dog wagged its tail and licked their hands. Its love, even if motivated by food, gave them something they could focus on besides their perilous condition.