Текст книги "Stars and Stripes In Peril"

Автор книги: Harry Harrison

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“That’s a sight that you’ll never see again,” Semmes said, and the watch officer nodded agreement. “All we need is a few Mexicans waving their new flag to make the picture complete.”

“Well there they are, sir,” the watch officer said, pointing. “Those armed guards marching beside the French. They must surely be Mexicans.”

“I do believe that you are right,” Semmes said, looking through his glasses. “If this is not an historical moment there never will be one.”

A small group of officials stood on the balcony of the ayuntamiento, the city hall. This was where the conference had been taking place to decide the terms of the surrender – and the peace. Secretary of State Seward was there, along with Johnston Hancock, the American consul in Vera Cruz. He was a heavy man, some would say fat, who sweated a lot. He wasn’t the best of consuls, but his family had traded in Mexico for years and his knowledge of Spanish was a great asset. His large form towered over the diminutive President of Mexico, Benito Juarez.

“They are murderers and they are escaping,” Juarez said bitterly.

“They are but common soldiers, Excellency. Here against their will, conscripts in the service of the tyrant Napoleon. Remember, their officers are still here, as well as the usurper Maximilian, hostages until your Mexican troops have been returned.”

“He should be stood up against a wall and be shot.”

Juarez shot a look of dark malevolence at the next balcony where the French officers stood, surrounding the tall form of the deposed emperor. The men on both balconies ignored each other completely as they looked down at the defeated troops below. Seward nodded approval and turned to Hancock.

“Kindly tell the president that this is a great moment in the history of Mexico. The usurper driven from power, his elected government in control of the country once again.”

Hancock translated, then turned back to Seward.

“His Excellency thanks you for your good wishes. And for the generous aid that made this victory possible.”

“Good. Then this might be an appropriate time to remind him that there still are invasion forces in his country – the British. Peace will not be secured until they are also driven from these shores.”

Juarez was not happy to be reminded of the British. They were dug in and well armed and his troops had little incentive to continue the battle. It meant nothing to them. Let them build the road, and then use it and leave. He made some vague reassurances to the fat Yankee and turned back to watch the departing troops. This really was an historical moment and he wished to enjoy every second of his enemy’s humiliation.

The troop movements continued throughout the morning. A little before noon General Ulysses S. Grant reboarded the Virginia.

“Going about as smooth as can be expected,” he said looking across the harbor from the height of the bridge. “I want my troops here until the French have all gone. Besides, they need a spell ashore after being jammed aboard those ships. While that is happening I need your help, Captain.”

“Anything you say, General.”

“General Joe Johnston can look after things while I’m gone.”

“Joseph E. Johnston?”

“The same. My second-in-command. And I’m most happy to have him fighting at my side – instead of being on the other side. Before I take my men out to attack the British road I want to know more about it. Particularly the port at this end of it. The Coatza-something place.”

“I would greatly like to see it myself.”

“And seeing it from your ship, Captain Semmes, appears to be the safest way of going about that task.”

Captain Fosbery, commander of HMS Valiant, was awoken by his servant soon after dawn. Valiant and her sister ship Intrepid were stationed just offshore of the Mexican coast.

“Lookout reports smoke on the horizon, sir. East-northeast.”

“Bring me some coffee.” He yawned broadly as he pulled his trousers on. He had only been asleep a few hours. But he had left orders to be informed of anything sighted out to sea.

“There sir,” the watch officer said when he came up onto the bridge. He handed his binoculars to the captain.

“Ironclad,” Fosbery said. “With those lines – certainly not one of ours. Notify Intrepid if she hasn’t seen her yet. And get up steam.”

They were anchored as close to the port as they could get without running aground, with less than two fathoms beneath the Valiant’s keel. Well within the covering range of the land-based batteries. Still, in war, one never knew. He did not like the possibility of an enemy finding him dead in the water.

Aboard the Virginia General Grant was slowly sweeping the defenses with his glasses. The small fleet of transports at anchor, the two warships getting up steam. He did not speak, but his jaw was hard set, his expression grim.

“Quarter speed ahead,” Captain Semmes said. He had no fear of the smaller ironclads, but had great respect for the batteries dug into the hills ahead.

They were still over four thousand yards from the shore when there were three sudden bursts of light from the batteries, instantly obscured by clouds of smoke. Two pillars of water rose up not two hundred yards from their flank. Another was almost directly in line with the ship’s bow.

“Hard aport,” Semmes ordered. “Give me full steam.”

“That’s pretty good shooting,” Grant said.

“Too good,” Semmes said as water fountained off their starboard bow. Where the ship would have been if they hadn’t changed course. “We can’t go up against those guns without suffering serious damage – even with our armor.”

“Any chance of a large force taking that port from the sea?”

“I doubt it. Ironclads might be able to stand their fire, but wooden transports wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“That’s about what I thought. So I guess we will just have to see how it looks from the landward side.”

From the reports he had read things were not a lot better there. Well, he would see, he would see.

WIDENING THE BATTLE

Gustavus Fox was too busy a man to enjoy any variety of a social life. Nor did he dine out very much – or not at all, when he came to think about it. But he always ate a hearty breakfast, because many times that would be all the food that he had for the entire day. Too much of the time it was just bread and cheese in Room 313, or at best some cold fried chicken. But this invitation had been too good to refuse, considering the identity of his host.

Nor had he ever been to Wormly’s before, despite its reputation as the finest restaurant in the capital – which boasted some fine restaurants indeed. He paused at the entrance, looking through the cut glass in the door at the brightly lit interior; at the well-dressed diners inside. Should he have changed into his navy uniform? There really had not been time. And here he was, gawky as a youth on his first date. He smiled at his own hesitation and pushed his way in.

“May I help you, sir?” The maître d’hôtel wore a handsome tailcoat; his moustache was waxed and curled to points in what must have been an attempt at a continental manner. His accent however was pure tidewater.

“Yes, please. I’m joining the party in room six.”

“Of course, sir. If you will be so kind as to follow me.”

They went down the corridor beside the main dining room, to a discreet door that was half concealed by beaded drapes. His guide knocked lightly, then stood aside and opened the door. Fox went in. The gray-bearded man at the table rose and extended his hand.

“Mr. Fox. I’m delighted that you could join me at such short notice.”

“It is indeed my pleasure, General.”

Although his host wore a dark suit and foulard tie, few would ever take him for a civilian. The erect stance, the keen eye. And, perhaps, the cavalryman’s boots. In uniform or out, General Robert E. Lee was a man who commanded respect.

“I have been told,” Lee said, “that the mint juleps here in Wormly’s are the best that can be found in Washington City. Being a Virginian I am mighty partial to this particular drink. Will you join me?”

“Delighted, sir.”

Not that he had much choice; the drinks were already poured and waiting on a side table. Fox raised his glass.

“To your very good health, General.”

“Why thank you – and to yours as well.”

They took their drinks to the table, already set with crystal and silver.

“I don’t think they lied,” Lee said after they were seated. “These are indeed fine mint juleps. I believe that the terrapin soup is excellent, excellent. I have taken the liberty of ordering it for both of us.” He leaned back and gave a quick tug on the hanging bell pull.

The door opened in what could only have been seconds later. The uniformed Negro waiter entered with a large steaming tureen. He put plates before them, ladled them full of soup, serving them in silence. He left and closed the door behind him.

“That is good,” Lee said, sipping a mouthful. “Canvasback duck to follow, also a house specialty.”

Fox murmured something agreeable and spooned up some soup. It was indeed very, very good. He wondered why Lee had invited him here, but could think of no way of broaching the question.

They talked a little as they ate, about the early summer, other items of no real consequence. It was only after the table had been cleared, and the port had been poured, that Lee came to the heart of the matter. He locked the door after the waiter, sat back down and sipped some port, then looked directly at Fox.

“I could have seen you in your office, but I wanted to keep this a private matter. Perhaps because of the importance of what I want to discuss.”

“Understandable, General.”

“How acquainted are you with the minutes of the War Room?”

“Not at all. I supply information upwards to my superiors. There is little that comes back down in return.”

“When I asked the Secretary of War whom I should consult with about all matters having to do with war information, as well as matters of secrecy, he unhesitatingly recommended you. He also said you might know more about me than I did about myself.”

Fox returned his smile. “Not more – but hopefully I know enough. Let me assure you that you were a mighty hard man to keep track of during the War Between the States.”

Lee smiled. “Well that is thankfully a thing of the past. We are united in a different war now. And that is what I want to talk to you about. The British.”

“You have read my reports?”

“I have. They are most detailed, but you never state the source of your information.”

“That is done only to protect my agents. If you have reason to query any facts or conclusions I am sure that I can verify their accuracy.”

Lee raised his hand and wiped away the thought. “Not at all. I am sure that your sources are reliable. What I wanted was information of a more general nature. Perhaps of a more strategic nature. Such as the road in Mexico that the British are building. Are you sure that it will be used to invade this country?”

“I have no doubt whatsoever. It has no use other than to permit troops to cross from the Pacific to the Atlantic. Those troops have only one possible objective. To be loaded aboard ships in order to take part in the invasion of this country. The Gulf coast is our soft underbelly. If they get a foothold there it will be desperately hard to winkle them out. Therefore we must try to stop the invasion before it starts. If it is at all possible we must stop the ships from sailing.”

“I agree completely. At the present time General Grant is attacking the defenses of the road, taking his men south from Vera Cruz. He is an able officer, as we both know. If there is anyone in the world with the determination and the ability to cut that road – why he is the man.”

“I defer to your professional knowledge, General, but I assure you that we are of the same mind in this.”

“Then let us consider a different matter. Is there anything that can be done about that port at the other end of the road? You are a naval man. Is there any possibility of mounting an attack on the Pacific end?”

Fox pushed his chair back and took a drink of his port before he answered. “You are not the only one to consider that. I am preparing a report right now at the request of the Secretary of the Navy. It is theoretically possible. But to make a really strenuous effort, not just a hit-and-run attack, it would mean creating a two-ocean navy. Which in turn means doubling ship production. Not only that, but getting there would be very difficult. There are few coaling ports on the Atlantic coast of South America – none at all on the Pacific coast. Coaling ships would have to be positioned in seaports there. Then the attacking fleet would have to make the arduous journey south to the end of South America and around the Cape. The British have a sizeable Asian fleet already – and by the time our ships got to the Pacific coast of Mexico the enemy would be there to meet us. To sum it up – possible, but difficult and expensive – and with no guaranty of success at the end of the day.”

“Understood. Now let us look farther afield, if we may. If we don’t launch an attack against that Pacific port – are there any parts of the British Empire where our forces might strike, make some impact to draw their attention from this Mexican adventure?”

“Scarcely any. Since the Mutiny in India, and the fighting in China, they have troops stationed in Asia in goodly numbers. So much so that they can easily spare all the regiments they need for the coming invasion through Mexico.”

Lee was rubbing his jaw in exasperation. He drank and refilled his glass. “As you can tell by the tenor of my questions I have a military assignment. You will of course say nothing of this.”

“Of course, General.”

“I am afraid that my reputation has finally caught up with me. I have been known to fight battles where I was not expected, and to win them against superior odds. Now I must find a way to do this again – but against the British. And it is turning out to be hellishly difficult. The British must have enemies. Can we form an alliance with any of them?”

“I’m afraid not. They cooperate closely with the French – Victoria is most fond of the French Emperor. Her favorite uncle is King of Belgium. The Prussians, in fact most of the German nobility, are all relatives of hers. There is Russia, of course, still smarting over Crimea. But their navy is decrepit, their army terribly far from the British Isles.”

“What about England itself? We raided her shores during the War of 1812 – and the last war as well – we could do it again?”

“A possibility – but only a pinprick. Many coastal defenses have been built in recent years. They are an island race that now dominate the oceans of the world. If they are to be attacked they must be attacked from the sea. Therefore, down through the centuries, they have built coastal defenses like no other country.”

“Well damnation – if not raids – why can’t we hit them hard at one spot where they least expect it. Land our forces in great numbers and invade their island? They certainly would notice that!”

Fox shook his head unhappily. “It would be a nightmare, I would say almost impossible. Three thousand miles of ocean to cross before landings could be attempted – on a hostile and defended shore. If, say, we were allied with France, troops might be built up there, transports made ready and our warships refueled for a sudden attack across the English Channel. But that is too far-fetched to consider. France would never agree to such a plan.”

“No other possibilities?”

“None that come to mind…”

As he said this Fox’s eyes opened wide. He pushed his chair back, jumped to his feet and paced the room. Lee was silent. Fox went to the door and unlocked it, peered out into the empty hall, relocked it and turned around.

“There is… let me think… still another possibility. I shall speak the name to you just once. At this juncture no one must have an inkling of what we are considering. I am not being overdramatic, just realistic.”

He crossed the room, cupped his hand and bent over.

“ Ireland,” he breathed in a low whisper.

“I hear what you said, but I do not understand the import of your words. You must make your meaning more clear about this particular island whose name we must mention only in a whisper.”

“That I will surely do. You will have heard of the recent rebellions there, Rebel prisoners taken and incarcerated, their leaders hanged. Then you have to understand there are many loyal sons of that island in our army. I have been aiding them in setting up a new organization in – the old country – one that cannot be penetrated by spies and informers. An organization that will provide me with intelligence about matters in the British Isles. I am sure that you know of a certain brigade that we have in the army. From this same country. All loyal Americans now, ready to give their lives, if need be, for their new country. But being Americans now does not stop them from still being strongly attached to their native land. It is a strong emotion with them, a racial emotion if you will believe. I know of none other like it. German Americans still talk of the old country, get nostalgic about it when in their cups. But they never think about Prussian politics, nor have the slightest desire to return to their fatherland. Not so the men we are speaking of. They care for the country they left, care for their friends and relatives still there.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “The Fenian movement, the nationalist movement in Ireland, is strongly supported and there are branches of it in every regiment of the brigade. We could possibly utilize this in our war against the British. With help from us, the revolutionary organization will grow quickly. Then we can send them arms, another rebellion might very well succeed…”

Lee shook his head in a grim no. “While I am no student of political matters, I am learned in tactics and the military. Do the British station their own soldiers in this country?”

“They do. They have several large garrisons there.”

“Then a civilian revolt is doomed to failure. Particularly when you consider the proximity of England and Scotland.”

Fox nodded unhappily. “Yes, I can see that you are right.”

Fox reached for the decanter and occupied himself in topping up his glass. Preoccupied with this he did not see the calculating look on Lee’s face, nor the sudden smile.

“Do not be too quick to admit defeat, Mr. Fox. I never did, right to the very end.”

“I miss your meaning, General.”

“It is simply this. A rebellion will never succeed. But, aided and abetted by knowledgeable men on the ground there, why I do believe that there is every possibility of an invasion of that island, whose name we dare not speak too loudly lest it be overheard.” He smiled at the shocked expression on Fox’s face.

“Yes indeed. The American invasion and occupation of this certain island would surely take the enemy’s attention away from their Mexican adventure. With careful planning it could succeed. You say the populace would welcome our arrival?”

“With open arms, General, with open arms.”

“Then we investigate the possibility of such an invasion. I am sure that if the British awoke one morning and saw the stars and stripes flying there so close, just across the narrow sea, why I am sure they would be powerful upset. Perhaps upset enough to forget their Mexican adventure in order to concentrate on the defense of their homeland.”

A CONSPIRACY OF SILENCE

General Ulysses S. Grant came out of his tent puffing on his first cigar of the day. It was just after dawn and the mist still hung beneath the trees; the grass was beaded with dew. It was almost cool now, but he knew that the heat was only waiting to build up as the sun rose. This place was worse than Mississippi in the summer. If that was possible. He finished his cup of morning coffee and glanced over towards that strange young Latin with the Irish name. He would not sleep in a tent but instead opened his bedroll on the ground at night. He was already up and sitting on his heels talking to a dark man in native clothes. Grant went over to them.

“Are we going to have that little walk in the sun today?” Grant asked.

“We certainly are, General.”

“And are we going to meet any of the local fighters – what did you call them?” Grant asked.

“Guerrilleros,” Ambrosio O’Higgins said. “They are looking forward with great enthusiasm to working with us. In Spanish it means those who fight the little war, the guerrilla. They will join us later today. They have been fighting this war for many years, in the jungle. Attacking the enemy where they are not expected, then vanishing again before they can be caught. They are very good at it. Now, with the French defeated, most of them have gone back to their farms, since the enemy have been driven out. The main force of these fighters is no longer interested in killing Englishmen for us. They feel that they have won their own war and see no future in dying for us. But money is always in short supply in Mexico, and these young men are happy to earn it by working for us. Those who remain in our service are the younger men, the sons who have a love of adventure and no desire to break their backs with a machete or an azadón, a hoe. They also need money, since the peasants in this country are very poor. They greatly enjoy the idea of being paid in American coins.”

“I’ll bet they do. Have you told them that I want to see the enemy’s defenses up close – before I bring the rest of my troops up?”

“I have. Also, I have been speaking with Ignacio there.” He pointed to the young Indian who was sitting on his heels and sharpening his machete with a file. “He says that he found a scouting party on this side of the defenses. He wants to know if we can kill them on our way to look at the enemy lines?”

“A sound idea. But I want prisoners as well, officers. Can they tell the difference?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll pay five dollars for every officer they capture.”

“You are indeed a generous man, General Grant.”

“Don’t you forget it. Let’s go.”

They left behind the army, camped on the coastal plain beneath the twin volcanoes of Ocotal Chico and Ocotal Grande. In addition to the Indians whom they would be meeting, Grant took along a squad of riflemen under the command of a lieutenant. They were all volunteers for this mission, which meant that their uniforms were both gray and blue. And combinations of the two, as new uniforms replaced the war-torn, tattered ones. They had gone only a few miles before Ignacio trotted ahead towards a thick stand of trees. He cupped his hands and produced a very natural-sounding cry of a parrot. A silent group of men appeared from the trees and waited for them. O’Higgins went ahead and explained what they wanted. There were many smiles when he mentioned the bounty they would be paid for enemy officers.

Then the guerrilleros spread out ahead and vanished from sight, while the soldiers followed, walking single file along the rough track. Their pace was slow in the heat, with the sun glaring down upon them through the hot and humid air. They had walked for about an hour when there was the sudden crackling of gunfire from the jungle ahead.

“Double-time!” the lieutenant called out. The soldiers, weapons at port arms, trotted quickly by. Grant and O’Higgins followed them into the clearing. The action was all over. A number of dark-skinned soldiers, in blood-drenched tan uniforms, were sprawled on the ground. An English officer in the same uniform, only with a lieutenant’s insignia on his shoulders, sat on the ground holding his wounded arm. A smiling Mexican stood behind him, his blood-drenched machete ready.

“Lieutenant,” Grant said, “get a bandage on this man. I want your name and rank.”

“God damn you to hell,” the officer snarled, struggling to get to his feet; his captor pushed him back down and held the machete across his throat.

“Are you going to let this savage cut my throat?”

“Perhaps,” Grant said coldly. “Name and rank?”

The officer was pale under his tan, staring worriedly at the razor-sharp weapon. “Lieutenant Phipps, 22nd Bombay.”

“That’s better, Lieutenant Phipps. All right – bandage him up and have two men take him back to camp. And don’t have any accidents on the way. I want to talk to him tonight. Now – let us go see this road.”

They never did see the road itself. They came to the edge of the jungle and faced across a hundred feet of decaying vegetation where the undergrowth and the trees had been cut down. Beyond the cleared area there was a dirt embankment with gun emplacements at its summit. Riflemen too, they discovered, as a bullet slashed through the tree branches above their heads. Grant grunted with annoyance.

“Is it all like this?” he asked. “All of the way?”

“I am afraid it is, General,” O’Higgins said, giving a very Latin shrug. “I have not seen it for myself, but I have talked with some of the men who have walked the length of it. They are very brave, but they say they would not try to attack it. Maybe at night, but never in daylight.”

“Well I want to see some more of it for myself before we turn back.”

Looking at the raw earth defenses and the muzzles of the guns, Grant realized that if he did attack the enemy here it was going to be a long and difficult battle. He needed guns, many of them, to force a breach. And a good number of soldiers.

However well he planned, wherever he decided to attack, he knew that there were going to be a lot of good American boys who would never leave this Mexican jungle. The thought depressed him and he chomped hard on his cigar. Well, what must be done must be done.

But this was a strange place, and far from home, to be fighting America’s battles.

It was a small and very select company that met in President Lincoln’s office. Other than the President, there was Gustavus Fox, who had arranged the meeting, General Robert E. Lee, as well as William H. Seward, the Secretary of State, Stanton, the Secretary of War. They waited in puzzled silence until Nicolay opened the door and ushered in the Secretary of the Navy. Gideon Welles made his apologies and took his chair at the table. Fox made a check mark on the paper in his hand.

“You are the last on the list, Secretary Welles. Please lock the door behind you when you leave, John,” Fox said to the President’s secretary. “I have two soldiers out there to prevent anyone from entering – or even coming close to the door.” He waited until he heard the key turn in the lock before he picked up the sheaf of papers from the table and handed them to General Lee. The general took them before he spoke.

“You must excuse us gentlemen, at what you might think is an excess of secrecy. But there is a reason for it which I will explain shortly.” Lee walked around the table, placing a sheet of paper in front of everyone present. “I am giving each of you a list of those who are attending this meeting today. Please keep this list by you at all times. Because what transpires here today must not be spoken of to anyone not on this list. There can be no exceptions. For our plans to succeed we must do what our enemies did. Keep a secret.”

“What secret?” Lincoln asked.

“Just this. You will recall that recently I was asked to develop a plan to harass the enemy, to work out another way of placing them under attack. Tomorrow, in the War Room, I will outline the details of a plan to take our battle to the enemy. With the approval of everyone there, Cabinet members and the military, we will then proceed to go on the offensive. It is important that all here support my proposed plan and let nothing get in the way of implementing it. I want you to remember that this is the major attack on the British, the one that you asked me to prepare.”

Lee looked around slowly at the men gathered there, then spoke.

“To put it at its simplest – we are going to attack the Pacific end of the British invasion road at the port of Salina Cruz.”

He waited patiently as the murmur died down. “To do this we will need at least half of the ironclads now under construction. Then coaling stations must be established down the length of South America, as well as coaling ships in ports on the Pacific flank of South America, since there is no coal there now. There will also have to be a goodly fleet of transport for the invading army—”

“What you are saying will be most expensive,” Gideon Welles broke in. “We must double the size of our fleet in order to create a two-ocean navy. And when that is done, at great expense I must add, our Atlantic fleet will still be the same size that it is now.”

“If you will be patient, Mr. Welles, you will soon realize the need for all present here to support this plan. With the willing cooperation of everyone in this room any opposition to this plan must be overruled, beaten down if necessary. Arrangements for this attack will go through just as I have outlined.”

These men, the men responsible for the war against the enemy, did not like being spoken to like this. Before they could voice their protests, Lee raised his hand and smiled, almost mischievously.

“This plan which I have just outlined to you will go through and it will be implemented.” He looked around at the puzzled men, then added. “But no one, other than those present here, will know that the proposed attack on the British in the Pacific Ocean is only a cover to convince the enemy that we will attack on the Pacific shore. Our determination must be very convincing.” He looked around at the puzzled men.

“Very convincing – because it is not the true plan of attack. That will be known only to those of you in this room at this time.”

He waited until the shouts and queries had died down.

“The British did this to us, you will remember, kept secret their true invasion plans from their own fleet and Britain as a whole. Even the captains of the ships taking part in the British operation thought that they were going to the West Indies. Only when they were at sea, and out of touch of land, did they open their sealed orders and find out that they were to go to Mexico instead. Just as everyone involved in our planned attack will believe that we are on the way to the Pacific. As the British did, orders will be opened only after the attacking force sails.”