Crewmen were throwing themselves into the water by the score. No one was making any attempt to save the ship. No matter, he realized as he treaded water. The one remaining capital ship in the Spanish navy was settling in the mud of Havana’s harbor.
Bells and sirens were going off in the city as small boats pushed off to rescue the Vitoria’s crew. A few moments later, Torres was standing on a dock looking at the ruined thing that had been a proud Spanish battleship. Scores of bodies floated around her in an obscene dance. Other rescued crewmen clustered around him as if for comfort. He could not help but wonder if he was the battleship’s ranking survivor. If so, he was now captain of the wreck of the Vitoria.
* * *
Governor Villate saw the prisoners in the hospital where they’d been taken. There were only eight of them and all were injured, some very seriously. Better for his concerns, two of them were the senior officers who’d been on board the American ship.
The reports from the Vitoria were dismal. The battleship was resting on the muddy bottom of Havana harbor with only part of her superstructure showing. She was almost on her side and there was a pair of gaping holes in her hull. These were the results of a torpedo attack. He’d known that the English had the devices and that the inventor had been selling them to a number of nations. He wondered if Spain had any and decided it was highly unlikely. Far too modern and costly to interest the parsimonious government at Madrid, he concluded.
More important, one hundred and seven officers and men had died on the Vitoria. Most had been trapped belowdecks and drowned while others had been blown to pieces by the explosion. A shocking number had died in their hammocks where they’d been sleeping. The attack had been cowardly and despicable. The dead and wounded had to be avenged. Spain’s honor was at stake.
As a result of the sinking, Spanish naval power in the new world was virtually non-existent. In a short time the U.S. would have two capital ships to Spain’s none, and the American smaller warships were at least as good as the less numerous Spanish vessels.
The two American officers had been brought in on stretchers. They were heavily bandaged and the younger man’s legs were in splints. Villate felt like ripping the bandages from their bodies and listening to them scream.
There was a mild and intentional cough behind him. Redford Dunfield from the British Consulate and the International Red Cross had insisted on being present. Since Dunfield was British and since Great Britain was the most powerful nation in the world, his annoying request had to be honored. He was also plump, in his fifties, and exuded a sense of confidence that Villate found both condescending and annoying. He was accompanied by a newly arrived German advisor, Colonel Adolf Helmsdorf. The British consul was in civilian clothes while the German was in full uniform.
The British diplomatic presence in Havana was small. As Dunfield had mentioned several times in earlier meetings, her majesty was most parsimonious when it came to handing out diplomatic titles. Besides, the British ambassador to Spain was located in Madrid, while Havana was a backwater. The Havana consulate was more of a courtesy than anything else. In order to make ends meet, Dunfield was successful in the import-export business. Unfortunately this day for Villate, Dunfield took his consular duties very seriously. The German appeared curious but unconcerned.
The two American prisoners appeared unconscious and in no shape to be questioned. Villate thought they were pretending, but with Dunfield present he would let it go for another time. However, he did have Spain’s pride to salve.
Villate turned on Dunfield and glared. “They will be hanged as pirates and spies.”
“On what grounds?” Dunfield asked calmly but firmly. “According to her papers, their ship was a legitimate U.S. Navy warship and she was flying the American flag when she was taken. Her officers and men are all members of the U.S. Navy; therefore, they cannot be held as pirates.”
Villate felt himself turning red with frustration. “They entered the harbor flying a Norwegian flag and presented Norwegian papers. We trusted their integrity. They are franc-tireurs, terrorists, and, as such are subject to execution. We will hang them in such a manner that the American ships offshore can see them twist and dangle.”
Helmsdorf nodded solemnly. During the Franco-Prussian war, his army had summarily executed a number of Frenchmen who were defined as terrorists. This, however was different. For one thing, the Americans were all wearing uniforms which was in accordance with the rules of war and legitimized their actions.
Dunfield shook his head. “According to the Geneva Convention, the officers and men of the Aurora were and are legitimate members of a conventional armed force and not terrorists as defined by the Geneva Convention. And may I remind you that Spain was a signatory to that agreement. Therefore, you are honor bound to adhere to its terms. You may not hang them.”
I would like to shove the Geneva Accord up your ass and set on fire, Villate thought. Rules of war hell, he thought. War consists of killing people. There should be no rules to fighting for one’s own existence. The Americans should be executed immediately. He had the feeling that the German agreed with him as well. “Are you saying it was a ruse de guerre and nothing more?”
“That’s correct,” Dunfield said, “a trick of war and, sadly, you fell for it. These men were incredibly brave and successful and not pirates or terrorists. When they get back to their homeland, they will be feted and given medals.”
“If they get back,” Villate snarled. “A lot can happen to them before that might happen. Perhaps their medical situation could take a serious change for the worse. Perhaps their wounds will become infected, causing their deaths. Perhaps such infections, instead of causing their deaths, would cause their limbs to become gangrenous and need to be amputated. Would the United States like their heroes coming home alive but without arms and legs and being carried in boxes?”
Dunfield paled and responded angrily. “I cannot recommend that you even think of committing such atrocities. In fact, I’ve just this instant decided that Red Cross personnel will constantly observe the American prisoners and that they will be taken to the British Consulate or some other suitable place as soon as possible, within the hour if I can arrange it.”
The two men glared at each other while Helmsdorf turned away. Villate hated do-gooders. Dunfield decided to try and calm things. “Can the Americans be exchanged for Spanish prisoners?”
“I will look into it,” Villate said sullenly. “However, I do not believe the Americans have taken enough of our men prisoner in this strange war to make an exchange feasible.”
Villate walked over to the two inert figures. He leaned over and spat in their faces. Dunfield thought about protesting but decided he’d pushed his luck far enough.
“You can take the prisoners to wherever you wish,” Villate said and walked away. The German followed a moment later. But first he winked at Dunfield.
Prentice had been pretending to be unconscious. He thought Janson had been as well. “Mr. Janson,” he whispered, “If I heard correctly, we actually stand a chance of surviving.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Janson whispered back. “Anything could happen. One other thing.”
“What?”
“You’ve got spit all over your face.”
* * *
The bombardment began at first light the next day. The Spanish army had brought up dozens of cannon, most of them small, and began shelling the two major locations-Mount Haney and the entrance to the bay.