Cowardly bastards, he cursed, conveniently ignoring the fact that he’d held back. Finally, a message arrived authorizing the retreat that was already occurring. It said that the attack on the middle was a complete success and that hundreds, if not thousands, of Americans were dead, wounded, or captured.
Even though they were retreating, all around him men were cheering. They had singed the beard of Uncle Sam, and better, Salazar hadn’t gotten hurt. Another messenger brought him word that General Weyler was very pleased with the way his men had pinned down the Americans on the hill and kept them from counter-attacking. Weyler confirmed Salazar’s rank as colonel. No longer was he a temporary colonel. Perhaps even his scrawny slut of a wife would be proud of him.
As he headed back to his quarters, he noticed that he wasn’t limping as much. Tonight he would go into the village where Helga was ensconced. He smiled at the thought of her servicing his manhood with her marvelous lips. Thank god he could be certain of her loyalty and love towards him. He could count on her, not like his cold bitch of a wife. Helga was a hundred times more of a woman than Juana, and if that American reporter wanted to fuck her, well he could have her. Salazar laughed as he wondered if Kendrick’s cock would freeze inside her and fall off. He thought it more than likely.
* * *
It was almost dawn before Ryder felt confident enough in the security of his men’s position to take a break and lie down. He’d been up almost all night shifting men and units into positions and helping sight cannon so they could fire down into the newly developing Spanish lines below Mount Haney. At dawn a truce would be in effect to help gather up the dead and wounded from both sides. The cries and moans coming from the wounded tore at all of them, but they were gradually fading away as men either died of their wounds or were carried away by comrades taking advantage of the darkness and an unofficial truce to sneak out and help them.
Ryder slipped out of his tunic and shirt and managed to wipe himself somewhat clean with a rag and a pitcher of water. He closed his eyes and immediately went to sleep. When he awoke, it was mid-day and he cursed angrily.
“You shouldn’t talk like that,” said Sarah as she pushed him back on the cot. “The world did not end while you were resting. Your soldiers will get the wrong idea and think you’re a violent man who likes to swear. Everything’s under control, Martin. Both sides are licking their wounds.”
He looked around and continued to wake up. They were in the back room of his quarters and a blanket had been hung to give him some privacy from the office part. “We shouldn’t be alone like this.”
“I’m a nurse and Ruta’s just outside with a couple of other nurses. The wounded are all taken care of, so don’t worry about your men being neglected. They will think I’m treating you for some malady or minor injury. And besides, we don’t have enough privacy to really get into trouble. By the way, you look terrible. You won’t be too much use to your men if you’re too sick and hungry to lead them.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Not for one second. Now be still and kiss me.”
He pulled her down to him and they kissed hungrily, passionately. When she finally pulled back, she looked down on him with tenderness and sadness. “I’m going to shock you, Martin. I want to go someplace lovely and private and make love to you and it won’t matter if we’re married or not. I’ve decided that life is too short and death too violent and close by to waste on ceremonials.”
“Funny, but I was thinking pretty much the same thing. I wasn’t shocked, though. Frankly, I’m delighted.”
She poured some water into a bowl and began to clean off his chest and arms. “You’re filthy and this water isn’t that much cleaner.”
“I just tried to clean up,” he said.
She left and returned with a fresh pitcher. “With what? Mud? You need to get used to doing a better job if you want to get me in your bed. I will not have a filthy lover.”
“I’ll work on it,” he said and gasped. He was becoming thoroughly aroused as she rinsed off his bare chest. From the way Sarah was biting her lip, he thought that she was too. “Perhaps you could just come here several times a day and take care of my personal hygiene needs.”
She laughed. “It appears that your needs have nothing to do with hygiene. Speaking of which, have you noticed how dirty and tattered my nurse’s uniform is? Of course you have. Now look at this.” She pulled her dress up well above her knees. He wanted to gape at her lovely and shapely legs but he couldn’t. The dark stockings she was wearing were torn almost to shreds. “All of us are wearing clothing that is at least as bad as this.”
Martin sat up. The romantic interlude was over, at least for the moment. “I’ve seen beggars who were better dressed. What do you want me to do?”
“Unless you can get us ladies some appropriate women’s wear, we would like you to order the quartermaster to issue us men’s uniforms, size small, very small if they have any such thing. If not, we will tailor what we can get to our needs.”
“It’s irregular, but so is the idea of having you here in the first place. Consider it done. But what will Clara Barton think?”
She leaned down and kissed him longingly, for a moment letting her tongue wander with his. “I don’t much care what Clara Barton thinks,” she said when they broke and could talk. “She can solve her own problems.”
Sarah ran her hand down his chest and stomach and lightly over his pants and the very obvious swelling hiding beneath the cloth. “Just remember, my very dear general that the suddenly lusty Widow Damon needs you and craves you very much, so stay safe.”
* * *
Pleased and confident, Winfield Scott Hancock, former major general in the Union Army and 1880 Democratic candidate for President of the United States formally presented himself to Blaine, Arthur, and the others. Libbie Custer was not present. She could not bear to be in the same room as the man who had run against her beloved husband and had almost beaten him. Unsaid was the thought that a President Hancock wouldn’t have gotten the U.S. in the terrible mess that the war in Cuba had become.
Lieutenant General Philip Sheridan accompanied him. It was not lost on the attendees that Hancock looked far more fit and trim and healthy than Sheridan who was seven years his junior.
“Don’t we have any young generals?” sneered Blaine.
“No we don’t,” Sheridan said blandly, “and therein lies the curse of the peacetime army, and navy I might add. During war, merit and survival are rewarded and cream rises to the top. In peacetime, rank freezes, even fossilizes. Just about every general we currently have in the army achieved that rank during the Civil War, and that tragic event ended more than sixteen years ago.”
“And as I can still talk and walk, I decline to be referred to as a fossil,” answered a smiling Hancock. He was in a confident and ebullient mood. He was about to be honored and vindicated by his political enemies. “I may be many years older than Nelson Miles, but in many ways I am very much younger than he.”
Even Blaine had to agree with that assessment. “Have you come to be America’s savior, Mister Hancock?”
Hancock refused to be insulted by Blaine’s not referring to him as General. Even though he was a civilian, he was entitled to the courtesy. “I don’t think America needs a savior, sir, but the war in Cuba certainly does.”
Vice President Arthur decided it was time to end the pettiness. Blaine was beginning to annoy him. “Agreed. Now, General Hancock, what can you bring to the table?”
Hancock took a deep breath. “It’s been a long time since I led men in battle, but I am confident I can rally the troops and conclude the war with an American victory.”
Even Blaine had to nod agreement. Few could not recall Hancock’s taking control of the Union lines at the Battle of Gettysburg and stabilizing them before he was terribly wounded. That wound still troubled him and on occasion caused him great pain. There were those who thought that it had been Hancock and not Meade who had won that climactic battle.