She sensed rather than heard or saw Martin standing behind her. “Do you always watch a lady doing her laundry?”
“Every chance I get. Now, are you going to jump in that stream or not?”
“Don’t tempt me. I’m filthy, body and soul. I would sell everything I own for a bath. On the other hand, I think I will jump in.”
She didn’t actually jump. Rather, she took off her shoes and stockings, stepped into the clear running water and sat down. “This is wonderful. Care to join me?”
Martin laughed. “The minute I do, General Hancock will come strolling by or Benteen will call for an immediate meeting.”
“Turn around and watch out for me,” she ordered. She slipped the military tunic up and washed underneath as best she could. She then did the same for her trousers, lowering them down to her ankles and letting the fresh water do its magic.
A couple of moments later she straightened her clothes and stood up. Her clothes were soaking wet but they would quickly dry. In the meantime, being cold was a delicious feeling.
“Did you peek?”
“Only a little,” he admitted with a smile. “The water distorted the picture. From what I did see, however, you are lovely.”
“Swine,” she said gently. “When are you leaving for Havana?”
“In about an hour. The First Maryland and the rest of my brigade will bring up the rear, at least for a while. Both Benteen and Hancock have been showering me with compliments which means I’ll be moving up to the front in a little while.”
“I prefer you at the rear. At least there it’s a little safer.”
“What about you?”
“The entire medical contingent will be moving out by ship to either Santa Cruz del Norte or Santa Maria del Mar which is even closer to Havana.”
Martin whistled in surprise. “Somebody’s optimistic. We haven’t taken del Mar yet.”
“All generals should be optimists, Martin. At any rate, our seriously wounded are en route to Florida and the more lightly wounded are being returned to limited duty. In a little while, Matanzas and all the killing done there will be but a fading memory.”
“I don’t think so,” he corrected. “Too many dead and wounded to make it simply go away. Granted the fighting here pales in comparison with the great battles of the Civil War, but there has been some nasty bloodletting here at Matanzas.” He mentally kicked himself as he thought of her brother.
Sarah saw and understood the expression on Martin’s face. “Don’t worry about Jack. My brother is improving and even coming to grips with the fact of his lost hand. He told me that now he’ll never have to work hard again in his life, and that all of the young ladies in Washington will throw themselves at him because he’s a heroic wounded veteran.”
“Would you throw yourself at me if I was wounded?”
“I thought I already had. You had a number of cuts and bruises when I saw you in your tent.”
“Which is nothing compared with what others, like your brother, are having to deal with,” he said grimly.
Sarah began to shudder and Martin held her arm. He was still afraid to show too much affection where others might see them. Then he decided, the hell with it, and held her tightly to him. If anybody noticed, he just didn’t care. Nor did she as she held him just as tightly and wept. Her body convulsed against his and he wanted to sweep her up and take her away to someplace safe.
She pushed him away. “We shouldn’t have done that,” she said as she dried her eyes with a handkerchief that was none too clean. “On the other hand, I truly don’t care what other people think. Do you want me to report us to General Hancock? Perhaps he’ll send us back to the States in disgrace. I think I might like that.”
* * *
The roadblock was primitive but strong. Spanish soldiers were arrayed on either side of the narrow dirt road and heavily dug in. They were also well camouflaged and hidden by thick brush. An advancing force would have to be within a couple of hundred yards before they would be seen. Assuming, that is, that the Spanish troops had enough discipline to stay still, thought Diego Valdez. His lover, Maria Vasquez, had scouted them and estimated their number at about five hundred-a battalion, nothing more, and they had no cannon. Still, they could inflict casualties on his allies, the Americans, if they were not forewarned. He’d already sent a couple of runners back to the leading American commander, a General Chamberlain. The American had the reputation of being a canny veteran and one who would not reject advice from a mere Cuban. Too many Americans would, he thought ruefully.
There. He could see the head of the American column. Skirmishers and scouts led it, looking and probing for an enemy. Diego smiled. Even if he hadn’t warned them, the Americans were ready.
Blue-coated soldiers advanced and moved out onto the fields that led to the Spaniards who were still hidden but would have to emerge to fight. Diego wondered at the idiocy of the Spanish wearing white to go to war. Of course, the Americans wearing blue wasn’t all that much smarter. Both sides were a long ways from invisible. He had about a hundred men and they were all dressed in rags that had faded to the color of the earth.
He watched in approval as two American cannon were wheeled into position. From their flags, he discerned that a brigade was arrayed behind them. Good. The messages truly had gotten through. Someone in the Spanish lines must be swearing at his bad fortune.
The cannons fired and after a couple of ranging shots, shells began to land in the Spanish defenses, shredding trees and shrubs, and destroying the Spanish trenches and barricades. Something exploded in the Spanish lines and he could hear the screams of the wounded. The bombardment lasted only about half an hour before the Americans began to move towards what Diego could see were shattered Spanish ranks. The Spaniards were melting away. Officers frantically tried to stop them, but it was like stopping the rain. Outgunned and outnumbered, the Spanish had no more fight in them.
Valdez turned to where his men were waiting and watching. Less than two hundred yards away, the Spaniards were streaming down the road. His men were grinning expectantly.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he laughed. “Kill them. Only remember to take prisoners. The Americans don’t like it when we massacre all our enemies, no matter how much they deserve it.”
His men howled their pleasure and began firing into the fleeing Spaniards, many of whom were their Cuban brethren. Tough, he thought. Even though they were likely unwilling conscripts, they were still the enemy. The fight for a free Cuba had long ago become the worst kind of civil war.
Some Spaniards tried to fire back at their new tormentors, but when a few were cut down, the others began to back away. His men hadn’t practiced enough to be good shots, but they still caused damage and these Spanish began to run. All control and discipline had been lost.
“Chase them,” Valdez howled and his men surged forward screaming. Because of a chronic shortage of ammunition, rebel General Gomez had urged his men to fire one shot and then run at the Spaniards with their machetes. They’d done it before and the effect on the Spaniards was shattering. Nobody wanted to be chopped to pieces.
The remaining Spanish soldiers dropped their arms and held up their hands, screaming for mercy. A few of Diego’s soldiers forgot their orders and shot and hacked at their enemies until he and his few officers got control. He counted casualties. Of his men, there were four wounded and none seriously. A score of Spanish were dead and a number of others were wounded. The Americans had seen the fighting and had stopped their own firing.
He pointed at the bodies of those who’d been slaughtered. “Drag those away and hide them. I don’t want the Americans thinking that we’re a bunch of savages.”