Chapter 18
Ryder stiffened and came to attention when he saw General Hancock approaching. As always, the commander of the U.S. forces in Cuba was impeccably dressed which made Martin feel more than a little dirty since his uniform hadn’t been cleaned in a while. To make matters worse, he and Lang had just spent some time crawling on their bellies to get a good look at the Spanish defenses. A very solemn Nelson Miles followed Hancock. It looked to Ryder that Miles still hadn’t gotten over being supplanted as commander of the American forces. Generals Crook and Gibbon lagged behind, amiably talking to each other.
The grueling advance from Matanzas to the outskirts of Havana was finally over. It had taken two long weeks to get the army out of its original base and down the narrow and inadequate coastal road. At spots, the road had been little more than a trail and the Spaniards had set a number of ambushes. These had either been brushed aside or there had been some brief but serious fighting. Regardless, it had taken time and blood to move the fifty or so miles to Havana.
Hancock returned Martin’s salute. “Good to see you, but I thought I’d be meeting with Benteen.”
“He’s sick, general. He asked me to fill in for him.”
Hancock shrugged as if to say it wasn’t all that important who he met with. “How ill is he? Please tell me it’s not the fever.”
For some reason, the dreaded fevers had not hit the American Army in force, at least not yet. Both sides were holding their breath, awaiting the murderous and mysterious disease that most people thought was caused by breathing the dank and stinking swampy air. Some thought the fever was caused by tiny, invisible organisms called germs, but there was disagreement about that theory. Ryder briefly wondered what Sarah or her father thought about the idea of germs.
“Apparently it’s not the fever, general. The doctors think it’s something he ate and he should be up in a few days.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t think the doctors have a clue as to what’s wrong with him. All anyone knows is that he can only get out of bed to crap and puke. Since we’ve broken out of Matanzas, there’s a lot of commerce between us and sympathetic locals and that includes eating some pretty strange and spicy food.”
Hancock laughed. “Then we’ll let him rest and purge himself of his sins. Come with me, I want to talk with you.”
With Hancock leading, they walked to a slight rise where they could view the raw scars that were the earthen Spanish embankments that ran from the Caribbean to Havana’s inner harbor. Through their telescopes they could see that the enemy ramparts bristled with armed men as the American Army deployed for a battle that was not going to come this day. Behind the Spanish walls, and out of artillery range, a number of wooden observation towers had been built.
“Are you impressed?” Hancock asked.
“Not really,” said Martin. “It’s a far cry from the triple walls of ancient Byzantium that I’d read about or even the Confederate works at Petersburg, and I did see what’s left of those. With enough guns and time we could pound the place to pieces even though they still outnumber us.”
“But that would take far too long and we don’t have the time. Despite the fact that we are landing and installing howitzers and heavy mortars to bombard the fortifications, we must bring things to a head before this degenerates into a long and fruitless siege. Remember that Byzantium wasn’t taken for a thousand years and Petersburg’s siege lasted about a year. No, there will be no lengthy siege. We cannot afford it. The American people want this war over.”
Ryder wondered just why he and the absent Benteen had been being singled out but kept quiet. He looked skyward to where an American observation balloon looked down on Havana from several hundred feet above the ground. Whoever the brave soul was in the balloon, he had a much better view of Havana than did the Spaniards in their wooden towers.
Hancock shielded his eyes and also looked at the contraption. “Is it true that a photographer is up there?”
Ryder grinned. “The estimable William Pywell is indeed up there. He’s trying to get panorama pictures of the coming battle. So far the gondola has jiggled too much to get a good clear photo of anything. I spoke to him last night and he says today will be his last try. After that, he may try building his own observation tower. He hopes that it will be a steadier platform.”
“All journalists and photographers are crazy, Martin, only you didn’t hear that from me.”
An explosion boomed and they all turned to watch a mortar shell arc high into the sky and fall behind the walls of Havana. A second later, the shell exploded, sending a cloud of debris into the air.
“A ranging shot,” sniffed Hancock. “I very much doubt that it hit anything important. Tell me, Martin, have you ever seen a Masai warrior kill a lion?”
“Can’t say as I have, sir.”
“Well neither have I. But I do have it on good authority that a young Masai warrior is sent out onto the African plains or veldt armed with only a short stabbing spear and a pair of huge balls between his legs. It’s a rite of passage and they must kill a lion with nothing but their cunning and that little spear in order to become a warrior. They stalk the beast, get very close, and ram the spear into the heart of the lion, killing him instantly. At least that’s the plan. A miss, of course, could prove fatal to the hunter as the lion is not likely to allow the young lad a second chance.”
A second shell crashed and exploded. Martin wondered just where the general’s musings were going. He did have the uncomfortable feeling that they might involve him.
Hancock saw the dismay on Ryder’s face and smiled. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of sending anyone out to storm Havana with a small spear. What I do want is to attack and go straight for the heart. They have too many men for us to attack at more than one point and be successful. The Spanish may be poorly led and poorly trained, but even inferior soldiers might just do well if ensconced behind the perceived security a wall. Ergo, we must get them away from that wall. What I propose to do is to launch a violent attack at a narrow point, like a spear, break through, and wreak havoc in their rear. It would be somewhat like Alexander the Great did in his battles against larger enemy armies-go for the heart or, if you wish, the jugular.”
Ryder smiled wanly. “And I presume this involves me.”
“Indeed. Unfortunately it is the price of your successes. The attack will be spearheaded by Benteen’s division and further led by your brigade. I am confident that you will succeed. You have proven yourself a skillful and resourceful leader and fighter. I am also confident that you will plan well and accomplish all this with a minimum of casualties.”
By way of emphasis, another mortar landed behind the enemy lines. This time something other than the shell exploded, and men all around began to cheer as clouds and flames billowed. “Probably ammunition,” said Hancock and then looked sheepish. What else could it have been?
Hancock continued. “It will take a couple of weeks to gather our forces and we will try to confuse the Spanish by first shelling at various places along the line. While I would never underestimate an enemy, I am confident that Generals Weyler and Villate are under orders from Havana to defend everything. If they do that, of course, they will wind up defending nothing.”
Ryder wondered just how Hancock was so certain about the orders Villate and Weyler had. Spies must be everywhere, he concluded.
Hancock continued, “What I plan to do is build a rail line that largely parallels their defenses and move cannon up and down it by way of trains, even firing big guns from the rail cars. With luck, that’ll keep the Spaniards chasing their tails. Then we stop when and where we wish and your men get to lead the attack. Tell me, general, do you have any thoughts as to how you will get your men safely over those walls?”
Ryder smiled grimly. “Frankly, sir, I’d been thinking along those lines and I do have some ideas.”