“No,” he hissed, but Tico either couldn’t or wouldn’t hear.
The boy reached the bread and was leaning down to pick it up when doors opened and soldiers flooded out. At the same time, the rectory door opened and the crazy priest came out screaming. “You were to wait for all of them, you fools, not just this little wretch.”
Manuel heard swearing and obscenities from the soldiers as poor little Tico wriggled and writhed helplessly in their grasp.
“Over there,” the priest yelled and pointed in Manuel’s direction. They had been spotted. “Catch the bastard deserters.”
The remaining boys ran for their lives. The soldiers were older and stronger, but the boys were motivated by fear. The boys also by know knew the streets and alleys very well. They darted in and out of darkened paths and managed to stay just out of the grasp of the soldiers. One by one, the soldiers gave up, doubled over and gasping for breath. The boys were totally exhausted as well. A couple of them had actually been grabbed at by the soldiers and Manuel had been staggered by a strong hand on his ankle when a soldier threw himself at him. He’d screamed and kicked himself free.
“We cannot go back to where we were or where we’ve ever been,” Manuel said as his breath calmed and he got control of his fears. “Tico will talk and they will be waiting for us.”
“Tico is brave,” one of the other boys said, his stammer betraying his own fear.
Manuel again realized he was too wise for his years. He remembered his schoolteacher being beaten and hanged by the Spanish. “Yes, Tico is brave and, yes, Tico is strong. But the Spanish are stronger and they will break him and make him talk. Trust me, they will break him. Everyone will break sooner or later.”
“What will we do?”
Manuel managed a smile. He had been thinking along the lines of desperation when it came to hiding places and had seen the mausoleums in the cemetery. “I think I know of a final resting place for us,” he said.
The next evening they found Tico. He had been beaten, whipped and there were burns all over his small naked body. He was hanging by the neck from the limb of a tree. They also found evidence that soldiers had found many of their earlier hiding places. Sadly, they knew that Tico had been brave but had ultimately talked. Poor foolish boy, Manuel thought. At least he had found out the name of the evil priest who had betrayed them. His name was Bernardi and he was indeed evil. And evil had to be crushed.
* * *
It was raining again and they couldn’t see the Spanish watchtowers. On the other hand, Ryder thought, the observation balloons were safely tethered to the ground. They now had three of the balloons and, as a number of soldiers said, were useless as tits on a boar in the rain.
“Maybe we won’t have to wear those stupid Cuban costumes,” muttered Lang.
“You look great in one,” said Ryder.
“I would say something really appropriate, but you are a general.”
“Good thinking. You may still have to wear those stupid outfits, but you’re right to look at the bright side. The rain is hiding all of our movements. Of course, it’s also hiding theirs from us. Once again, the blind are leading the blind.”
“I thought that was standard army procedure,” Lang said with a smile.
“I don’t think the army has a standard procedure for invading a foreign country.”
“Not just to change the subject a little, general, but is it true that we’ll be the first to enter Havana?”
Ryder knew he should keep quiet, but rumors were rife and Lang was a trusted advisor and a damn good leader. “I would be very surprised if we weren’t. Unless, of course, my well laid plans don’t work and we’re all killed. In that case, we won’t be the first into Havana.”
“Ah, a happy thought, sir. But I have a question-what are the plans for liberating the President and, ah, all those other people with him?”
Ryder smiled. The other people in question were the nurses, although it was understood that other important personages were staying with the British consul. “Lang, you are the soul of discretion. What on earth are you possibly thinking?”
Lang pulled out two Cuban cigars and handed one to Ryder. Cigars were another luxury available now that the army had burst out of its lines at Matanzas. The two men lit up and puffed contentedly for a moment.
“Well, general, once upon a while ago, I led a raid against the Spanish. Then, just a short while ago, they raided our lines. Since it appears we’re playing tit for tat, I feel it’s time to tat their tit. In other words, I think it’s time we raided their asses and made them squeal.”
Ryder blew a perfect smoke ring and watched as it drifted across to the other side of the tent. “I like the thought, but there’s very little chance of success right now. And if you did launch a raid, it would give away the fact that we are planning a major attack.”
Lang nearly choked on his cigar. “General, don’t you think they know what we’re up to, at least in a basic sense? Besides, I have no plans to raid before the attack. My plan, such as it now is now is, will be to launch a raid during the attack when everybody and his brother will be fighting the main battle.”
Ryder blew another ring and decided he was getting really good at it. “Are you thinking of a flying column or a forlorn hope?” he asked, referring to given to sometimes desperate attacks.
“Forlorn hope my ass, general. I plan on doing nothing forlorn. I plan on surviving and getting a medal pinned on my chest by representatives of a grateful nation and I won’t even care if that representative is that asshole, Custer.”
“If you can pull it off, captain, a lot of people will be eternally grateful, although maybe not some people in Washington. How far along are your plans?”
Lang grinned. “They’re getting there. In the meantime, since rank has its privileges, may I assume that you have something stronger than warm water in this tent?”
* * *
Monsignor Bernardi entered the office of Governor General Villate with a feeling of trepidation. He had been doing God’s work and was proud of his efforts. There was concern, however, that others might not see it in that light. The weak and the misguided always misunderstood him and the need to take strong measures against those who would defy the Church. He was also less than thrilled to find Bishop Campoy present as well. Campoy was not one of his supporters. He believed in accommodation, while Bernardi believed in confrontation with the devil and the destruction of God’s enemies.
He was invited to be seated but was offered nothing in the way of refreshments. That did not bode well. The bishop was clearly uncomfortable. “Your zeal is causing problems for both the Church and Cuba,” he said.
“I find that hard to believe, sir. I am working for God and Spain. I have recruited, trained, and armed a force of men that will be instrumental in pushing back the Americans, as well as for keeping Cuba as part of Spain and in the bosom of Holy Mother Church.”
Campoy shook his head. “And for that you needed to kill that boy?”
Which boy, Bernardi wondered. There had been more than a few. Then he recalled. “The person you refer to as a boy was a deserter. He and a pack of other young wolves are living in the streets of Havana by stealing and thumbing their noses at the government and the church. We meted out justice.”
Campoy continued. “Did justice include torturing that boy? He could not have been older than ten. I saw his body. He had been whipped and his flesh was covered with burns. Why did that happen? Why in the name of God did you think such atrocities were necessary.”