Yes they would, he thought. He was the one who knew where they were going. He was the one who had been scouting out the terrain. He took the lead with a grinning McCawley just a step behind. The colonel was exulting in the fact that his Marines would be fighting as a unit, and not as small units on board warships.
Prentice quickly found the path that would lead them to the Morro Castle. It and La Cabana guarded the half of the entrance to Havana’s harbor that was across from the city itself. The Negro cavalry would attack the more sprawling fortress of La Cabana.
“Faster,” the colonel ordered and the men responded. Prentice had figured it as a two mile jog from the beach. The big threat, of course, was discovery. That it would happen was inevitable. Discovered too soon, however, and the enemy could be pouring rifle and cannon fire into the helpless ranks of Americans. As they ran past houses and cottages, people awakened. Windows were opened and, in some cases, people stepped outside to see what was happening. When they saw an army passing, most of them prudently went indoors, while others ran away from both the soldiers and the fort. In a few cases, Spanish speaking soldiers angrily told people to go inside their houses and hide.
After an eternity, the ramparts were in sight. There was no apparent activity. Whatever noise the column had made, it had not been enough to rouse the garrison that Prentice knew was small and poorly led. Prentice led men to where he’d spotted a gate. It was shut, of course. The colonel signaled and a handful of men raced towards it and confirmed that it was shut firmly. Prentice found himself holding his breath while the men fiddled with the explosives they’d brought. They lit the fuse and ran as fast as they could.
Just then, they were spotted and Spanish voices called out a challenge. “Too late,” McCawley said with a grin. A second later and a blast ripped the gate apart. The Marines didn’t wait to see if the way inside was clear, they just ran screaming towards the smoking void and disappeared inside. Prentice followed on their heels, nearly stumbling over debris.
The Spanish fought, and many of them with screaming desperation. There were but a hundred of them at most while more than six hundred Americans were in their midst, shooting them and stabbing them with bayonets. An unarmed Spaniard lunged at Prentice who hacked at him with his cutlass. The man screamed and fell to his knees as blood gushed from his shoulder. “I surrender,” he sobbed in Spanish. Prentice kicked him to the ground and continued on.
Resistance crumbled. Many Spaniards surrendered, while others ran out and into the darkness. A fire was burning and some ammunition was exploding, but the Americans quickly solved the problems. Farther down, Prentice could hear similar fighting raging as the Buffalo Soldiers clawed their way inside La Cabana. Prentice was confident that they would succeed. That garrison too was small and poorly armed. The incompetent Spanish leadership had left the back door to Havana wide open.
Prentice joined a group that was examining the numerous cannon that faced the entrance to the harbor. Across the channel was the small fort of La Punta. He wondered what its garrison was thinking as smoke and gunfire erupted from the two larger forts that were to have protected the city. American ships would have had to run that deadly gauntlet if they had tried to force their way in. As soon as it was determined which of the Spanish guns were useable, they would commence bombarding La Punta and targets of opportunity.
In a very short while they concluded that only about half of the cannon were safe enough to use and many of them could only be used with reduced charges.
While Marines struggled with the captured cannon and others were dragged up the trail from the ships, Prentice wondered about the man he’d chopped with his cutlass. Dreading what he would see, he found his way back to where he’d left the Spaniard. The man lay on the ground with his mouth open and his eyes glazed over. Blood had coagulated on his wound and was turning black. Flies were swarming in their hundreds. Prentice made it to a wall before vomiting.
“Your first, lieutenant?” asked a Marine corporal. His arm was in a sling. Prentice looked to see if the man was being smart and saw sympathy instead of sarcasm.
Paul wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “This is the first time I ever killed anyone directly. When you fire a cannon you usually don’t see the results. Worse, he wasn’t even armed although he was lunging at me.”
The corporal nodded. “That means he was trying to kill you so what you did was war and self-defense. Maybe it’s better when we kill from a distance. I really don’t want to look into the whites of their eyes. It becomes just too damn personal.”
Prentice agreed and vomited a second time.
* * *
Governor General Vlas Villate was awakened by the sound of thunder and the distant muted crackling of gunfire. He swung his bare legs out of the bed, as always careful to not awaken the stocky Cuban woman who was his current mistress. She wasn’t all that attractive but she fucked like a tigress and made no demands on him. Her cousin was that demon of a nun named Magdalena. He often wondered what that not very holy woman thought of her cousin screwing the governor of Cuba. Jealousy, he thought. In his opinion, celibacy was the most idiotic thing the Catholic Church had ever invented. Only a fool would deprive himself or herself of the joys of sex.
He shuffled to a window that pointed to the American lines and heard nothing. Shit, he thought, that meant that the sounds were coming from the channel.
Clad only in his nightshirt, he walked to another window. From this he could see out towards the entrance of the harbor. Since the siege had commenced, he had begun sleeping in the security of the fortress known as Real Fueza. Over two hundred years old, it had been obsolete the day it was built because it was set too far back from the channel to defend it. It was just another ancient piece of stupidity from Madrid. Until tonight, however, its history meant little. This night, Real Fueza made a splendid observation tower with a great view of the other side of the channel. As he watched, an explosion ripped through La Cabana, sending flames and smoke into the sky. Morro Castle was already burning. He grabbed a telescope and thought he could see people running around. They looked like ants that had been spilled from their hill.
An aide rushed in and paused, dismayed at seeing his governor in his night clothes. “Don’t gawk, you fool. Who is in charge of the forts on the other side of the channel?”
“The navy, sir.”
Villate sagged. “And we don’t have a damned navy anymore, do we? Does that mean that no one is in charge over there?”
The aide prudently decided not to answer. “Never mind, damn it. Sound the alarm. Where there is one attack, there will likely be two.” Or three, or four, he thought angrily. “Sound bells, trumpets, bang pots and pans, and anything that will make noise. It may be too late for those people across the channel, but we will be ready. And oh yes, get me my damned uniform.”
Madrid, he realized, wouldn’t give a stinking damn who was supposed to be in charge of those forts. They would only note that one Vlas Villate was Governor General of Cuba, and that all responsibility for what was looking more and more like a catastrophic defeat rested on his broad soldiers. He should have made certain that there was better control of the forts and that troops were out patrolling. The bastards in Madrid would have his head for this. He thought briefly of the money he’d siphoned from government funds and into accounts in Argentina and Brazil. There was more than enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life. He would not go back to Spain for court martial and everlasting shame.