Nor would he take the Cuban woman with him. She was stirring and looking at him solemnly. He would be able to do much better wherever he went. He was confident that his second in command, Weyler, had also invested prudently in his future and would not be returning to Spain except, of course, to tell King Alfonso how badly Vlas Villate had fought this war. Villate chuckled softly. It was nothing more than what he would do himself.
His real fear was that he would be captured by the Cuban rebels who hated him with a fiery passion. They would delight in cutting chunks from his large body and feeding them to the dogs while he watched and screamed. And yes, he would scream. Anyone would.
If this battle was going to end as badly as he thought it might, it was time to complete his prudent arrangements and to leave. Before that, he thought happily, he would order that stupid Monsignor Bernardi to put himself and his legion of fanatics in the forefront of the battle. And Diego Salazar could be there as well. After all, it had been Salazar’s monumental stupidity that had started this war. Salazar was going to cost Spain the island of Cuba and him, Vlas Villate, his reputation.
Tomorrow-assuming there was a tomorrow-he would move his headquarters to some place that wouldn’t look like a military installation and thus attract cannon fire from the American warships that were sure to charge down the channel and into Havana harbor with their guns blazing.
His aide returned with a uniform in his arms. He dismissed the man and began to dress himself. Always go to war with your pants on, he reminded himself.
* * *
Lang and Haney again crawled towards the enemy works. This time they trailed a rope and every fifty yards behind them another American soldier used it as a guide to lead him.
For a second time in as many nights, they reached their goal safely. They huddled in the Spanish trench and waited for the others. An impatient Haney jerked on the rope in a futile attempt to get the others to hurry. It took nearly a precious hour to get the equivalent of a platoon ready to fan out and kill sentries. As this was happening, still more Americans clambered in. No one was surprised that Ryder was among them.
“I thought that generals were too important to go on raids like this?” Haney said.
Ryder smiled in the night. “How come you’re not out taking care of Spaniards?”
“Lang informed he I was too damned clumsy,” he sniffed. “Once upon a time I could sneak up on a wide awake rabbit in the daylight while I was wearing cowbells, but I guess those days are gone forever.”
“Just as well, Sergeant Major. I need you here with me.”
A few moments later, two of Lang’s men, one coming from each direction, returned to say that the battlement had been cleared for more than a hundred yards each way and that the safe distance was increasing.
Ryder acknowledged the information. “Sergeant Major, I just decided that I no longer need you with me. I want you to get back to the brigade as fast as you can and tell them to run up here fast and not to worry about making noise. Then send a message to Benteen asking him to have the rest of the division to move up as well. Quickly would be greatly appreciated,” he added.
A moment after Haney departed, Lang reappeared. His Bowie knife had blood drying on it. “Man’s best friend is not always a dog,” he said as he poured water from his canteen on it and wiped off the blade. “Sometimes a good knife is even better.”
“How many did you have to kill?”
“Only a couple,” he answered. “Most of them surrendered right away when we burst in among them. They were scattered in groups of no more than three. They weren’t very well organized or attentive, for that matter. Most of them were sound asleep.”
More men began to arrive. In short order, he had a full battalion of the First Maryland in position with more arriving each moment.
“It looks like something’s burning,” said Lang. “Smells like it, too.”
Through the darkness they could see smoke arising from just past the city where the channel to the ocean was. “General, in a few seconds I think that all hell is going to break loose.”
Ryder agreed. He grabbed some junior officers to be couriers. “All three of you are to run like hell.” He grabbed one lieutenant and told him to tell the other battalion commanders to drop any thoughts of secrecy and get their men to him and in position immediately. To the second, he requested that division artillery begin bombarding Spanish positions, also immediately. The third he had deliver a message to General Benteen. “My respects to the general and he might want to consider bringing up the rest of the division even faster than I originally requested. Tell him that the city is about to explode and that things are likely to get very hot in a very short while.”
As the men scooted off, bells, bugles and rifle fire came from Havana. Ryder recalled that the navy was supposed to provide a diversion. Then he wondered whether his attack was to be a diversion for the navy. Either way, a major battle was brewing.
“Jesus Christ,” said Lang. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“At your service,” said photographer William Pywell. “The sun is going to rise shortly and this will be a lovely spot to place a camera.”
Ryder shook his head. “It would be an even lovelier spot for a Gatling Gun.”
* * *
Everyone at British Consul Redford Dunfield’s extensive home was suddenly awakened by the alarms going off all over the city. Custer had been roused from his sleep by the familiar sound of gunfire and was already dressed when everyone gathered in the main dining area. A slightly sleepy Spanish Navy Commander Clemente Cisneros addressed them.
“This may be a false alarm, but I think not. It appears that the Americans have either forced the channel or somehow stormed the forts across the channel. Either way they are now able to bombard the city. It may well be that a major infantry attack will soon be launched against Havana.”
“We must get to the hospital immediately,” Sarah announced. “If you are correct, there will be many wounded to care for.”
“Your devotion to your duty is praiseworthy,” Cisneros said, “but I cannot allow it. My orders are to keep all of you safe and sending you out into what might be the midst of a climactic battle for Havana is not keeping you safe. With or without your permission, you will remain here.”
Sarah was aghast. “Then who will care for the wounded?”
“They will have to fend for themselves until and if it is safe. I cannot run the risk of any of you getting hurt.”
“I assume that your soulful concern applies to me as well,” said a clearly annoyed President Custer.
“Frankly, sir, I don’t much care what happens to you, but my government does. Therefore I am required to protect you from both yourself and the numerous enemies outside the walls of this place who would like to see you dead. Or perhaps they would like to hold you hostage for a large cash ransom and safe passage somewhere.”
“Would Villate or Weyler sink so low as to do that?” Custer asked.
Cisneros laughed harshly. “Most people would do just about anything to save their lives, don’t you think?”
“What about me?” asked Kendrick. “I’m a reporter. I have a right and an obligation to observe and write about the coming battle.”
“I applaud your devotion to your duty and the next book you plan to write, but kindly recall that you have enemies outside these walls who would dearly love to see you dead. Your lovely Juana would be most upset with me if that were to happen; therefore, it will not happen. You will remain here and safely out of the reach of Diego Salazar.”
Custer was incredulous. “You would order your men to fire on other Spaniards?”
“If those so-called Spaniards were to attack this place they would be violating their orders as well as what passes for international law. This is the British Consulate, not some tavern. If anyone attacks, they will have become rebels and criminals and, yes, we will fight them.”