“I killed maybe two and wounded a third.”
Liggett actually smiled. “We’ll let the rumors swirl. We need a hero and if a little exaggeration makes you qualify, we’ll let it happen. Now, get the hell out of here and go clean up.”
He was on his way to the officers’ quarters when Kirsten ran up and grabbed his arm. Her eyes were red from crying.
“You are a fool, a complete idiot,” she said as she first grabbed his arms, then let go and began pounding on his chest. “What on earth were you thinking of, risking your life like that? They gave you rank and responsibility so you could stay safe and use your brain, not your gun.”
“I’m sorry,” he said lamely. A scolding from a three-star general he could endure. Kirsten’s wrath, never.
“You almost made me a widow a second time and we’re not even married yet.”
“Do you want to marry me?”
“Yes, but not until after this is over.”
“And why aren’t you at the hospital?”
“Because they don’t need me right now. There’s been an influx of trained personnel from up north, so now I’m back to being a clerk, cataloging the wounded and trying to notify their families. It’s important, sometimes even heartbreaking, but it can wait a few hours.”
She had taken his arm and was steering him away from the Presidio. “Where are we going?”
“To the apartment. You can clean up, get fed, and I’ll let you play with the dog and cat.”
Luke leaned against her. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. Still, he grinned. “Can I play with their owner?”
The long line of trains from American occupied Monterrey moved slowly through northern Mexico and then into Arizona where they linked up with the rail lines heading to San Diego and Los Angeles. They moved slowly because not all Mexicans agreed with their new government’s decision to allow the American Army access to their trains and railway system. Isolated pockets of Carranza’s men still remained and, allied with small German units, disrupted the American advance by blowing up tracks. Some of the officers and men on the trains referred to the trains as long, slow targets. Others thought of worse names as they waited for the tracks to be repaired by the repairmen they’d brought with them.
Marcus Tovey had originally thought he’d remain in Mexico as part of the shrinking garrison that occupied Monterrey. The city was hostage to Mexican good intentions and, so far, the Obregon government had given every indication that it was going to obey the new rules.
It had been somewhat of a surprise when Lejeune had selected Tovey’s force to accompany the First Marine Division on its journey to southern California. Lejeune had laughingly informed Tovey that he considered the Texas Ranger and his men to be worthwhile additions to his force. “You people are damned good fighters. Almost good enough to be U.S. Marines,” he’d added.
Other caravans of trains were forming and several Army divisions under Pershing were almost ready to move west. It would be a long, slow process, however. Whatever was going to happen to San Francisco would be long over before any substantial American relief force from the south could get near the place.
The train lurched to a halt and the men spilled out, their rifles at the ready. In the distance they could hear the snap of rifle fire and the chatter of machine guns. Someone was taking a stand near where the right of way narrowed as it went though a canyon.
The Texas Brigade was on the fourth train, which meant it was a long ways from the action. A number of horses were in a car a few back. Tovey grabbed one and rode bareback towards the front. It felt good to be mounted. Hell, he was a Texas Ranger and belonged on a horse. He trotted forward past several long trains and hundreds of dismounting men. It was obvious that something serious was happening.
General Lejeune spotted Tovey. “Germans are to our front. Goddamned Krauts have taken over from the greasers and are blocking the road. Worse, it looks like a solid regiment. I’ve ordered an immediate attack.”
The rail line ran through a notch bordered by rugged hills. The Germans were at the top. Their trenches were scars on the hillside and they were firing down at probing Marine units. Nothing was going to move down that rail line until the Germans were kicked out.
Tovey watched with growing dismay as lines of Marines moved toward the hastily dug-in Germans. He wanted to remind Lejeune that the Germans were a whole lot different from the Mexicans, but, hell, the general already knew that, didn’t he? And what did Tovey know about fighting Krauts? The only ones he’d seen were along the Rio Grande and at a distance. The Marines really knew only one way to fight—attack. The time spent on the defensive outside San Antonio had irked them. They wanted to bring the fight to the enemy and now they were doing it.
The Americans advanced in orderly waves, but the orderliness didn’t last very long. Bullets ripped through them and machine guns cut them down like wheat. Some men fell in neat rows. Tovey could almost hear sergeants and officers screaming for the men to advance, keep advancing. The only way to safety, they yelled, was to kill the Germans. German light artillery, their 75mm cannon and some light mortars, dropped shells into the Marines causing more carnage.
The Marines stopped advancing and began to dig in, using anything to protect themselves from the scything fury of the German guns. Tovey glanced at Lejeune, who was pale with anger and frustration. He’d made a mistake and his Marines were paying for it.
He turned away. “We’ll reinforce the men at night and attack again at dawn.”
“It’ll be a bloodbath,” Tovey said. He wasn’t afraid of speaking his mind to the Marine general. Hell, when the war was over, he’d go back to being a Texas Ranger, not a soldier. “General, you’ve read your history. It’s like the Spartans at Thermopylae. They can hold us at bay until they run out of ammunition or we run out of men.”
“We outnumber them,” Lejeune said stubbornly.
“But not by that much. If that’s a full regiment, and I think it is, that’s maybe three thousand men and not three hundred like the Spartans had. We’ve got about twelve thousand, and not the half million the Persians had. I’ll bet we lost five hundred men in today’s attack and the Krauts not one tenth of that.”
“How the hell do you know so much about ancient history?”
Tovey grinned. “I may be a dumb-ass Texan but I’m a dumb-ass Texan who knows how to read.”
Several of Lejeune’s aides had moved away, waiting for the general to explode. It didn’t happen. “What do you suggest?” Lejeune asked softly.
“The Persians found a way around the Spartans and slaughtered them. That’s what we have to do. Keep their heads down by shooting at them and pretending to attack and find a way around this mess.”
“All right, Tovey, you’ve got all night to find me a way. But I still attack tomorrow. We can’t stay here until the Krauts decide to let us pass.”
The woman entered Tovey’s tent accompanied by a lieutenant who was waved out. She was light olive-skinned and petite. There was anger in her eyes. He decided she looked more Spanish than Mexican. If it wasn’t for the anger, she might be very pretty.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Martina Flores and I want to help you.”
“Why?”
“To hurt the Germans who caused all this. My husband was killed by Carranza’s men and I was held captive by the Germans and some American collaborators. They first took my husband and then took my pride. They kept me prisoner and their slave until I escaped and helped free some American prisoners. Then I returned here.”