The skirmish formation was much more spread out as the remaining four detachment members ascended the mountain toward the enemy camp. Within fifteen minutes they came to Charlie Wolf’s corpse. Michael Strongbow knelt down beside his buddy. “It looks like he died quick, Cap’n.”
Hawkins nodded. “Nobody can linger from a wound like that.”
Michael got to his feet as the group continued the armed trek toward the summit. They jumped across the defense trench, then knelt with weapons ready for any resistance. All was quiet with the dead bandits in several clumps where they had fallen. But Hawkins wasn’t taking any chances. He continued as the scouts checked the tent area and finally the corral where the horses were kept.
Sergeant Eagle Heart took another quick glance around. “It look like nobody alive up here.”
“I’d say you’re right,” Hawkins said.
“Fight finished,” Red Moon stated. “We win.”
“You’re right about that too,” Hawkins agreed. He turned to Sergeant Eagle Heart. “Get three horses so we can take Scout Wolf, Corporal Swift Horse and Ranger Buford down the mountain. There’s some bridles hanging on the corral fence.”
“Yes, Cap’n,” the sergeant replied. He motioned to Corporal Tall Bear, Michael Strongbow and Red Moon to join him in the task.
~*~
Down in the village of San Patricio on the morning after the Battle of Cupula Mountain, the people were blissfully unaware of the disaster that had resulted in the deaths of the vengadores.
The farmers were following their usual casual lifestyle of sitting around, whittling and talking among themselves. With no farm work to do, the only tasks were household chores of cleaning and cooking. And this, of course, was done by the women. The small population had evolved into a contented laid-back crowd with no real worries or obligations. Colonel Juan-Carlos Valenzuela spoke to the villagers from time to time, assuring them that their young men were victorious in their quest to avenge the deaths of their fathers and grandfathers.
But the sudden appearance of Sub-Comandante Santiago Gomez galloping bareback into the village shocked the population out of its complacency. They watched as he brought his horse to a dust-scattering halt in front of the headquarters tent. It was obvious the man was badly upset.
The disturbance broke up a conference between Colonel Valenzuela, Comandante Jager, Major General von Richtberg and Ambassador von Wurthardt who were discussing further operations across the Rio Grande. They looked up as Gomez entered the tent, breathless and obviously disturbed.
Gomez gasped out, “The American Army has invaded Mexico!”
Valenzuela stood up in alarm. “What are you talking about, Captain?”
“We were attacked yesterday by a large force of American soldiers,” Gomez reported near hysterics. The battle had unsettled his sanity. “They reached the garrison atop the mountain but we beat them back. They retreated down toward the desert and we pursued them, killing many. Then, suddenly, reinforcements of more Gringos appeared and drove us back to up to the garrison.” He paused to steady his breath. “I estimate we were outnumbered at least four to one. Maybe more!”
Jager leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “What was the outcome?”
“We were massacred!” Gomez exclaimed. “You don’t think we could have won, do you? I was able to make a last stand, but the brave vengadores and guardsmen around me were all shot down. I was under heavy fire but luckily managed to withdraw into the woods. I made my way through the trees then up to the corral. I only had time to put a bridle on a horse. I reached the road to the desert and made my escape.” He paused again. “I am lucky to be alive.”
Jager was seriously troubled. “Was everyone killed? Everyone?”
“All twenty guardsmen and the twelve vengadores were shot down.”
Valenzuela slowly resumed his seat. “This…this is the end. El fin!”
“Of course it is!” Jager snapped. “The Americans aren’t fools! They somehow learned about our plans.”
General von Richtberg gave a meaningful look at Ambassador von Wurthardt. “I suggest we return to the embassy immediately.”
“Let’s pack,” Von Wurthardt said, knowing the Kaiser would not want to commit any part of his army into the emerging fiasco. “We can catch a train to Mexico City at Vista Montaña.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jager said.
The Germans made a quick exit from the tent while the two Mexicans, their faces pale, stared at each other.