Somehow, Helena didn’t give him a chance to tell her the cruel-dawn facts of life before it was time to march. He was only alone with her a short while as he took her into town to buy her a dress while Gaston attended to chowing up and arming the men. It seemed sort of shitty to tell a girl she’d have to forget you, right after seeing her cry tears of joy over the first pretty clothes she’d ever had. Despite his noble intentions, the night before, he’d wound up screwing her eight times in a half dozen positions and Helena was glowing like a bride on her honeymoon. It seemed nicer to just let her prattle on about an impossible future as they went back to the house. There was always the chance he’d get killed before he had to piss on the stars in her eyes.
They found Greystoke waiting for them to see the expedition off. The Englishman nodded politely when Captain Gringo introduced Helena and said she needed a job. Greystoke said, “That should be no problem. I’ll see that she’s properly looked after. But what about you? I came as soon as my agents told me you seem prepared to leave this morning. I mean, dash it all, it’s broad daylight!”
Captain Gringo nodded back and said, “So what? Everybody on both sides knows we’re going. Why stumble over things in the dark? I figure it’ll take us all day just to get off this mesa.”
“Oh, you’re probably right. I wired our people down on the coast and they’ll have a steam launch ready if you need it.”
Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “I’ve changed my mind. Without that observation balloon, we’d be a sitting duck in the water, even without a sub’s periscope to watch out for. They could snipe at us from the trees along the shore and if there was anything to be seen from seaward, you wouldn’t need us. Any one of your own gunboats would have spotted the base by now if it wasn’t inland and well hidden.”
Greystoke smiled primly and said, “Now you’re starting to make sense. You’ve studied the map I gave you, of course?”
“Studied the German one, too. It’s more detailed. We’ll cut in to higher ground where the shore is shoal. That still leaves a mess of mangrove swamp to explore. So we’d better get started.”
He called out to Gaston and the Frenchmen led the men from the house. All had been issued packs and rifles and Bomber Girty was packing the machine gun, tripod and all, while T.B. lugged the ammo boxes. As they lined up, Captain Gringo said, “Bomber, you can leave that tripod here and save yourself a few pounds. It’s as easy to prop the Maxim over a log. Is the water jacket empty?”
Bomber Girty shook his head and said, “No sir. I thought you needed the water to keep the gun from overheating.”
“Empty it. We’re not going to be shooting the gun up here on the mesa and water’s heavy. There’ll be plenty where we’re going.”
Bomber Girty lowered the gun with a relieved look and opened the petcock to let the water drain from the jacket. Captain Gringo looked at T.B. and asked, “Are you up to packing that ammo, kid?”
T.B. looked blank. Then he grinned and said, “Hell, Cap, T.B. stands for Thomas Boyd. I don’t have T.B.”
“Good. I see Bomber has the Maxim fixed, so we’ll move out. Gaston, you take the point. We’re marching route-step and taking it easy until we get legged up. What are you waiting for?”
Gaston asked, “Aren’t you coming with us?” Then, catching on, he grinned and shouted, “Allez, mon braves, we march!”
As the oddly assorted crew stumbled after him down the tree shaded street, Captain Gringo turned to Helena and said, “I have to go, Querida. I wish we’d had time to get a few things straight, but—”
“I love you, too,” she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him as Greystoke looked away, embarrassed. The American returned her kiss and muttered, “Right. Take care of her, Greystoke,” and then he turned and jogged after the others, not looking back. He felt shitty enough as it was.
He caught up with Gaston at the head of the column and the Frenchman asked, “Have we any particular destination, or do we simply march until we’re in Nicaragua again? This street is taking us north. The coast is to the east, non?”
“Just keep walking. I want to spend as much time as possible with dry feet.”
“Ah, true. If we follow the highlands as far north as we can, it will save hacking our way through the low country. I see your plan. We drop down to the jungle near the mouth of the San Juan, then make a single sweep southeast to the Panamanian border, hein!”
“If you say so. Let’s pick it up a bit. I said route-step, not a funeral march.”
It took them an hour to clear the suburbs of San Jose and take a trail break in the shade of a coffee grove. Captain Gringo was feeling better as he smoked and rested his butt. He’d overdone it the night before but the kinks were out of his hips and despite looking like a gang of hoboes, the men Gaston had recruited were holding up well and nobody was bitching yet. It was a dry, cool day on the mesa and nobody seemed to be tailing them.
He ordered two other men to relieve Bomber and T.B. of the Maxim and ammo. But as he got them back on their feet, one of the men came over and said, “The boys and me have been talking, Cap. How come neither you nor Frenchy seem to be carrying packs and rifles?”
Captain Gringo punched him in the jaw and dropped him in his tracks, unconscious. Then, as the Others stared, openmouthed, Captain Gringo said, “I’m only going to say this once. Rank has its privileges. We are the commanders and you guys are the commandees. The reason this poor slob was packing my rations in addition to his own was because I’m boss, for one thing, and might have to move suddenly to our one lousy machine gun in the second. Gaston will be scouting ahead most of the time. So he travels light because I told him to. Does anyone else want to lodge a complaint?”
The Detroit Harp laughed easily and said, “Hell, no, Cap. You have a hell of a way with words. We read you loud and clear.”
“Good. Relieve this guy of his pack and rifle. He can find his way back to town when he comes to.
Gaston stepped over to the fallen man, knelt, and took his wallet.
Captain Gringo said, “Leave him his own money and a couple of the bucks we gave him for his trouble.”
Gaston said, “Surely you jest?” but the tall American insisted, “Fair is fair,” and watched as Gaston put part of the money back with a disgusted look.
Captain Gringo waited until The Detroit Harp had the pack and extra rifle. Then he said, “We won’t need that rifle. Just take the ammo and bend it around a tree.”
“Did you think I’d complain, Cap?”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t. Now that we’ve separated the men from the boys, let’s move it out.”
Gaston waited until they were well on their way before he murmured, “We are down to nine men, and we’re still on the mesa, Dick.”
Captain Gringo said, “You picked them. Your act with that con artist didn’t take with at least one. I’d rather have nine I can count on than a hundred cant.
“Agreed, but one would imagine the German Marines have a certain discipline instilled in them, too. I doubt they’ll be guarding anything important with a nine-man corporal’s squad!”
“Shit, we were outnumbered to begin with.
Don’t tell me I’m going to have trouble with you, too.”
Gaston laughed and said, “Mais non! I can see Helena has you in a foul mood. I’ll bet she turned you down, eh?”