On the same day the Vengadores left to attack Rosario, two strangers on horseback arrived in San Patricio. The locals gave the pair disapproving looks as they rode across the village plaza. They appeared to be nondescript Hispanic drifters common in the border country. Such men were generally troublemakers up to no good. After inquiring of a sentry about the location of Colonel Valenzuela, they went directly to his quarters.
The colonel answered their knock on the front poles of his tent with a wide grin. “Ah, que bueno! Teniente Gonzales and Sargento Sanchez. I’ve been waiting for you.”
The lieutenant and sergeant saluted and were invited in. “We are reporting for duty, mi coronel,” the lieutenant said. “We have been advised by certain officers on the General Staff that you have some special missions for us.”
“Let us sit down,” Valenzuela said. “And we will discuss this most important subject.”
The three settled on the chairs around the colonel’s table. The lieutenant and sergeant both spoke fluent English and Spanish. They operated on the American side of the border performing various clandestine assignments. This was the reason they dressed and acted like ne’er-do-well wanderers. The pair mostly checked out military and commercial activities of the Gringos. Their detailed and accurate reports kept their superiors fully informed of what went on north of the Rio Grande.
Valenzuela fully explained the mission involving the attacks along the international border. When Gonzales and Sanchez heard it was all about preparations for a war against the United States, they were surprised and pleased. The colonel emphasized the motivation of revenge that had been carefully nurtured in the young men in the village. “They are even now on the way to make their first attack. It is a simple assignment, but will give them confidence in their fighting abilities. We have turned them from farm boys into soldiers.”
Sergeant Sanchez was curious. “And how do we fit into this situation, señor el coronel?”
“Your job will be reconnaissance,” Valenzuela replied. “As military men you will be able to determine what targets across the Rio Grande are worth attacking. When you find a suitable objective, return here and report directly to me with your information.”
“Do you lead the attacks?” Gonzales asked.
“I will give you no information of our organization or command structure,” Valenzuela stated.
“Most wise,” Sanchez said. “And appreciated by us. We carry no maps or other evidence of our true identities in case we are detained by the Gringos.”
The colonel smiled. “Your superior officers have complete confidence in both of you. They have granted me the authorization to order you to immediately assume your new duties.”
“We are ready, mi coronel,” Lieutenant Gonzales assured him.
“Then you may begin your mission this very moment.”
The lieutenant and sergeant stood up and saluted, then wordlessly left the hut. Possible sites to attack were already running through their minds.
~*~
A few days later, the vengadores returned to San Patricio after their raid on Rosario, Texas. Comandante Jager’s main purpose in the attack was to get them used to approaching objectives without being detected. They stayed on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande for a simple sniping mission. Jager had them fire a few shots into the town so he could check their firing skills and discipline.
Once back in San Patricio, Jager and Sub-Comandante Santiago Gomez wasted no time in beginning a new training phase to teach them how to raid larger, better-defended communities. They ran numerous simulated attacks through the village, practicing fire and maneuver, entering buildings, and other aspects of town battles. It was great fun for the young men and also amused the villagers who watched. Since this was not a live-ammunition exercise, the vengadores hollered, “Pum!”—the Spanish language version of “bang”—during the drills.
After three long days of training that involved several different scenarios, they practiced withdrawal and rear-guard actions. The most important part of this instruction was the proper way to set up ambushes in order to stop an enemy pursuit.
At the end of the last scheduled training day, Jager and Gomez dismissed the vengadores for a few days of rest and relaxation. Gomez was all smiles. “They are ready and eager, Comandante Jager.”
“I agree,” the German replied. “They still have a bit of youthful exuberance that might lead to trouble, but after a real battle, such nonsense will be knocked out of them.”
When the pair reported the results of the latest training cycle to Colonel Valenzuela, the officer was pleased and optimistic. “What we need to do now is have Minister Harrigan give them a pep talk to increase their hatred of the Gringos.”
Sub-Comandante Gomez remarked, “The Irishman looks forward to establishing a close association with the vengadores.”
Jager agreed. “We should come up with a battle cry. In the Foreign Legion it was Legio Patria Nostra. The Legion is Our Fatherland.”
Colonel Valenzuela was thoughtful for a moment. “How about Viva Nuestra Venganza—Long Live Our Vengeance!”
“Yes!” Jager exclaimed. “That will be most meaningful to those fine lads! That will certainly give them an extra boost of élan and esprit de corps.”
~*~
The name Karl Jager was a Foreign Legion identity the German had taken when he joined the outfit. Every man who enlisted in the Legion was allowed to begin a new life under a name other than his own. At the end of his service, an honorable discharge earned him a certificate of French citizenship bearing the Legion name. Thus he was well protected from arrest for past lawless behavior.
Jager had been born Heinrich von Richtberg. He was the scion of a Prussian aristocratic family, and chose a military career as was expected of males in that social class. Young Heinrich was commissioned in an elite hussar regiment of the Imperial Guard in the early summer of 1870. He hadn’t been in the army long when the Franco-Prussian War broke out. This conflict was brought about by Prussian plans of German unification. The situation alarmed the French who were seriously worried about the shifting balance of power.
Lieutenant von Richtberg proved his courage in combat. He was wounded twice and was awarded the Grand Iron Cross for bravery. The war ended with a Prussian victory, and the young officer returned to Berlin to continue his service in the Imperial Guard.
Garrison life was quite enjoyable for those patrician guardsmen. They participated in ceremonial procedures that displayed their skill at parading. Between the formal exhibitions there was plenty of free time for the young officers. These upper class military playboys partied and drank in Berlin’s most exceptional brothels, the finest cabarets and most elegant gambling casinos.
It was this latter activity that brought about the downfall of a very immature Lieutenant Heinrich von Richtberg. He lost heavily at the tables, eventually getting into deep debt. When the gambling syndicates began making ominous threats, he came up with a desperate plan to get them off his back. He took money from the regimental funds with the idea of winning enough to solve his financial woes.
It did not work.
Heinrich’s theft was discovered and he was cashiered from the Prussian Army. Consequently, his family disowned him, leaving the ex-officer penniless and disgraced. He did what many Germans in dire straits did; he took a train to Marseille, France and enlisted in the French Foreign Legion.
Thus, he became Karl Jager.
Jager chose “Karl” because it was the first name of a cousin he had grown up with. Jäger meant hunter in the German language and was also the designation of elite light infantry and cavalry regiments. He hoped that it would bring him luck during his time in the Legion.
Although Jager had accepted the fact that he would be serving in the worst parts of the North African desert, he was surprised when orders came down shipping him to the French colony of Indo-China. Rather than a dry burning environment, he found himself soldiering in the boiling wet heat of southeastern Asian jungles. But at least it was more comfortable than trudging across the Sahara Desert under a blazing African sun.
His regiment fought under appalling conditions against local tribes who hated their French colonial masters. It was irregular warfare at its worst, but young Karl Jager adapted to it beautifully. During his fifteen-year career he won medals, accolades and a promotion to adjudant-chef, the highest grade of warrant officer. During his final year of service, he was given a staff position at French headquarters in Hanoi.
Jager obtained a “wife”—a congaye in Legion terminology—a young and pretty Ind0-Chinese woman who was an obedient and obliging sexual playmate. It was actually the best time of his life, but as the end of his career approached he had to consider what he would do after retirement. One of the staff captains he served under had been stationed in France’s South American colony of French Guiana. During lulls in the administrative work, the two chatted and the captain told Jager about numerous revolutions throughout South and Central America.
“There are plenty of jobs for mercenary soldiers,” the officer explained. “And the revolutionary leaders are always seeking skilled professionals to help them topple their governments. And those bumbling generalissimos pay well for their services.”
When Jager retired from the Legion, he took his brand new certificate of French citizenship and his savings, to buy passage to South America. He had read in newspapers about some unrest in Ecuador. Upon arrival in that nation, he made discrete inquiries to find martial employment. However, when he obtained a job after a few months, it was not with rebels. The Ecuadorian Army needed experienced officers to help them in their struggle to quell a vicious rebellion. Much to Jager’s surprise he was given a commission as a colonel. He received bonuses for each victory he achieved as a field commander. When the revolution folded and all the rebel leaders had been taken to the wall to face firing squads, the ex-Foreign Legionnaire had built up a solid reputation as a combat commander. He was also wealthy by local standards.
More mercenary work came as he traveled through South and Central America to hire out his military skills. It was in Guatemala when he was between jobs, that he received a telegram from Mexico City offering a position that would pay him no less than 50,000 silver pesos. This was the largest pay-for-hire ever offered to him, and he wasted no time in traveling north. That is when he met Colonel Juan-Carlos Valenzuela and Minister Tim Harrigan. When they explained the job to him, Jager wasn’t very enthusiastic. The idea of leading a small campaign of raids into the United States of America seemed more like a position for a bandit chief. But an advance of 10,000 silver pesos plus the deed to an old Spanish land grant in California won him over.
And, now with the preliminaries taken care of, Jager was confident and ready to begin this small but lucrative war on the Rio Grande.
~*~
Back in the village of San Patricio, Comandante Karl Jager and Sub-Comandante Santiago Gomez were commended by Colonel Juan-Carlos Valenzuela for the Rosario raid.
The trio was in the colonel’s tent, seated at a table with a bottle of tequila and three glasses. The colonel raised his libation and pronounced, “You have both done a magnificent job of preparing those lads for war.”
“Muchisimas gracias, mi coronel,” Gomez said.
“Have you decided on how you are going to organize the vengadores?”
“Yes, Colonel,” Jager replied. “We have twelve young soldiers who will be divided into two teams of six. I will take one and Gomez the other.”
“Yes,” Gomez said. “Of course, Comandante Jager will always be in overall command.”
“We have two sets of brothers,” Jager said. “The Finigans and Obrayens. We are separating them.”
Valenzuela was confused. “But why do that?”
Jager answered, “It has been my experience that in the case of brothers, if one gets wounded or killed, the other will forget everything and try to help his sibling or at least recover the corpse.”
“Does that happen very often?” the colonel asked.
“It does in cases like this. In regular army units it is rare for brothers to serve in the same unit, but in revolutions and guerrilla warfare, it is quite common.”
“You know best, I am sure,” Valenzuela said. He recharged the glasses, then proposed a toast. “Here’s to our campaign. May it draw the Gringos in where we can slaughter them. To victory!”
“La victoria!” Gomez exclaimed in Spanish.
“Der Sieg!” Jager echoed in German.