Up on Cupula Mountain, Comandante Karl Jager and Sub-Comandante Santiago Gomez were in their tent studying a map of the Rio Grande’s course. They concentrated on choosing the best location for their next attack. Their scrutiny was rudely interrupted by shouting that suddenly erupted from the entrance to the camp. The two leaders rushed from the canvas shelter, then came to an abrupt halt.
The twenty Mexican guardsmen billeted in San Patricio had ridden into the bucolic garrison in a column of twos, surprising the vengadores. The group included a trio of sturdy burros bearing large, heavy packs. The sergeant-in-charge sighted Jager and Santiago and ordered a halt. He guided his horse over to them, dismounted and saluted. “Señores Comandantes, First Sergeant of the Guard Platas reporting for duty with two sections of cavalry and supplies.”
Jager was confused. “Are you making a delivery, Sergeant?”
“No, mi comandante, we have been ordered by Colonel Valenzuela to join your command.”
Gomez was pleased. “This means we can begin a campaign of genuinely effective raiding. We shall be the greatest scourge of the border country.”
Jager smiled. “Indeed! I think we should—“
“Excuse me, Comandante Jager,” Sergeant Platas interrupted. “Colonel Valenzuela requests that you report to him in San Patricio as quickly as possible. There are other important people there now and they wish for you to participate in a special conference.”
Gomez felt a flash of enthusiasm. “The war with the Gringos is about to begin.”
“You are absolutely correct!” Jager agreed. “I must leave as quickly as possible. Settle these twenty men into the garrison, then assign them to positions within the defensive perimeter. I shall return as quickly as possible.”
Jager hurried to his tent to pack for the ride to the village while Gomez began the process of integrating the soldiers in with the vengadores.
~*~
It was dawn when Karl Jager arrived at San Patricio after a long night of travel. He noted the empty area where the guard detachment had been billeted as he rode to the huts used for headquarters. He came to a halt, getting down from his saddle and tying his horse to a hitching rack in front of the command shed.
Colonel Juan-Carlos Valenzuela stepped outside to greet him. “I appreciate your quickness, Comandante Jager.”
Jager grinned. “The appearance of Sergeant Platas and his men caused quite a stir up on the mountain.”
Valenzuela chuckled. “I imagine it did indeed!”
Two more men, wearing stylish civilian suits, joined them and one’s eyes opened wide when he spotted Jager. He exclaimed in German, “Ach! Du lieber Gott! It is you cousin Heinrich!”
Jager was so shocked at the sight of the man that he staggered back a couple of steps. “Vetter Karl!” he blurted in his native language.
The German ambassador Dietrich von Wurthardt was confused. “Are you two acquainted?”
Valenzuela was also baffled. “Que pasa—what’s going on, Comandante Jager?”
Jager, now recovered, replied in Spanish, “This man and I are cousins.”
Karl von Richtberg’s full attention was on his kinsman. “Where have you been, Heinrich? You disappeared off the face of the earth after your…well… your incident.”
“Let us speak plainly, cousin,” Jager stated emphatically. “It is my theft of regimental funds to which you refer.”
Ambassador von Wurthardt had become irritated. “What is going on here, General Richtberg?”
Jager’s eyes opened wide. “So you’ve become a general, have you, Karl?”
The general shrugged modestly. “Ja. I have the honor to serve Kaiser Wilhelm as a generalmajor in the Imperial Army.” He nodded toward Valenzuela. “Why has this officer addressed you as Jager?”
“It is my French Foreign Legion name. I took it along with your Christian name ‘Karl.’ I am a citizen of France and have been a mercenary soldier for many years now. Presently I am working for certain officers of the Mexican Army.”
Valenzuela was baffled by the rapid exchange in the German language. “It appears to me that you two have some catching up to do. I suggest we postpone any official business until you are reacquainted.”
“I agree,” Ambassador von Wurthardt stated. “I do not think either of you will be able to concentrate on other matters for awhile.”
The two Germans withdrew, going over to a nearby bench and sitting down. They spent nearly an hour bringing each other up to date. Heinrich alias Karl heard the latest news of the Von Richtberg family. His father had passed away in 1883 but his mother was still alive but frail at the age of 97. The familial estate was the same as always except for renovations done to the main house. Heinrich was not surprised that his father had never forgiven him for his crime, and forbade even the mention of his name.
Jager then enlightened his cousin Karl about his career in the French Foreign Legion and his life as a mercenary soldier in Latin America. He also revealed that he was a wealthy man with a large amount of money in an Argentine Bank. “I have given thought to paying back the money I took from the regimental funds, even to the amount of three times what I stole.”
“That would be what an aristokrat should do,” Karl said. “But I fear there would still be others in the Imperial Army who would prefer that you die an honorable officer’s death by suicide with a pistol.”
Jager shook his head. “I have other plans, Cousin Karl. A life of luxury in Switzerland is more to my liking.” He paused. “And what is your purpose for being here in Mexico?”
The general gave a quick but complete explanation of the plans to colonize all of Central and South America. Jager was so amazed by the conspiracy that he couldn’t speak for a moment. Finally, he muttered, “Is such a stupendous thing possible?”
General von Richtberg energetically nodded. “We have a large contingent of the Imperial Army in Cuba at this very moment. The Spanish king is cooperating with us. When the time is right an invasion into sovereign American territory will be launched with our brave Prussian soldiers in the vanguard.”
Jager caught his breath and said, “Ah! If only I could participate in that incredible campaign!”
“I wish you could too, Heinrich. But you would never be accepted back into the Imperial Army.”
Jager shrugged and stood up. “I think we had better return to Ambassador von Wurthardt and Colonel Valenzuela. The sooner this plan is put into operation, the sooner Germany will benefit from the spoils.”
“Selbstverständlich!” Major General von Richtberg agreed with cheerful enthusiasm.
~*~
Captain Mack Hawkins, with Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley on his left and Texas Ranger Jesse Buford to his right, raised his hand to signal a halt. The trio was at the head of the scout detachment arranged in a column of twos. They looked down at the swirling water passing by in the Rio Grande.
“This appears to be the place we’re looking for, Mr. Dooley.”
“Indeed it does, sir!”
“We’ll stay out of sight in the woods on the Mexican side, then begin our advance toward the target just after sunset,” Hawkins stated. He stood in his stirrups and turned to the scouts. “Are you ready to kill the cowardly bandits who thought they were safe in Mexico?”
The scouts shouted out battle cries that went back eons in their tribal histories. Jesse Buford joined them with a mighty Texas bellow of, “Remember the Alamo!”
Hawkins settled back in his saddle, ordering, “Column of twos! Advance at the trot. March!” The captain took his command across the swirling ford into Mexico.