Warning of War by James Brady

Author:James Brady
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780312303327
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

In the morning they followed the padre’s directions, skirted the town on its right, and drove into a patchwork of low hills, until, on a bit of high ground, they saw the mission.

“They got a steeple, Captain,” Buffalo said, “at home, churches always got steeples.”

“I guess.”

They had more than steeples. They had Marines.

“Advance and be recognized,” called out a smart, but very young enlisted man with a tin hat, leggings, and a Springfield, all very proper, but with a homespun sort of three-quarter-length lambskin and fleece coat tightly belted with a standard-issue web gear gun belt. Federales in the first truck drove up to a sturdy timber barricade a few hundred yards this side of the famous steeple.

“Fourth Regiment Marines under command of Captain Port,” Sergeant Federales announced. “Stand aside, amigo.”

Marines don’t really need passwords or documents, not when an NCO speaks with authority.

“Pass on,” the boy said, lifting the heavy barrier rail and snapping off a very proper present-arms with the rifle as a salute.

Federales gave him an approving look (except for the fleece coat, on which he was withholding judgment). “That’s well, Marine.”

Celestial Joy, for this was it, stood atop a small, rounded hill with a dandy 360-degree prospect of the surrounding terrain. Good field of fire; nice position to defend. As Port drove in, he noted the whitewashed stucco wall surrounding the mission compound, scorched here and there by fire and riddled with bullet holes, holed in places as well by larger caliber shells.

“Looks like they had theirselves a firefight, Skipper,” Buffalo offered.

“That happens,” Billy agreed.

Without further argument, the heavily timbered main gate swung open.

“I am Reverend Dr. Hopkins,” said an old man, bright-eyed and sporting a long wool scarf in scarlet and a herringbone tweed overcoat that had a few years on it. At his side, a tall, plain, big-boned young woman in a shawl over a heavy cardigan sweater and gum boots. “My daughter, Miss Rose.”

Billy tossed off a salute.

“I’m Captain Port, sir, ma’am. Here to be of service if we can. May I please see the Marine in charge?”

“Of course, of course,” said the reverend. “The man’s our savior. Sergeant Brydon. I’ll have him sent for.”

Brydon was swiftly there, snapping off a brisk salute and reporting himself by name, but togged out in the same sheepskin coat as the sentry. What the hell was this?

The Marines had been here since early September, Brydon said, and were billeted in what was once the one-room schoolhouse, with cots set up on the classroom floor, facing the blackboards. A Marine brewed coffee while Brydon briefed the captain, Rafter, and Federales.

“When the bandits hit and killed them people, sir, Harbin got a wake-up and hurry-up from Headquarters Marine Corps to send a patrol down here and clean ’em out and do whatever we could for the ‘Rollers.’ I mean, we ain’t supposed to call ’em that. Nice folks, the reverend doc and Miss Rose especially. It took a week or so for news of the attack to get to the States and for orders to get back to us.

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