In Defense of Patch Schubert

By John C Payne

Will the letter “S” carved in a rifle butt result in the owner's life or death decree?
This blockbuster story traces the maturing of young Confederate Private Patch Schubert in larger-than-life Texas. It begins with the last skirmish of the Civil War. It occurred in South Texas at the Battle of Palmito Ranch, 33 days after Lee surrendered to Grant.
The inexperienced Patch is stopped dead in his tracks, first by the carnally-wired and contentious Rosa, then by the more experienced and gorgeous Leeanne. The young man is overcome by the magnetism spawned by these two sensual creatures as he reacclimates his post-war life in San Antonio.
A former chameleon schoolmaster of shifty moral fiber holds sway with the three individuals creating hesitations and uncertainties. Uncertainty is heightened by the schoolteacher’s business link with a wealthy lawyer of questionable character.
Rosa’s politically-charged father orchestrates a number of challenging demands on the couple. He impacts others involved in the future leadership of Mexico.
The lure of finding gold supplants the lover’s conflicting trysts for a more dangerous obsession. Patch is influenced by a former Union soldier to join him in search of precious minerals.
Patch’s world crashes in El Paso when he is accused of atrocious war-time misdeeds. A military tribunal is convened at Fort Bliss. His future looks bleak. Will his haunted memories come to fruition?

• Language: English
• Publisher: John C Payne
• Release date: Mar 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005215828

John C Payne

Bachelors degree from St. Norbert College, Masters degree from the University of Michigan. Retired US Army officer. Owned and operated three successful businesses. Taught business courses as an adjunct professor at several universities. Married, three grown children. Love writing fictional novels.

Book preview

A Historical Perspective

1865

Texas achieved statehood in 1845 but ultimately joined the Confederacy in March 1861. Governor Sam Houston, the hero of the San Jacinto defeat of General Santa Anna’s Mexican army had raised objections. A quote from one of his overriding complaints was, If you go to war with the United States, you will never conquer her . . . If she does not whip you by guns, powder, and steel, she will starve you to death.

His opposition was convinced slavery was an economic necessity for growth sustainability. Cotton was king in Texas. Horses were supplied to the Confederacy in great numbers.

At the time, Texas was ranked 8th among the top10 cotton producers in the nation. However, the lower Rio Grande Valley was devoid of many cotton crops. Growth of cotton production in Central and West Texas increased after rebellious Indians were removed from the state.

The U.S. Navy had choked off shipping exports of cotton, tobacco, and other important merchandise to Europe from Norfolk, Charleston, Galveston, Corpus Christi. Other key Union ports were also blocked. Brownsville, Texas, and its proximity to the Mexican gulf port city of Bagdad became a critical locale during the conflict.

Mexico was a neutral country devoid of any foreign naval blockades. Bagdad’s port was less than desirable. Larger vessels couldn’t dock close to shore. A shallow underwater shelf extended out to sea. Smaller watercraft taxied the cotton out to the larger ships.

Mexicans across the border in Matamoros inclined to buddy-up with the Confederates. Lucrative smuggling trade opportunities couldn’t be denied. Texas was now a Confederate state. Its proximity to Mexico had a propensity for most Mexicans to sympathize with their plight.

Richard King, former steamboat Captain, and another business partner got rich during this period. They shipped wagon trains stuffed with cotton to Brownsville. King had accumulated massive amounts of acreage to the north, just southwest of Corpus Christi.

The climate here was harsh. The soil wasn’t conducive to ranching or grazing of livestock. Chaparral shrubland plants were the principal vegetation cluttering the landscape. Small Palmetto trees that rose a few feet above sea level were visible in various sites. Clumps of prickly pear cactus also claimed some of the scenery.

The Palmito Ranch battle took place near Brownsville, Texas, on May 12 and 13, 1865. Confederate troops had occupied Fort Brown. Union forces camped twelve miles east at Brazos Island.

Oddly, this clash occurred twenty-nine days after Abraham Lincoln’s assassination. Confederate General Robert E. Lee had already surrendered his Army of Northern Virginia to Union Lieutenant General Ulysses S. Grant. The site was Appomattox and it had occurred thirty-three days earlier. Several historians maintain the Confederacy didn’t exist when the Palmito Ranch battle took place. Was it a post-war encounter between an organized band of Union deserters and ex-Confederate outlaws?

Battle of Palmito Ranch – 12 May 1865

Part One

The Setup

Chapter 1

12 May 1865

With the Rebel Forces

Screaming bullets zipped over Patch Schubert’s head from volleys of crazed riflemen in search of moving targets. The late afternoon light was diminishing over the battlefield at Palmito Ranch. Clusters of balled cotton were strewn over portions of the barren coastal plain. Smugglers hauling two wagons of cotton through the far edge of the salt prairie battle zone had been caught in an intense Union naval bombardment several days earlier. The combat grounds resembled an early winter snowfall.

The only vegetation covering the topography consisted of marsh plants and a dense thicket of shrubs. Patch’s forward observers could scope out the mainstream enemy battlefield positions. Union troops appeared disorganized and not mounting an uphill charge as planned.

Get your fat ass down, Seth, you hillbilly farmer, Patch shouted to the large soldier standing erect next to him. The rigidly packed bale of hay was only protecting Seth’s bottom half. You’ll get that ugly face of yours blown apart.

Go to hell, Schubert, you little mudsill. You’re not in charge of me. The chicken blue-bellies are holding fast. I think they’re preparing to scatter away from us. Hop up and take a gander for yourself, they’re─

Patch shook his head in disgust at his friend as two rounds hammered the belligerent infantryman. The first bullet shattered most of Seth’s face. The second round plowed into his upper right shoulder. His rifle flew to the ground in front of him. Bloody bone and tissue fragments fell on Schubert’s extended hand grasping the soldier’s uniform. The dead warrior swiveled, arms flapping like a crazed bird in flight, and then flopped on top of the stained hay bale.

Patch pulled Seth down and hugged him. He stared into the eyeball dangling from the socket like a cracked Christmas tree ornament. His nose and other eye were missing. Patch rocked the dead body back and forth in his arms, sobbing with each swaying passage. He couldn’t stare at the mangled face any longer. His handsome companion was no more. He gurgled and reeled around to puke a stream of yellow gunk on the dirtied bale.

Shit, oh shit, Patch yelled out to no one in particular. Why didn’t you listen to me for once, you stubborn ox? We were in this together. You swore you’d watch my back at all times. And now this?

I’m getting the hell out of here, can’t take this crap anymore. Nobody gives a damn about who’s getting their ass blown apart. It’s all about death, no glory, no rewards, just keep going until we breach the next hill. Label me a chicken or deserter. I don’t care. I want to live!

Patch stopped mulling over this demoralizing state of affairs and began wheezing. He moaned and cried, weeping for the loss of his dear friend. When he picked up Seth’s rifle, he remembered the story Seth had shared with him after joining him on the front. He told Patch about whittling the big letter S in the stock to honor his father. Seth maintained the letter represented sturdiness, sincerity, supremacy. It wasn’t the initial of his dad’s first name.

After a moment, he gained control of his reeling emotions. Patch crawled further to his left to seek better cover, fearing their obscure position was now exposed to the enemy. They had been arrayed earlier on the left flank of the defensive alignment. The elements to their right were redeployed further to the rear by their confused Lieutenant. He was a political appointee barely old enough to grow facial hair.

There wasn’t a thing he could do for Seth except cover him with the rain poncho he pulled from his blood-stained haversack. Then he ripped the wallet from the dead man’s pocket. He knew it contained a photo of his mother, father, and kid sister. They were a close-knit family, contrary to his kinfolk.

Opposing gunfire became more sporadic in hopes their rifle bursts flushed out another human target. Patch used his small telescope on a more strategic position further down the line. He was sure this maneuver would present a more vivid representation of the enemy fronting their defensives. He’d decide what to do at that point. Fight or flight? Stay and fight?

Schubert stopped creeping at a shattered artillery wooden caisson with displaced broken axles. The canvas covering was torn to shreds. It was caught in the open from another brisk vessel bombardment of the combat zone. Rebel artillerymen manning the heavy twelve-pounder field pieces were expeditious in retrieving the few remaining forms of unexploded ordnance. The Union’s steadfast strategy wasn’t working. They failed to neutralize the Rebel’s control of the battleground

Private Schubert, hold tight, we’re right behind you.

Huh? What? Patch jerked in surprise. He hadn’t heard any movement behind him. Rebel cannons were busy booming away at the enemy. He swung around from his prone position and sighed.

Oh my God, Captain Dietz, you scared the hell out of me. What brings you up to the line? He ignored the two people wriggling up behind the officer.

The Captain was the commanding officer of B Company, Giddings Battalion of the 2nd Texas Cavalry. He was Schubert’s secondary school teacher in San Antonio four years earlier. The older man had been commissioned to lead the German company. The unit included many men from Bee, Bexar, and Goliad counties. Patch’s older cousin from his mother’s side fell at the Alamo in 1836.

Patch Schubert pulled through his dejection and waved his commander up beside him. He questioned the Captain after noticing the other two people. What’s going on here? Who are these individuals with you? Did you bring up my replacements? What army is the guy from? He’s not wearing our uniform?

Hold your damn horses, Patch. Settle down here one minute. I’ll get to those questions. Where’s your buddy, Seth? I thought he was with you on the line?

He was, but no more. Call the burial detachment. Seth’s body is back down there wrapped in my poncho. He died a hero. He saved my wretched life! I was about to jump up from cover and see what was going on. He wanted to weep again, but the Captain cut in on him.

Oh, no, no, Dietz cried out in distress. He clutched the young man’s shoulders. How did it happen? I’m so sorry, Patch. Let’s get the hell out of this hot zone before one of their scouts stumbles on us. I’ll tell you why I’m here with these people. We’ll hustle over to that small shed to our immediate rear. We’ll talk through this mess.

The battlefield had picked up in intensity. The contingent crawled back twenty-five yards, then rose and ran to the small wooden structure. The shed had been used to house rusted equipment remaining from a small vegetable farm. Half the roof was caved in. Two large wooden doors had been ripped from their hinges and set down atop a large wheelbarrow just inside the outbuilding. The dirt floor was littered with dirty straw.

Captain Dietz led the group to several bales of hay and then positioned them in a semi-circle to sit and talk. It was still light enough inside the shed for them to distinguish each other. Radiance was rapidly disappearing. The other two persons in the shed sat together, lit up smokes, and seemed edgy at first, then appeared disinterested.

I’m acquainted with Seth’s father and mother, Patch. I’ll get word to them somehow. Our burial detail is in constant touch with the front lines. I’m sure they’ll get to Seth before we’re done here.

Patch nodded and looked off in the distance. He was apprehensive but would stay and fight. The shock of losing his trusted colleague was rooted deep in his thoughts and difficult to forsake. He couldn’t leave the battlefield and run out on him now. He was never a quitter. Seth would understand.

Dietz allowed him a few moments to collect himself. You two hombres were thick as thieves in secondary school, he said with a somber voice. That is until you both had major hankerings for Leeanne Hauser, that little blond girl with the um, big breasts. How many times did I get a frantic call to pull Seth off you? Nobody else was in any rush to defend you from his flailing punches. But who came to your defense against the local devilish bullies defying your religious convictions? Nobody but Seth.

Patch looked at him and managed a small grin and said nothing, internalizing every word that came from the Captain’s mouth. What he said about his lifelong chum was true. They were always scheming after the same young lass. Patch Schubert was convinced Seth was the only boy in the neighborhood who’d ever scored with Leeanne. He never bragged about it.

Is that Seth’s rifle you’re holding? Dietz asked. Let me have it.

Patch handed the weather-beaten weapon to the Captain. Yes, it is. How’d you guess?

The big letter ‘S’ carved on the wood stock reminded me again of your overzealous friend, Dietz smiled. Why did you take his old weapon and leave yours behind?

I preferred Seth’s British Enfield to the outmoded Springfield I’d been issued. The flip-up rear sight will improve my long-distance accuracy. Seth taught me how to shoot. He could knock down a hopping rabbit at a hundred paces with his old .22 caliber hand-me-down rifle.

Good luck with that theory, Patch. You could throw─

Captain Dietz, we’re wasting valuable time here with this little family chit-chat, the female voice interjected. Let’s face the facts here. Soldiers die on the battlefield. They’re mourned, eulogized, and then buried. It’s been that way since early times when half-witted men picked up arms to kill each other. We need to get moving on the mission assigned by your superiors.

Hold your wagging tongue, Rosa, Dietz scolded her. These two men were family to me. I’ve seen them grow from childhood to manhood. Shame on you. Don’t you have a speck of sentiment for human life?

Hmm, no, she shrugged without emotion. The lanky six-foot Patch Schubert bounded off his hay bale like an agitated rattlesnake. He grabbed Rosa by the throat. You’re a loathsome slut. How dare you!

The man sitting next to Rosa jumped up, reached around his backside, and unsheathed a Bowie knife. Get your grungy hands off her, now, or I slice ya throat!

Patch relented and sat back down.

Thank you, Jacques, Rosa said after taking several deep breaths. He needs to tamp down the raging fires stoking him. Right, Captain Dietz?

Patch looked sideways at the belligerent woman. What gives with her?

Dietz ignored her question and stood up, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Reckon it’s time I formally introduce you to Private Patch Schubert and brief him on the reasons I brought you two up here. Patch, this young lady goes by the name of Rosa. Don’t let her scrubby clothing throw you off. There’s a reason. We needed her to be inconspicuous and non-threatening. The stubby man next to her is Jacques. He’s not wearing our uniform because he’s French. You’ll learn more about that later.

Rosa nodded and cracked a forced smile. Her companion Jacques could’ve been mistaken for an old lifeless statue in a downtown square.

She used the words ‘our mission’ a few minutes ago, Dietz said. We’ve been tasked by the command to capture a blue-blooded Yank for intelligence purposes. Something bizarre is happening on the battlefield. Our top brass can’t decide if Billy Yank is throwing up the sponge or regrouping major forces for an assault on our flank. Jacques will brief you on the specifics of our plan.

Chapter 2

12 May 1865

With the Union Forces

The Emancipation Proclamation had been issued by President Lincoln as the nation approached its third year of the terrible war. Slaves migrated to the Union military, thus supplementing the diminishing ranks of the army. Their first engagement involved the siege of Vicksburg. They fought admirably, though lacking in training and equipment.

* * * * *

Confederates Patch, his Captain, and the other two had already withdrawn from the front and regrouped in a shed. The skirmish at Palmito Ranch had become more intense. The Confederate soldiers had halted the Union forces determined advances with increased artillery and heavy weapon mortar fire slowing them down. Senior Rebel officers felt the intense barrages could break their morale and will to fight on.

A small cavalry troop and several hundred free blacks and former slaves from the 62nd Regiment had already been deployed from Brazos Island, Texas, to White’s Ranch near the Palmito Ranch. They’d joined elements of the 34th Indiana Infantry Regiment fighting their redeployment back to Brownsville.

Yankee Corporal Andrew Goler was a first-time point man leading a squad under fire. We’re pinned down here, Sarge, he cried out. I wonder what the hell our forward detachments accomplished yesterday to break through the rebels? The cavalry troop had already dispersed to their far-right. I presume they wanted to halt and discuss tactics.

Sergeant Jacob Smith was upset when he crept up to him. Goler, I don’t have the slightest clue but suspect they pulled back.

Goler still looked confused. Fine and dandy, but what are we going to do?

Do what you and the rest of these troopers were trained to do, Goler. Keep your ass down and eyes sharp. There’s not enough cover for us to keep moving forward. Let’s maneuver to the right where there are more clumps of chaparral. We’ll reassess our options. Now move out before they drop mortar rounds on our heads.

Smith was a crusty, short-tempered person but effective and efficient in carrying out his orders. His enlisted soldiers neither liked nor disliked him. They were aware of one worthy dynamic. He didn’t take unnecessary risks resulting in the loss of life or limb. Jacob had been a successful prosecuting lawyer from Indianapolis before joining the Union Army. He was known for his dogged pursuit of justice. Jacob wanted to serve as an infantryman, not in a less hazardous desk job. His proud lineage of military kinsfolk traced back to the Revolutionary War. Lawyering could wait.

Yes, sir, Sarge, Goler said. Good idea.

Twenty-four-year-old Andrew Goler was also from Indiana. He joined the 34th after completing school in Fort Bend. Andrew was a big blond-headed kid with large ears, deep blue eyes, and a square jaw. He had a fetish for twisting the foot-long, yellowish-crimson beard into a tip at the end. Goler was also athletic, carting 200 pounds on a 6-4 frame like an Olympian hopeful.

Smith pulled the squad together after they’d reached a safer site for a short break and pep talk. He noticed a lack of attention to detail.

You all knew the going would get tougher when their big cannons belched fiery death threats in our pathway. There are also open prairies for us to cross and get at them. Too bad we don’t have any of those sap rollers they used at Vicksburg.

A sap roller? Quizzer commented. He was one of the youngest soldiers in the squad. He was tabbed with that name the second day he’d joined the squad. What the hell kind of contraption is that?

The engineers built a 6-foot-thick roller made from wooden sticks, twine, and cane, packed with dirt or cotton. Our infantrymen merged behind it for protection and rolled the apparatus toward the rebels. It stopped small arms fire during their assault.

Wow! Quizzer said. I think I read something about sapping during a military history lesson in school. My old teacher was a veteran of the Revolutionary War.

What was a hundred-year-old man doing teaching a bunch of young dumbbells like you? Goler laughed.

Oh, ah, Maybe Teach served in a more recent conflict. I earned a ‘D’ in the course, worked my ass off.

Whatever, Smith said with a bored expression. Dumb shit.

Just thought I’d toss that tidbit in, Quizzer said.

Sergeant Smith signaled everyone to sit straight and hear him out. We need to proceed on another avenue out of this firefight if we’re going to survive.

Several soldiers nodded in agreement. Go for it, Sarge, a voice in the back prompted.

I reviewed the map. We’ll break our squad into two elements. Four of you will join me. The rest of you fine men will go with Goler. He opted for the better soldiers, leaving Goler with a collection of eccentrics.

Huh? Goler said. Why pick me to lead these misfits? I got all I can do to get my own little behind safely through this feud between nasty men, women, and ignored children.

Shut the hell up, Goler. I’ve grown attached to you since you’ve joined the outfit. You’re a superb born leader, a front runner, a trailblazer if I’d ever met one. I didn’t promote you to the noble rank of Corporal to be a candy-assed grunt and shy away from responsibility. Yes, like all the other marginals in the organization.

Chuckles and snickers broke out, followed by a couple of boo-birds. Keep it up, Sarge, another voice in the rear urged him on.

Where am I going to lead them? Goler had gotten his act together.

Look here at the map. I’ll show you.

Smith pointed to their present position below the Palmito Ranch hill. He traced his finger about ten miles north on the map, then poked the red-dotted junction of two roads.

Where’s that? Goler asked.

Your intermediate goal. You’ll make a key decision when you arrive at that junction. Here’s the first situation. You can’t shake loose from the Graybacks. You’ll head east, back to the safety of White’s Ranch, and rejoin the rest of our force.

Got it. What’s the other alternative?

Head west and continue your excursion to Brownsville. Hook up with friendly forces. That’s if you can find any friendlies roaming around.

Hold up a minute here, Jacob N. G. Smith, Goler halted him. Scuttlebutt has it the Graybacks still occupy Fort Brown over there. Do we just forget about that? Where are you headed with the rest of our fellas? I might beg to swap plans.

Smith ignored the question. First off, will everybody in this squad stop using my middle name initials. It irritates the hell outta me. Second, you are technically correct. My intelligence sources led me to believe the rebel strength is thin. They’re just a minor housekeeping bunch of administrative types at Fort Brown. Those rebels are not physically or mentally capable of fighting your weak sisters. They’ll not present a problem with your element marching to Brownsville.

Hang on a sec, Sarge, Mouth snickered. I dare say my sister is not a pushover. Just for funsies, she paddled the living hell out of me when I was growing up. I didn’t bawl like a baby. He’d been given the nickname by the other members of the squad for obvious reasons. He talked too much.

You have my sincere apologies, Mouth.

Mouth smiled. Acts of contrition from Smith don’t come often.

I don’t think you want to switch plans with me, Goler, Smith said with a stern voice. I expect we’ll engage some of the more-seasoned scatterings of fighters. We’ll have a more challenging escape route to this exact point on the Rio Grande. Smith showed him the details on the map.

So what does all that mean for us? Goler asked, already showing signs of edginess.

I expect a heap of trouble based on an intelligence briefing I sat in on before we set out from White’s Ranch. I learned Johnny Reb has plans to destroy a bridge our engineers built on the river several months ago. Command advised it’ll support our retrograde of men or materials operating in Mexico when this war is over. And don’t ask me why we’d ever be deployed in Mexico.

Ezekiel, one of the colored soldiers had a thought. They recognize this terrible mess will end before we know it. He was eager to begin his new life as a free man. Some of the hard-fighting colored soldiers were leery of being forced back into slavery if captured by the Confederates.

Sergeant Jacob Smith smiled. I trust they’re bound by secrecy. Such overpowering information generates a flood of rumors and falsehoods. Our leadership knows the war can’t last much longer. They’ve continued analyzing input from frontline commanders that we’ve pounded the hell out of ‘em. Yes, General Lee’s tired, worn out, and diseased soldiers are languishing back east at Petersburg. That’s why I’m trying to be extra cautious to save your collective black and white behinds. I want you standing tall to walk away from this fighting when their flag of surrender is raised high in the air.

Thank you for that resounding information, Sarge, Mouth said. You are the number one leader of all men, Sergeant Jacob N. G. Smith. Hoo-ah!

I appreciate your confidence in me, fellows, he scowled at the initials Mouth used. It’s time to secure your belongings and move out. Good luck to you and your troopers, Corporal Andrew Goler. I hope to see you chiseled warriors one more time before we muster out.

Goler shook his hand and signaled for his contingent to follow him to their next objective. Goodbyes and warm hugs were exchanged. They trooped off toward the red dot on Goler’s map.

Sergeant Smith and his contingent met little resistance on their fifteen-mile trek to the river. Clusters of prickly pear cacti presented as painful if not avoided. The bridge came within eyesight. Smith sent out his steadfast colored scout Ezekiel to check the vicinity for any combatants. Zeke returned twenty-minutes later and reported there were none. He advised Smith of a suspicious-looking old log cabin situated on the other side of the river.

They proceeded with caution to the edge of the river. A small rowboat with several oars on board was spotted on the shoreline. Smith commandeered the transport. He was concerned the rebels mined the bridge with explosive trip devices. Smith paddled out and reconnoitered the cottage site on Mexican soil, leaving specific instructions behind with Zeke should they engage the rebels in a dog fight.

Jacob Smith had never seen a summer home, a chalet, a cabin-in-the-woods like this weather-beaten structure. The front door was unlocked. He struggled to yank it open. It was dark inside the dirt-floored edifice. The air was stale and reeked with residuals of body waste embedded in bits of straw mats.

An assortment of burlap bags covered the windows. Smith left them tacked up and went to open the back door to gain more light. There were a few items of furniture, but no bedding. A big armoire in the far corner stored dusty bottles of different blends of whiskey. Some Mexican was planning a big-time party. My young troopers fought hard. They wouldn’t mind getting rid of the alcohol.

Jacob Smith hopped back in the rowboat and paddled his way back to his team. He needed feedback from Ezekiel before he briefed them on his recon.

Anything new or exciting going on around here since I left? Jacob asked. He’d been gone over an hour but hadn’t heard gunfire or other loud outbursts in his absence.

No sir, the Corporal reported. We’d picked-up some rustling noises behind us and took up a defensive position. I spotted two creepy-looking rodents searching for a meal. They grow ‘em durn big in these parts.

Smith was relieved. Good to hear. I believe I found a neat little place for us to settle in and get some rest. You’ll enjoy a special surprise waiting just for you.

Aha, you captured a Johnny Reb and tied him up in there for us to torture, an older Private with a long gray beard laughed. Anyway, I carry a couple of old pairs of handcuffs in my packsack. They might be needed. You all forgot I was a police officer back in Indy but left my trusty nightstick home.

The crusty Jacob Smith chuckled. I don’t believe we’ll need them unless one of you little darlings gets out of order.

They climbed aboard the rowboat and propelled to the south side of the bridge. Something banged into the bottom of the boat half-way across the river. The thud was strong enough to alarm all but Smith.

What the hell was that Sarge, a boulder in the river? the former cop asked. Oh, never mind, I think I understand what it was, though I couldn’t see it.

And what did you assume caused the impact? Smith asked.

A big alligator. You’re aware this Mexican border river is full of armor-plated creatures.

Get out of here, you bobby joker. One of these lads would believe you and freak out on us. I got enough on my plate to worry about.

Sure enough, Sergeant.

Let’s anchor this ‘ocean-going vessel’ to one of those shoreline shrubs over there, Smith said, trying to conceal a smile of relief. We’ll proceed to our new home for the rest of the day, and possibly the night.

Chapter 3

With the Rebel Forces

Private Patch Schubert was exhilarated about a new undertaking and snapped to attention. His hurt and disconnect with reality about the death of his long-time comrade-in-arms had dimmed. He had to move on for the sake of his mental stability.

It’s getting darker outside, Captain Dietz said surveying the horizon. The important mission you’re about to undertake can’t wait much longer.

Dietz began the briefing. Rosa and Jacques have been lent to us by our friends in Matamoros who control the cotton shipments. Her stepfather owns several businesses in both Matamoros and Brownsville. The bulging warehouses lining the Rio Grande riverbed over there belong to him. Jacques is a member of the French Imperial Forces serving as border guards for the current Mexican regime. The straw hat he’s wearing instead of the light cloth kepi and the blue and red sash are carryovers from his time with the Legionnaires.

Patch looked at both visitors with a quizzical gaze. Why were they, um, loaned to us? She’s unarmed and looks more like a chambermaid. He has a fixed stare and flashes a big toad sticker. How can they help our plight?

I see you don’t understand the reality of the situation, Patch. You’re a trained and seasoned soldier waging war against our bitter adversaries. There are many diverse coalitions actively engaged in this long war. All are scheming to gain some political advantage or monetary reward.

Please don’t patronize me, Captain Dietz. I’m young but not stupid. We realize what’s at stake here─honor and money. Yes, both sides of this ugly dispute are guilty. This has been a long war between brothers, cousins, and sometimes, fathers against fathers. I’m damn sick of it and yearn for it to be over. Are Rosa and Jacques here contributing to end the war?

Dietz was taken aback at the young man’s perception of the real-world situation, often absent from men his age. Yes, they are co-conspirators.

Huh, what the hell does that mean to me?

Rosa stood up, hands gripping her hips, giving Dietz a dirty look, then whipping her head around to face Patch. We’re paid mercenaries, Private. Do you have the vaguest idea of what that stands for?

Yes, I know what you both represent. You are soldiers of fortune. You take money or other assets from either ordinary or despicable, slimy-backed creatures. And, yes, you work for spineless organisms obsessed with taking possessions that belong to others. They’re willing to pay criminals like you two clowns. They don’t have the guts to do it themselves.

Rosa reached out to slap him again but reconsidered, pulled back, and flipped her tousled long black hair back in place. Dietz was stunned by the actions of the pugnacious woman. Jacques sat back with a wide grin on his furrowed face, the jagged scar on his right cheek waving at Schubert. His handlebar mustache was in dire need of a cosmetic makeover.

Patch eyeballed her. She’s not many inches over five-feet tall, slim, long-armed, and appears athletic. Though I don’t see her carrying a big rifle. Her mouth is a deadly weapon in itself. That canvas sack still slung over her back looks heavy. Wonder what in the world she’s toting.

You skinny bastard, Schubert, you got me all wrong, Rosa hissed at him. My stepfather is a respected official in our community. You won’t believe it, but as a young infantryman, he fought alongside Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna in San Antonio. He earned his high respect waging war at the Alamo. A bayonet wound to his right shoulder while scaling the wall sent him home. He was awarded high-level citations when returning to Mexico. I guess he was lucky because it prevented him from engaging in the fatal Battle of San Jacinto.

Please, everyone . . . settle down, Dietz barked. I need to─

I’m almost done here, Captain, and I will continue, she spat. My stepfather has always respected those in authority, those in control, even though your country ultimately confiscated our precious land from beneath us.

Dietz had enough. Rosa, you─

Let her talk, Jacques cut him off.

Thank you, she snapped. My father done business with both the Union and the Confederacy. Of course, all efforts were in the best interests of the Mexican people. But fortunes have changed. He believes he can advance the greater benefit of the general public by helping you Graybacks. I agree wholeheartedly with my loving stepfather’s theory. That’s why I’m here. It’s not for you to question."

Okay, okay, people, Dietz shouted. "For your information, Rosa, I am a history teacher. You might add to your impassioned spiel that Texas also appropriated lands from the Native Americans, Tejanos, and the Spanish who built it. We’re proud