A Ballad of Love and Glory(60)
Santa Anna waved his words away. “I understand, teniente Riley, believe me, I do. I’ve been a turncoat as well, several times, in fact. I’ve been a royalist and an insurgent, a federalist and a centralist, a liberal and a conservative, but I always had a reason. Still, that’s not why I’m asking. Your countrymen intrigue me. We’ve never had so many deserters in our ranks. We have a tradition of welcoming foreigners into our army—British, French, even the damn Yanquis fought in our War of Independence against Spain, but they were not deserters, as you are.”
“I don’t speak for my countrymen, but for myself—though most of my men share the same sentiments—I believe Mexico could turn into another Ireland, sir, and be forced to suffer under the oppression of an invadin’ Anglo-Saxon Protestant nation. I wasn’t able to help my country. I desire to help yours in its hour of peril.”
“I see. And I’m grateful for your service, Lieutenant, and your loyalty. Mexico has had its share of wars. There have been others who have come here to try to plunder her riches and her beauty. I myself have led my country against invaders before, and as you can see from my mutilated leg, I have purchased my country’s freedom with my own flesh.” The general poured himself, Moreno, and Riley another glass of brandy before continuing. “Now once again the national honor has been entrusted to me, and I assure you that we will defeat the Yanquis. Just like we defeated the Spaniards and the French. Mexico belongs to the Mexican people. Perhaps one day you can say the same about the land of your birth.”
“May I live to see that day, sir, if that is God’s will.” Riley left his drink on the desk, hoping he didn’t insult his host by declining a second glass, and waited for the general to reveal why he’d been summoned.
“I’ve received a letter from the Yanqui general. He’s terminating the armistice he negotiated with General Ampudia. So it won’t be long now before he advances to San Luis Potosí. My generals tell me that you and your countrymen did an outstanding job in Monterrey. And based on what I’ve seen with my own eyes during your daily drills, I want more men like you in our ranks. There are many foreigners in the enemy’s ranks with military experience, and we need to get more of them to join us. Enough to form an artillery unit of foreign soldiers under Irish leadership. Think of it, John Riley and his battalion. What shall we name it? And, as befitting a unit, you shall have your own banner.”
Riley sat forward at the edge of his seat and glanced up at Moreno, who seemed as pleased by the news as he was. A unit of deserters with their own colors? No, he had never considered such a possibility. So far, he and his men had been serving in regular army units, though he had been given free rein in training them. He put his hand in his pocket and took out the shamrock Franky Sullivan had whittled, and the image of a banner appeared in his mind’s eye, the same banner of freedom that he wished to see unfurled over his native soil. It would be as green as the fields of the Emerald Isle, with a shamrock on one side and its patron saint on the other. “The Saint Patrick’s Battalion,” he said. “That shall be the name.”
“?Excelente! El Batallón de San Patricio,” Santa Anna said. Moreno nodded his approval.
“We’ll need more men for what you propose, sir,” Riley said, keeping his excitement in check.
“That is where you come in.” Santa Anna caressed the golden eagle on the hilt of his cane and said, “You will make sure that your countrymen learn of the Saint Patrick’s Battalion. When they hear of you—its Irish leader—it will inspire them to abandon their ranks in the Yanqui army and come fight for us. Do you think you can achieve that, teniente Riley?”
“Aye, sir, I believe I can.” A unit composed of only foreign soldiers would be a powerful attraction to his countrymen and others in the Yankee ranks. If he put out the call, the men would come. Hadn’t some of them done so back in Matamoros and Monterrey? The plan to organize a foreign legion composed solely of deserters was brilliant. He only prayed the Mexicans would win the war, for otherwise, he would have his men’s blood on his hands, turning out to be nothing but a Pied Piper who led his own countrymen to their deaths.
“?Excelente! It is settled then,” Santa Anna said, standing up. “I will designate capitán Moreno here as your commander. He’ll allow you to organize and train el Batallón de San Patricio as you see fit. Once the battalion proves its worth, I shall personally see to it that you’re promoted.”
“I understand, sir. And I feel much obliged to you, sir, for the faith you have placed in me.”
“I assure you, teniente Riley, Mexico won’t disappoint you. We’re a republic of fighters and aren’t afraid to stand up to oppressors. We will defeat the Yanqui invaders, even if I have to lose my other leg. Or my very life. Defending Mexico is a sacred cause, and I thank you for your services to this great nation. Together, we shall put an end to the national agony.”
“Perhaps one day, your Excellency, you will help Ireland with its misfortunes,” Riley said.
“Of course. We are brethren, are we not? Our Catholic faith is a bond that is as strong as blood.”
Riley saluted his commander with newfound appreciation. Cortina and Ximena had warned him to be careful, and he would be, but it was difficult not to believe in him. The Saint Patrick’s Battalion—he loved the sound of it.