A Ballad of Love and Glory(92)

He turned northwest, in the direction of Mexico City, and thought of Ximena. She’d followed him here with the hospital corps, and he wished she had stayed in the safety of the city. He had pleaded with her to sit this battle out, despite knowing he was being a hypocrite. When she’d asked him to do the same, he’d said he was honor-bound. So am I, she’d replied.

“The calm before the storm,” Dalton said as he came to stand beside him. “Gives me the jitters. I’d rather be fightin’ already.”

Lightning burst above them, illuminating the two empty roads leading to the monastery. Riley gave an involuntary shudder when the thunder slammed against the walls. He patted Dalton on the back and said, “Be patient, my boy. The battle will get to us soon enough, and you’ll get your chance to give the Yankees thunder.”

“And God willin’, we will carry the day,” Dalton said.

“Aye, indeed,” Riley said, leaning against the parapets. The wind picked up, and the rustling of the cornfields put him on edge. “?’Tis late, and you should get some sleep.”

“I can’t sleep. Not with the racket the sky is makin’. But come inside, eh? The rain’s startin’.”

“The rain doesn’t bother me none,” Riley said. He took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of wet earth and stone.

“I would be a happy man to lay my eyes upon the green fields of Erin again, wouldn’t ya?” Dalton said.

“Aye. Perhaps one day we will finally be able to go home. Help set it free.”

“And Ximena? What if she isn’t happy there, findin’ herself in an unfamiliar land, sufferin’ the dismal winters, so far from her country where the sky is brighter. Don’t Mexicans and cactus flourish best in sunshine?”

Riley laughed. “Aye. But as long as we’re together, we will find happiness wherever we are. Ireland needs us, Pat. When this war is over, we have to go back and fight for her.”

“?’Twould be an honor to fight there by your side,” Dalton said.

“God willin’, Pat. Dismissed, Lieutenant,” Riley said. He turned his eyes to the road below, as Dalton walked away with brisk steps. The storm finally arrived in all its violence. Riley stood there in the howling wind and pelting rain, and as the strikes of lightning scattered across the sky and the thunder gave a long roar, he knew that no one could possibly be out and about in this torrent, not even the Yankees would be stirring this evening. Thankful that at least tonight there was nothing to fear from the enemy, he turned to go indoors, cursing under his breath as he became aware of how drenched he was, how heavy his uniform felt, with its thick, sopping fabric wrapped so tightly around him, suffocating him. For the first time in his life, he wished to be free of it.

He made his way to the interior of the monastery, where some of the chambers had been turned into a makeshift hospital. Ximena was there now, preparing for the carnage that would soon ensue. He should have been selfish, forced her to stay away from the battlefield this time and remain in the city. She was now his wife, and she was with child, and it was his duty to protect them both.

When she spotted him, she ran out of the room to him. There in the darkened corridor, he took her in his arms and held on to her with all his might.

“You’re wet,” she said. “Come, you must change out of your uniform.”

“I love you, Ximena,” he said, kissing her. “Come what may, know that I will always love you.”

“And I, you,” she said, returning his kiss.

She grabbed his hand and walked them both to the window. Mexico City was there, beyond the wet darkness. A vivid flash of lightning illuminated her face, and he could see she spoke in earnest when she said, “We could leave tonight. There’s still time.”

He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her thickening waist. They stood there looking at the incessant rain befouling the roads, knowing full well that they would both stay and fight for the future of Mexico, a future they might not live to see.



* * *



In the morning, Riley awoke to the sound of cannon fire in the distance. The smoke billowed over Valencia’s location, but they were too far away to know what was happening. The firing didn’t last, and Riley and the fourteen hundred men positioned at the monastery anxiously awaited news of the confrontation. They didn’t have long to wait. During the night’s deluge, with the rumble and thunder of the sky masking their movements, the Yanks had found a way to cut across the field of sharp volcanic rock, which the Mexicans had insisted was impassable, and had led a surprise attack on General Valencia’s forces at first light, surrounding his entire command from three different directions. His position had collapsed in less than twenty minutes and his twenty-three guns had fallen into the hands of the enemy. Santa Anna was furious and had given the order for Valencia to be shot on the spot for disobeying orders, so Valencia was now on the run and his army was no more. After Valencia’s defeat, the Yanks had raced northeast to attack the main Mexican force. According to Santa Anna’s express, the Yanks had taken possession of the main roads leading to and from Churubusco and would soon be closing in on his troops.

Later that morning, Santa Anna himself appeared. Unable to repel the invaders, he was pulling his troops back within the walls of Mexico City, and the men in the monastery were to hold the Churubusco bridge and the monastery at all costs to give his forces the chance to retreat across the river. With that, he returned to oversee his men.