Casca 52- the Rough Rider Read online

  Al grinned. “Yeah you got a point. You got a horse, yeah? You’ll need to take one as it’s a cavalry regiment. They’ve not set it up yet but I bet they’ll be ready early next week.”

  Thanking Al, Casey left and walked to where his horse was tethered, next to a drinking trough. Time to rejoin the army and bring his considerable experience to the fray. Cavalry in Cuba? It was heavily wooded, forested, jungle. Full of tropical hazards, like mosquitoes and diseases. Not that any of those worried him; one of the results of him being immortal was that diseases almost always left him alone. The only time he could recall getting sick was during the time of the Hun invasion of Italy under Attila, and it had been a short sharp hit that had to all intents and purposes killed him, but his body had rejected the plague and he’d risen from the dead once more.

  He’d not been affected by the Black Death or anything of that nature, so he guessed diseases meant nothing to him. He’d be immune to all. Yellow Fever, dysentery, typhoid and all the other delights of a tropical paradise.

  He decided to stay in town for the weekend and keep an ear out for when the camp was open, and on the 27th, the Wednesday, he got the news he was expecting.

  He rode across town and past the large imposing church on the edge, then across a large clear piece of land, earmarked for the next block of buildings to be built, to the old fort on the edge of town. A couple of soldiers were at the open gates, dressed in the expected US Army uniform of blue shirts and brown trousers with grey felt hats.

  “Looking to join up, boys,” he said from the saddle.

  “Sure thing,” one of the soldiers said. “Recruitment office in inside, you can’t miss it.”

  Inside the camp he noticed a few people stood watching his entry. A couple more new arrivals were ahead of him, being shown into a long building off to the right. Everything was rectangular or square here, set on a flat piece of land. The walls were of adobe with wooden embellishments. Someone was making a little effort in repainting some of the more weather-beaten pieces, making them look more acceptable.

  A flag fluttered from the pole in the middle of the open space designated as the parade ground, and a wheeled cannon stood proudly in the center, but Casey’s experienced eye noted that it was an old piece, probably civil war in vintage, and probably couldn’t fire anymore. A man came up to him. “You volunteering, bud?”

  “Sure am, ah, Lieutenant,” Casey noted the single bar on the collar of the man.

  “Good man. Over there,” he pointed to the open doorway guarded by two soldiers, both with shouldered carbines. “Leave your horse over here,” he indicated a tether bar to one side. “We’ll arrange for it to be stabled once you sign up. I’m Lieutenant Franklin and I’ll be taking you new recruits through the drill on day one.”

  “Sure thing Lieutenant.” Casey decided to try out a little humor, to see how Franklin took it. He could gauge a lot about a man from how they reacted to a little fun. “Next time we meet I’ll be saluting you.”

  Franklin smiled slightly. “Sure will. Welcome to the 1st Volunteer Cavalry Regiment.”

  Casey grinned and went up to the tether bar. Franklin seemed to be a good type, but he’d soon find out for sure. There again, he was the nominal man in charge, in reality it would be the sergeant. Some of them could be real bastards.

  Up the step into the recruiting office he was shown to a desk, behind which was a clerk with thin-rimmed glasses. He was a captain and another man, a sergeant, stood close by. Casey was asked the usual questions as to his background. He had to be careful here, not to give anything away too much. As he looked around thirty, he guessed that going back ten years was safe enough.

  His accent was another issue. He wasn’t born American, and he had been around long enough to see the way people talked change. Prior to the civil war it had been so different, but since things had changed with the huge amount of immigration. The ‘old’ manner of speaking was being superseded, and he had seen how the north-east accent was now so different to the south. Things were still changing, so he decided to give his origin as Canada. That would fool them. He told them he had come south in his teens and worked as a hunter and cowboy in the west.

  The recruiting officer nodded and scribbled down in a ledger. “So you suffering from any illnesses, or had some recently?”

  “Nope. I don’t get ill,” Casey smiled. “I’m a fit guy.”

  The recruitment officer turned to the sergeant. “This is Sergeant Holland. He will take you on a physical exercise to see if you are as fit as you say, Long. If you pass, then you’re welcome to our unit.”

  As expected, the new recruits were gathered together, still in their civilian attire, and marched – or however one wanted to describe the motion – to the parade square. Sergeant Holland waited patiently for the twenty men to settle down, then waved around the area. “You guys will be expected to pass this little test of endurance. You’re going to have to fight and march in some tough conditions, so no little mom’s boys here will do. I want men under my command. Now start jogging around the square in an anti-clockwise direction. Go!”

  Casey was in no way built for long distance running, but he was physically fit and a life of combat and sheer hard work had made his body what it was. Tough wasn’t the word for it. He didn’t want to attract undue attention though, so he made sure he was always just behind the front runners, whoever they were.

  Holland stood in the middle, hands on hips, critically surveying the men running around the hard earthy ground. The sun beat down on them and it was hot, sweaty work. Two men found the going too tough and ended up with their hands on their knees, panting like dogs, while the rest carried on. They were thanked for their time and efforts and gently guided out of the camp and told to go back to Santa Fe.

  The rest, though, were tough hard men and all passed to the satisfaction of Holland. He got them to stand in a line and faced them all. “So. Congratulations in passing the physical test. Not much, was it? But don’t get too complacent. Tomorrow you’ll be shown a real physical test! You’re in the US Army now and we tolerate no slackers here. Now go file into the office there and sign the recruitment papers.”

  Casey signed up, once again in an army. He wondered how different it would be from the last time he’d fought in this country’s forces, way back in Mexico.

  The following day he found that they were expected to run, not jog, up and down the parade ground with a full uniform and pack. Jeez. The uniform was not designed for hot environments, and he wondered how they would fare in Cuba. It was made out of a blue flannel shirt, brown wool trousers, canvas leggings, heavy leather shoes, and a felt hat.

  They had a Krag M1896 model carbine, which was one that didn’t use black powder, much to his relief. Things were changing for the better, and this gun wouldn’t give their position away with a discharge of a white cloud. He didn’t know what weaponry the Spanish would be using, but no doubt he’d soon find out. He’d been away for some time from the world stage, and maybe he might begin to go see what other nations were using these days once this little affair was over. One could get too insular if one stayed too long in one place.

  Maybe a little switch to the British army afterwards? They were still top dog, and it wouldn’t hurt to enlist there. Maybe one of their hot spots, like India. But first, this. He was standing with fifteen others. Two had slunk away in the night, deciding that their initial enthusiasm and patriotism was not quite up to the possibility of getting shot or catching some horrible disease. Whatever, the sixteen who remained stood in one row and listened to Sergeant Holland explaining what they were to do.

  They began running up and down and turning, their packs full of rocks. They hadn’t been issued yet the full range of items they were to be given. This was just the first of their tests. They were given shooting lessons, but Casey soon showed Holland that he didn’t need any instruction, as many others also didn’t. They were tough frontiersmen with a whole range of skills but most knew the outdoor life and
how to take care of themselves.

  At the end of the day they were lying on their bunks in the barracks, a long, low building. They had seen the latest batch of recruits come in, another twenty-two, and they were swelling in numbers fast. Casey spoke to the two guys either side of him and learned they were both from the area around Santa Fe. The older of the two, a bearded man with black curly hair by the name of Albert Corrigan, had been a coal miner near Madrid, a coal mining township to the south of Santa Fe. He was thirty or thereabouts, but he wasn’t saying. He had a phlegmatic approach to life, and nothing seemed to faze him, while the other was a young, eager individual by the name of William Root, fresh-faced, fair-haired, and all too eager to see the world and adventure. Casey felt sorry for the kid. He was sure he was not old enough but so many lied about their age just to get in.

  Root was the kind who had read about the exploits of others and wanted some of the action. The trouble was, he had no idea of the dangers associated with them. Casey would have to put him wise to that pretty darned fast if the kid – and Casey was already calling him that – were to survive.

  Odd though it seemed, the three soon became a close-knit group within their troop. They were soon told that they were in Troop E, under the command of a Captain Frederick Muller, a man either of German birth or descent. Casey wondered if he spoke German.

  Before long they were big enough to be called a battalion and had four troops at the camp. They were led overall by Major Henry Hersey. They were told they would be moving on from the camp once they were sufficiently trained and organized to Florida where they would join other battalions and form the regiment. Casey grunted at the news. They would definitely be going to Cuba. War with Spain was now a fact, and the United States were targeting all the overseas possessions that Spain held, determined to wrest control of all of them from the once mighty empire.

  Casey smirked to himself one evening as he polished his leather boots while sat on his bunk. Funny how he had been there at the beginning of it with Cortes, and now he was involved in possibly the ending of it. He’d served with Spain after the Aztec affair, becoming part of the army of Charles V as it had swept into Italy in the 1520s. Those were the halcyon days of Spanish might, when they were the undisputed kings of Europe.

  But not now. No, they were a fading light with just Cuba, Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines plus a few African possessions left from what had once been a mighty globe-covering sprawl. Casey had seen it all before; empires rise and fall. No doubt in time he’d see the end of the current giants, Britain, Austria-Hungary, France and Russia. Their place would be taken by some other power or powers that would have their day, then fade like all the others. And he would remain the same until the Second Coming, whenever that would be.

  They went riding outside the fort, around the land to the south. Casey grumbled to the others with him that it wasn’t like this in Cuba. “So you been to Cuba, then, Casey?” Root asked, his eyes wide with excitement.

  “Some time back. Covered in jungle and full of disease. Ain’t no place for cavalry, that’s for sure, Kid.”

  Corrigan leaned over towards Root. “Hey, Kid, that horse there a mare?”

  Root patted his horse’s neck affectionately. “Sure is. Hey, I didn’t own a stallion and they’re too big for me to get on comfortably. These mares are much more nimble. Anything wrong with that?”

  “Shit,” Corrigan spat into the ground. “You jus’ be mindful that your horse don’t get befriended too much by these stallions here.”

  “Huh?”

  Casey leaned over his pommel, his face cracked into a huge grin.

  Corrigan removed the cheroot from his lips. “Look, Kid. Facts of life an’ all. You got a fe-male horse there, yup? Well Casey an’ me got stallions, male horses. Sooner or later they’re going to wanna get mighty fresh and close to your lady horse. Know my meaning? I don’ wanna be riding along one day and suddenly my horse wants to mount up and make little horses from your cute little lady horse. Got it?”

  Casey clutched his stomach and shook with mirth. Corrigan was right, though. Memories of the Battle of Dorylaeum way back during the time of the crusades came to him. The Crusaders had all been riding stallions, the Turks mares, all to reflect their respective battle styles. With so many together in one place, it hadn’t gone unnoticed that one or two lots had ‘paired off’ and were finding love amongst all the hate and killing.

  Root colored and muttered something, before moving off a respectful distance from the other two.

  It all made their training time together much more enjoyable having the other two around him, and the three soon became fast friends. Casey found Corrigan to be the dependable type, and if his knowledge of people was anything to go by, then he’d find Corrigan one of the reliable types in battle. One thing bothered him about the man though, so one evening after a hard ride out in the countryside, he asked Corrigan as to why he was signing up for the war.

  The former miner lay with his hands behind his head, staring up at the timbered ceiling thoughtfully. “Coal mining ain’t no stroll, you know. You’re there underground with the possibility of the roof caving in and burying you alive. Its dirty hard work and you’re working like crazy each and every day almost to get that black gold out of the ground. I figured a change in jobs for me now was best. A few more years and I would be too old for this kind of stuff. You know, folks may bitch and gripe about the discipline here, but hell, its just as bad down the mines. And here, anyhows, you get to see the sun and breathe fresh air. All that shit underground don’t do my health no good.”

  Casey nodded in understanding. When he’d been a miner that was down to him having no choice in the matter; the Roman Empire’s mine in Achaea of Greece had been his sentence for killing his squad Decurion over that Armenian dancer. He’d been down there for decades before managing to get his ass out of there. He still got nightmares about the cave-in from time to time.

  So, with his two buddies, they and their horses and the rest of the battalion were moved by rail to Tampa in Florida towards the end of May 1898.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was hot and humid in Tampa. It was the first time Casey had been there, but he did recall a time long ago when he had stepped ashore on this peninsula, somewhere now lost and forgotten under the development that had come since then. It had been, oh, so long ago, when he had crossed the ocean with Olaf Glamsson and the Vikings and come to the lands of the Teotec.

  One of his men had died from a rattlesnake bite, he recalled, although whether it was here or further along the coast he couldn’t rightly remember. A time long gone and never to return. He drew in a deep breath and concentrated on cleaning his Krag carbine. Always look after your weaponry, whether it be sword or gun or whatever.

  The carbine was a neat creation, firing a .3 inch bullet from a 5-round clip. He once again looked out of the open window across the ground to the stables on the far side of camp, and shook his head slowly. The army just didn’t understand that Cuba wasn’t suitable for horses. It was full of jungle and was much more suited to small groups of infantry fighting in disciplined units. What was it the Spanish called it? Guerrilla warfare. Yes that was it, from their word for war, guerra. It had become a word used during the Napoleonic Wars in Spain, and although Casey hadn’t fought there during his time with the French imperial forces, everyone had learned of the word at that time.

  Horses had their uses, sure, but only in suitable terrain and conditions. Open plains were the best for cavalry. Forests and jungle were not. Pack horses had uses in transporting heavy equipment along trails and roads, so he guessed they would be taken, but would the cavalry’s horses?

  He leaned his head forward and wiped the mechanism of his carbine with his cloth, rubbing in the oil to the breech. Guns had come a long way this century, when it had begun most still used smooth bore muskets, but now here at the end of it, rifles and carbines were the order of the day. He wondered what the twentieth century would bring.


  Root was much slower at cleaning his carbine, studiously staring at it, his tongue poking out through his teeth. Corrigan finished just after Casey and nudged the scarred man, cocking his head to follow him. Intrigued, Casey followed the bearded ex-miner over to the doorway and they stood there, bumming a smoke from one another.

  “So, you think The Kid’s been laid yet?”

  Casey inhaled, cocked an eye, exhaled and passed the cigarette to his comrade. “Don’t think so. Why? You got a plan?”

  “Well, if we’re off to the war soon, I don’t think anyone oughta go without knowing a woman, if you get my meaning.”

  “Mmm, yeah I get you. Well, chances are there’s a brothel close by, and as we’re here now, getting bored and restless, I wouldn’t be surprised if some guys try to sneak out of camp for some action.”

  Corrigan grunted. “I was a-thinkin’ of getting some to come to us.”

  Casey snorted. “Yeah, right. I can just see Colonel Wood allowing some hookers in for a bit of light relief.”

  “Wouldn’t be light,” Corrigan said dourly.

  Casey snorted in amusement. Sometimes his friend’s humor was extremely dry. He shrugged. “So, how we going to get them in undetected?”

  “There’s a pal of mine I know from my mining days in the guard detail in three night’s time. If I have a word, he’ll arrange for them to sneak in. I just gotta arrange the finer points.”

  “Yeah,” Casey nodded, “like finding girls willing to come here, paying for the girls to come here, bribing that pal of yours, finding a place for us to enjoy the girls – the barracks are just not the place is it? The rest of the troop would want in or they’d blow the whistle. Christ, we’d need fifty girls.”

  Corrigan became thoughtful and looked into the distance. Casey jerked a thumb behind him into the barracks. “And The Kid? Doubt he would be prepared to do it in front of others. Nope, if you want him to lose it, its best he does it alone with a nice girl. We could pay for one, it’d be easier to sneak her in.”