Monday, September 30, 2013
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Diplomatic Life: Diplomacy, Which Should Come First, a Definition of the Profession or A Code of Ethical Conduct?
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| The Hippocratic Oath in Greek and Latin published in Frankfurt in 1595 in Apud Andreae Wecheli heredes by Claudium Marnium, & Ioan. Aubrium (Photo credit: Wikipedia) |
Since my
retirement from the U.S. Foreign Service in September 2012, I have been
involved in a number of projects that have interested me for decades. One of
the most important, though, is the development of a code of ethical conduct for
the U.S. Foreign Service, a project I’m working on in conjunction with a number
of my colleagues, both active and retired.
As might be
imagined, such a project has provoked much discussion. One topic of interest is
the question of which should come first, the development of a professional
ethics code, or a definition of the profession. While there are a number of
definitions of diplomacy, it has not to my satisfaction (and many of my
colleagues) been clearly defined as a profession. This is in all likelihood due
to the American experience from colonial times when talented amateurs were sent
abroad to represent the new nation’s interests in European courts. It is also
seen in the modern practice of rewarding political loyalists with ambassadorial
posts in some of the more desirable embassies.
That this
practice will continue into the indefinite future is undeniable; it is much a
part of the country’s political DNA. But, in the dangerous age in which we
currently live, whether those named to represent the country are political
loyalists or career government servants, if we are to maintain America’s
position in the world, there must be a professional framework within which they
operate.
This will
require, I’ll be the first to admit, a clear definition of diplomacy as a
profession; one which must be understood by all who practice it. But, the
question at hand is: must we define the profession before we have a code of
ethical conduct that guides and shapes the activities of diplomatic
practitioners?
Reasonable
people can, and will, disagree on this point. Based, though, on my 30 years as
a practicing diplomat and 20 years before that as a career army officer, my own
bias is for a code of ethical conduct based on universally-accepted core values
as a guide to clearly defining the profession. I see no reason that these two
tasks cannot be undertaken simultaneously, but I firmly believe that priority
should be given to the ethical code. I offer two historical examples in support
of this view.
The Hippocratic Oath Preceded Development of the Profession
of Medicine.
While the
Hippocratic Oath, believed to have been written by Hippocrates, or one of his
students, in Ionic Greek in the 5th century BC, is often
misunderstood, and is not in its original form sworn to by modern physicians,
its core values continue to guide the practice of medicine around the world.
Hippocrates is widely regarded as the father of western medicine. While there
were healers at the time the oath was
written, one has to concede that the definition of medicine as a profession has
undergone dramatic change since the 5th century.
Following is
a rough translation of the oath:
I swear by Apollo, the healer, Asclepius, Hygieia, and Panacea, and I take to
witness all the gods, all the goddesses, to keep according to my ability and my
judgment, the following Oath and agreement:
To consider dear to me, as my parents, him who taught me this art; to live in
common with him and, if necessary, to share my goods with him; To look upon his
children as my own brothers, to teach them this art; and that by my teaching, I
will impart a knowledge of this art to my own sons, and to my teacher's sons,
and to disciples bound by an indenture and oath according to the medical laws,
and no others.
I will prescribe regimens for the good of my patients
according to my ability and my judgment and never do harm to anyone.
I will give no deadly medicine to any one if asked, nor
suggest any such counsel; and similarly I will not give a woman a pessary to cause an abortion.
But I will preserve the purity of my life and my arts.
I will not cut for stone, even for
patients in whom the disease is manifest; I will leave this operation to be
performed by practitioners, specialists in this art.
In every house where I come I will enter only for the good
of my patients, keeping myself far from all intentional ill-doing and all
seduction and especially from the pleasures of love with women or men, be they
free or slaves.
All that may come to my knowledge in the exercise of my
profession or in daily commerce with men, which ought not to be spread abroad,
I will keep secret and will never reveal.
If I keep this oath faithfully, may I enjoy my life and
practise my art, respected by all humanity and in all times; but if I swerve from it or violate it, may the reverse
be my life.
One can see
many of the practices of modern doctors in this ancient document. But, as
technology has advanced, the definition of the profession has accordingly been
modified.
The U.S. Constitution Can Be Considered a Code of Conduct
for a Nation
When the
Founding Fathers took up arms against King George in the 1700s, the definition
of the United States as a nation was only a vision. Since 1775, the nation has
undergone numerous changes, from the Articles of Confederation to the Civil War
to Manifest Destiny.
While not a
profession, the transformation of the fledgling former colony into one of the
world’s greatest powers was shaped by the Constitution, which is basically a code
of ethical conduct for a nation.
The Danger of Defining a Profession Without a Code of
Professional Conduct
One could, I
suppose, put together a panel of learned practitioners and come up with a
definition of modern American diplomacy that would satisfy everyone. It wouldn’t
be an easy task, but I’m willing to concede that it just might be possible. But, in the absence of a set of commonly
accepted and clearly understood core values enshrined in a code of ethical
conduct; a Hippocratic Oath for diplomats, there is a clear and present danger.
As
professional diplomats, like professional soldiers, we serve those who have
been elected by the people. But, it has always been the case that politicians
have a short-term focus, and in today’s toxic political climate it is the rule
rather than the exception. Politicians have, by and large, always viewed the
instruments of state power – and diplomacy is one of these instruments – as tools
to advance their specific political agenda. When the statesmen of this country,
in the main, were people who put the needs of the country writ large ahead of
partisan interests, this was workable – just barely. In the last several
decades, however, American politics has become a zero-sum, winner-take-all
game, with the prime goal it seems, winning elections and getting ahead of the
opposition.
International
relations, however, must be based on longer-term interests. Relations between and
among nations transcend specific elections. Diplomats, therefore, like
soldiers, must be professionally conditioned and educated to reconcile the
short-term requirements of the moment with the longer term needs of the nation
as administrations change, and the international landscape shifts. They must
have a framework within they endeavor to serve those in power in good faith,
but put the longer term interests of the nation first. After all, like
soldiers, we serve those elected to positions of authority, but we are the servants of the people.
As we
struggle to define diplomacy in the modern age, we would be well-served by a
code of ethical conduct, much as a doctor must work with the hospital
administration, which has issues of budget and politics to consider, but at the
same time, put the interests of patients first. As we develop an accepted
definition of our profession, we must be insulated from undue political
influence by a code of conduct that enjoins us from ‘doing harm.’
We can’t
afford to hide behind the argument that I have often heard that a code of
ethical conduct in unnecessary because the people we hire as diplomats are
already ethical, or that professional education throughout a career isn’t
needed because they’re already educated. If we take our oath to the
Constitution, which is administered to all new Foreign Service Officers,
seriously, we must back it up with an ethical code that reinforces that oath
throughout our careers.
This is an
argument that I predict will continue, and I’m prepared to listen to all points
of view. Mine as expressed here is my personal view. But, I would hope that all
who enter the fray would be willing to listen to counter views as well.
Your humble
and obedient servant.
Friday, September 27, 2013
More Draft Cover Art for the Next Buffalo Soldier Novel
The next in the Buffalo Soldier series will be set in Yosemite, before it was designated a national park. This book will highlight the role played by the Buffalo Soldiers in the early history of our national park system, and while a fictional account, will be as historically accurate as I can make it. I am now doing paintings from which I will select one for the cover. Here are some more. Comments are welcomed. In addition, I've come up with two potential working titles:
Buffalo Soldier: Park Patrol
Buffalo Soldier: Yosemite
The first one came to me first, but as I did research on the subject, the second popped into mind, and really I think I prefer it. I wouldn't mind reader reactions, though.
Now, here are the other paintings. Which do you like?
Buffalo Soldier: Park Patrol
Buffalo Soldier: Yosemite
The first one came to me first, but as I did research on the subject, the second popped into mind, and really I think I prefer it. I wouldn't mind reader reactions, though.
Now, here are the other paintings. Which do you like?
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Buffalo Soldiers at Yosemite
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| Buffalo Soldiers of the Ninth Cavalry Regiment Escort Surveyors at Yosemite, California before the area was designated a national park: or so my next 'Buffalo Soldier" novel will claim. This is one of the paintings I'm considering for the cover. |
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Newest Buffalo Soldier Novel Free for Kindle for a Limited Time
Fans of the Buffalo Soldier series can get the latest volume, Buffalo Soldier: Escort Duty free for Kindle Oct. 1 - 5 only! Don't miss this once in a lifetime offer! Reviews appreciated.
http://www.amazon.com/Buffalo-Soldier-Escort-Duty-ebook/dp/B00FAPCZZ8/
http://www.amazon.com/Buffalo-Soldier-Escort-Duty-ebook/dp/B00FAPCZZ8/
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
Children's Right to Read
Following is a presentation by a friend of mine, Zimbabwean author Virginia Phiri, at the IBBY/UNISA Symposium on The State of Children's Literature and Reading in Africa in South Africa on September 17, 2013.
CHILDREN’S RIGHT TO ACCESS BOOKS
By Virginia Phiri – Zimbabwe
Introduction:
I decided to
take on the topic “Children’s Right to Access Books” because I feel this is the
foundation before any reading takes place.
Coming from
Zimbabwe where the literacy rate is falling as per Zimbabwe Read 14 June, 2013
statistics as Zimbabweans we certainly have a lot to worry about. The literacy
rate state of affairs is 97% in 2002 to 91.1% in the period 2011 -2012 that is
for adults. There are no clear statistics for children up to fifteen years old.
It is obvious that the rate has fallen too. I am asking myself “have we made
efforts to source reading material for children through donations and grants?”
This situation needs to be rectified as a matter of urgency. It is therefore
important for us to be part of the IBBY family so that the literary and the
book sector are strengthened.
National Obligation – Book Policy
It must be a
right of every African child to access leisure books that complement text books
and other educational material. Those countries with Book Policies are able to
achieve this easily as everything is clearly laid down. If they fail they have
themselves to blame.
In Zimbabwe we
have been grappling with efforts to have the Book Policy in place since the
1990’s. I am one of the authors that have lobbied and still lobbying for this
policy. The situation has badly affected the book sector in terms of budgets
for book allocations and distribution. This situation has not encouraged the
few children’s books authors that we have and of course the rest of other
authors. Right now there is no children’s literature association. The one that
existed and was doing well the Children’s Literature Foundation disappeared.
This is a sad development. It is therefore every African country’s obligation
to have a Book Policy in place.
The Question of Language
Language should
not be a hindrance in sharing of books amongst nations. This is where the issue
of translations come in. Translated books have worked wonders in both developed
and underdeveloped countries. Knowledge and information that has been shared
through this type of initiative has brought a wealth of ideas to young people
throughout the world. At my last reading in Bulawayo in my home town on 20
November, 2012 I and the Masiyephambili Junior school students had fun. Of the four books that we read from two were
translations. There was one “Kurius and Baktus” originally written in Norwegian
by Thorbjon Egner and “Kolobeja” originally isiNdebele folktales translated and
written by Pathisa Nyathi a Zimbabwean historian. “Wallace in Underland” by Ambassador Charles Ray of the United
States of America and my forth coming book “Ginger the Urban Cat”. Issues shared in these four books are
universal and children were able to relate to them. The readings were in
English. Other schools request for readings in local languages and I have no
problems with that as I speak most of our languages. It is also possible to translate local languages
into each other and even go further to have them translated into English and
other international languages. Some of my isiNdebele works have been translated
into Czech, English and Chinese.
Geographical Book Distribution
In this part I
will give examples of situations that I am familiar with at home. Out of the children’s
books that are donated or bought by grants from well wishers a big number of
them go to urban areas where the children are already well off. The children in
rural areas, farming communities and informal settlements struggle. Those who
are responsible for distributing the books usually give flimsy excuses such as “the
books will be stolen, there are no proper libraries to keep the books or the
destinations are not accessible. This unfair distribution has disadvantaged
this group of children who would make full use of the books unlike the urban
children who are usually hooked on television and internet games.
At times
committed individuals take it upon themselves to take books to rural areas
using public transport and at times finishing the journeys by walking with a
load of books on their heads. I feel that distributors should be reprimanded
for not getting books to rural children.
Books for the Physically and Mentally Challenged
I will again go
back to the Book Policy. This must be so practical that it caters for the needs
of the physically and mentally challenged. There is a lot of neglect in this category in
Africa
Unlike in
developed countries where there is enough resources and appropriate equipment
to help children read.
I can safely say
that reading material for blind children is available in Zimbabwe.
The Dorothy
Duncan Centre in Harare run by Sister Catherine a Catholic Nun runs an impressive
Braille library. The Braille
transcriptions also take place at the centre. A small group of Sister
Catherine’s committed assistants do the work. I am familiar with centre’s
activities because they have exhibited at the Book Fair in Harare and I have
visited the centre.
Deaf children’s
reading needs are catered for at the well equipped Catholic Emerald Hill School
in Harare.
As a matter of
interest most of these special schools and institutions are privately owned. I
feel it is the State’s responsibility to make arrangements to cater for those
children who are not able to be absorbed into special institutions due to lack
of space. Home environments are not usually suitable as there is lack of expertise
in supervision except for the well off who are able to hire help. The
challenged rural children are the most affected and forgotten. They waste away
due to both ignorance and superstition. A lot needs to be done do educate
parents and guardians about the importance of giving these children an
opportunity to read.
Public Readings
It is a proven
fact that public reading activities for children encourage and boost the
confidence of the children to want to read. I have witnessed this at book
fairs, arts festivals and school open days that I have been part of.
Despite my
first published co-authored readers for children commissioned by UNICEF in 1995
I have always public read from books for adults and to adult audiences. That is
my own books and other authors. It had never occurred to me that I could read children’s
books to children audiences until the Czech Embassy in Harare commissioned me
and a colleague Barbara Nkala to read from “Kolobeja” a book of folktales from
the Ndebele past that had been translated into Ennglish. This was for the Book
Fair activities in Harare in 2010, we moved on to Gweru Arts Festival and then
Bulawayo. Since then I have enjoyed reading together with the children where I
share books that I manage to source or at times buy at jumble sales.
Conclusion
In conclusion,
on behalf of myself and my fellow Zimbabwean children’s literature activists I would
like to thank IBBY for giving me an opportunity to attend this conference. My
hope is that we become part of the IBBY family.
Virginia Phiri is the author of Highway Queen and other works. She currently resides in Harare, Zimbabwe.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Why Texans Have Such Huge Egos
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| List of Farm to Market Roads in Trans-Pecos Texas (Photo credit: Wikipedia) |
If you’ve been following U.S. news about the Texas
governor’s campaign to woo industry and tourists from California and Maryland,
or one outrageous statement after another from the junior U.S. Senator from
Texas, you might be moved to think that citizens of the Lone Star State are
cursed with hyper-inflated egos. This is of course not true of every resident
of the state, but enough so to be credible.
Until Alaska was admitted to the union, Texas was
the largest state in the U.S., a fact that was proudly touted at every
opportunity. When Alaska became the 49th state, it caused a lot of
angst, and japes such as, “it’s only bigger because of all that ice.”
 |
| English: Snow on the Franklin Mountains State Park, El Paso, Texas, United States (Photo credit: Wikipedia) |
Well, folks, there’s a reason for those Texas-sized
egos. As a native of the state, who has since relocated to Maryland, I must
confess to falling prey to this illness on occasion. Here’s why people in Texas
are so obsessed with bigness – the damn state is humongous.
Sure, Alaska is bigger, but so much of it is
inaccessible, it hardly counts, does it? Texas, on the other hand, is big, and
when you visit for the first time, that bigness hits you right between the
eyes. I remember the first time I took my wife, a native of South Korea, to
Texas. We drove from my mother’s home in East Texas to El Paso, and the drive
took so long, she talked about it for years afterward. The immense distances
were hard for her to fathom.
Having driven most of the lower 48 states, I know
what she means. Let me give you a few illustrations of how sheer size and
distance has afflicted Texans with ‘bigness’ complex.
Driving time from my home town, near the Louisiana
state line in the east, to El Paso takes over 18 hours at normal driving speeds
– longer if you factor in an overnight stay at a motel at the end of the first
day. From El Paso to San Diego, California, if you depart at sunrise, you can
watch the sun set over the Pacific Ocean that evening. From my old home to Washington,
DC, factoring in a stop near Atlanta, Georgia the first day, takes 20 hours –
just two hours longer than the drive to El Paso. These are just the east-west
driving times. From the northernmost part of the Texas Panhandle to San Padre
Island, the southernmost point on the Gulf of Mexico, is a tad longer drive.
No other state offers this kind of trek – not even
the western states like Montana and Wyoming, both of which can be transited in
a hard day’s drive.
Now, none of this means that Texans are somehow
special – even though a few of my acquaintance think so – just that their
environment conspires to play with their minds. So, next time you’re watching
some Texas politician perform his little vaudeville act for the cameras, please
keep this in mind.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Friday, September 20, 2013
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Congressman laments $172,000 salary -
Congressman laments $172,000 salary -
Of course, he didn't count all the perks the lawmakers give themselves. Sort of like having the wolf guarding the henhouse, you know.
Of course, he didn't count all the perks the lawmakers give themselves. Sort of like having the wolf guarding the henhouse, you know.
'Buffalo Soldier: Escort Duty' now available!
Number six in the Buffalo Soldier series, Buffalo Soldier: Escort Duty is now available. Paperback can be ordered now, and the Kindle version will be available in a day or two.
Sergeant Ben Carter and his men have been in the field, fighting outlaws and renegade Indians for a long time. Their commander decides to give them a break and assigns them ‘light’ garrison duty, primarily escorting work details, mail wagons, and the like.
Light duty, though, turns out to be anything but. First, a band of outlaws tries to steal the payroll Ben is escorting from Santa Fe to Fort Union. Then, he and his men are tasked with driving a herd of cattle from the Texas border to the fort, a job that turns out to be almost as dangerous as fighting Indians. Ben faces his toughest challenge yet, though, when he’s ordered to transport a shipment of gold bullion from Santa Fe. He and his unit become the target of the largest band of desperadoes ever, and he has to use every trick he can imagine just to survive.
The paperback version can be ordered here: https://www.createspace.com/4448674.
Sergeant Ben Carter and his men have been in the field, fighting outlaws and renegade Indians for a long time. Their commander decides to give them a break and assigns them ‘light’ garrison duty, primarily escorting work details, mail wagons, and the like.
Light duty, though, turns out to be anything but. First, a band of outlaws tries to steal the payroll Ben is escorting from Santa Fe to Fort Union. Then, he and his men are tasked with driving a herd of cattle from the Texas border to the fort, a job that turns out to be almost as dangerous as fighting Indians. Ben faces his toughest challenge yet, though, when he’s ordered to transport a shipment of gold bullion from Santa Fe. He and his unit become the target of the largest band of desperadoes ever, and he has to use every trick he can imagine just to survive.
The paperback version can be ordered here: https://www.createspace.com/4448674.
The National Memo » The Shutdown’s Real Goal
The National Memo » The Shutdown’s Real Goal
A good, and I think accurate, analysis of Tea Party motivations as they jerk the country around.
A good, and I think accurate, analysis of Tea Party motivations as they jerk the country around.
Darrell Issa resumes Benghazi crusade - Ginger Gibson - POLITICO.com
Darrell Issa resumes Benghazi crusade - Ginger Gibson - POLITICO.com
This is less about getting at the 'truth' about Benghazi, and a lot about Tea Party yahoos trying to throw blocks in the way of a possible 2016 run by Hillary Clinton. Another sign that these people are really quaking in their shoes.
This is less about getting at the 'truth' about Benghazi, and a lot about Tea Party yahoos trying to throw blocks in the way of a possible 2016 run by Hillary Clinton. Another sign that these people are really quaking in their shoes.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Christmas and Me
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| Cover of Skipping Christmas: A Novel |
Confined to the house for the past two months
recuperating from surgery to repair a broken hip (yes, repair, not replace. I’m
a minimalist), I’ve had a chance to catch up on a lot of reading. One of the
books I read was John Grisham’s Skipping
Christmas. Grisham is better known for his legal thrillers, but in Skipping Christmas, a story of a couple
who, when their only child joins the Peace Corps and heads off to South America
for a year, decide to forego the hassle and expense of celebrating Christmas
and treat themselves to a winter cruise, he proves that he’s also quite adept
at writing satirical humor.
A short novel – more of a novella actually – takes pokes
at consumerism, materialism, and enforced conformity. It picks apart the whole
Christmas angst, which is often more about selfishness, conformity, peer
pressure, and greed than the celebration of a birth that actually had to have
taken place many months earlier.
Reading this book got me to thinking about my own
rather conflicted relationship with Christmas, and of course, that meant I’d
have to write about it. It’s probably a good thing this happened now, rather
than closer to Christmas. This way, maybe I won’t be labeled a degenerate
Scrooge. Because, believe me, I’m not. I just don’t celebrate Christmas.
My wife does. My children do. And, I’m sure my two
granddaughters, Sammie and Catie, will be taught to celebrate Christmas in a
big way. I sort of gave up on it sometime during my teen years, after I read
somewhere that many of the Yule traditions and practices were actually pagan
rituals that had been rebranded by the Roman emperors in their efforts to
co-opt the barbarian tribes. Even then, though, the fact that most people
seemed more interested in how many and of what value gifts they’d get, and the
efforts to reciprocate in kind, bothered me. I mean, sure it’s nice to be nice
to others, but shouldn’t we do it all year long?
In my mid-twenties, after my first time in Asia, I
adopted the Buddhist philosophy. After that, it didn’t seem right to make a big
deal about a Christian holiday, which I’d not actually made a big deal about
for years anyway.
You’d think that would solve my problems. It didn’t
really. Except for my wife and kids, who are accustomed to my eccentricities,
my friends and relatives viewed my avoidance of the rituals of the Yule season
as, frankly, subversive and anti-Christian. Actually, they were miffed that I
quit buying Christmas gifts. The fact that I gave presents at odd times
throughout the year – birthdays and other events – didn’t mollify them at all.
I could have put up with that; after all, relatives
always find something to carp about. It was the reaction of strangers that
really got to me. I don’t wear a sign that says, ‘I don’t celebrate Christmas,’
but I avoid Christmas office parties and other rituals. Mostly they’re boring
anyway. When this becomes known, some people even have the gall to call me to
task about it. When I was appointed ambassador to Zimbabwe, for instance, I
arrived in November. I informed my staff that, while I would make the garden
area of my residence available for the staff’s annual Christmas party, I didn’t
feel that I could host it. There was an uproar from the local staff, who had
become accustomed to the ambassador paying for their annual party. My
permitting them to use the residence to do their own party was an insult to
them. They finally got over it, but it confirmed what I’d long suspected. For
many people, Christmas is about what you ‘get’ more than it’s about what you ‘give.’
It’s a time when otherwise nice people go crazy buying expensive, useless junk
to impress other people with their ability to waste money on expensive, useless
junk. It’s a time when people send greetings to people they don’t even speak to
for the other eleven months of the year.
Well, this is yet another year that I won’t
celebrate Christmas. At least, not in the way most people think. Instead, I
celebrate it 365 days a year. I try to spread good cheer and love every day. I’m
not big on giving or getting gifts, but I do it when the mood strikes, not at
some pre-appointed time on the calendar.
My greeting, today, tomorrow, and always, is: Peace
on Earth. Goodwill to All.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Monday, September 9, 2013
WIP: Chapter 5 of "Buffalo Soldier: Escort Duty"
As the convoy approached Pecos Canyon,
Ben’s worry was replaced by a feeling of unease. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the
source of the unease, but it was definite and strong; an itchy feeling at the
nape of his neck, as if thousands of gnats were buzzing around him.
As he scanned the surrounding terrain, he
saw nothing to account for the sensation.
The sky was bright blue with wispy trails of clouds. The air was warm; a
hint of a breeze rolled in from the east keeping it from becoming stifling hot.
The jagged walls of the canyon rose on his left, red clay and gray rock mixed
in garish combinations, with the occasional splash of green where either cactus
or scrub pushed its way up through to the surface. The ground fell off gently
to the right, reddish brown earth covered in cactus and scrub. Off in the
distance, Ben could see a lone coyote loping along, its nose close to the
ground. A hawk made lazy circles above the convoy.
Everything Ben could see and hear made it
look like the most peaceful of days; a day when he should enjoy being on the
trail; but, he could feel menace in the air, the smell of trouble in his
nostrils. It was like the feeling he’d had in the past just before going into
combat; but then, he’d known who and where the enemy was. Now, though, he only
had the uneasy feeling.
So strong had been that feeling, when they
set out after eating, he’d instructed the outriders front and rear to station
themselves where they could see the convoy and be seen. He didn’t explain why
he did this, and his men, accustomed to following his instructions without
question, and trusting his instincts, asked for none.
Just as Ben was thinking he might be a
touch paranoid, he looked back over his shoulder.
Tatum and Hall, riding abreast, were
heading toward them, and they had their horses running flat out. So much for
paranoia, Ben thought.
“Convoy, halt,” he yelled.
The two corporals pulled their horses up
as they neared Ben.
“What’s the matter?” Ben asked.
Tatum was the first to catch his breath.
“Riders comin’ up behind us,” he said.
“Was eight at first, but when we started up this last slope, three of ‘em must
of split off, ‘cause I only saw five just now, and they’s ridin’ this way
hard.”
That, Ben knew, meant no good.
“Pull the wagons into the emergency stop
formation,” he ordered.
The drivers, Danford included, immediately
began the drill Ben had had them rehearse. The wagons were positioned, brakes
locked, and horses tethered to the tongues of the two lead wagons in slightly
over a minute. The troopers dismounted, securing their own horses and removed
their pack rolls to create barricades and firing platforms.
Hightower and Holman had been looking back
from time to time to make sure they stayed in sight of the convoy, and when
they saw the wagons begin to move into the defensive formation, wheeled their
horses around and rushed back to join the rest.
Everyone was lying on the ground, weapons
ready, when the first rider appeared over a little rise in the trail. At first,
they only saw his head, but soon rider and horse were silhouetted against the
sky, and he was quickly joined by four others. They stopped, just out of
carbine range.
“What d-do you t-think they’ll do?”
Danford asked. He was prone on the dirt next to Ben.
“They’ll probably wait until their friends
can get around behind us,” he said. He wasn’t sure, but in their place, it’s
what he would have done. “Keep a sharp eye out behind us, and let me know if
you see anything.” That last he directed at George Toussaint, who was guarding
the trail to their front with three troopers lying beside him. “Don’t shoot,
though, until I give the order.”
“Got you,” was all Toussaint said.
Ben patted the bag of currency he’d put on
the ground beside him. Looking back he noticed that Toussaint had put the other
bag beside him along with his ammunition pouches.
The five riders sat motionless, appearing
to be deep in conversation. Then, they wheeled their horses around and
disappeared over the rise.
“Get ready,” Ben said. “I think they might
be about to make a move.”
Just like that, the peaceful scene had
been transformed to a battle in the making. Fifteen men, tense and alert, lay
on the ground in the makeshift fortress made from the three wagons, their
weapons at the ready. The horses, as if sensing the impending peril, whinnied
nervously and pawed at the ground.
Ben was no longer worried. As always, just
before going into battle, his mind became calm, his breathing steady.
As he watched the point from which the men
had disappeared, he noticed a glint, probably the sun flashing off a rifle
barrel. They were on the move. He took a deep breath and eased his Springfield
over the large pack behind which he lay, looking down the barrel as he aimed it
at the rise.
The sound of the bullet smacking into the
side of the wagon above him came a second before he heard the sharp crack. He
looked quickly from side to side and was rewarded with the sight of a wisp of
smoke indicating the shooter’s position.
“Hold your fire,” he said quietly.
He could sense tension in Danford and the
troopers from the wagons. This was probably new to them. His men, though, had
been in similar or worse situations many times. He knew he could count on them.
“What do you see back there, George?” he
asked.
“Thought I saw a movement ‘bout two, three
hundred yards back,” Toussaint answered.
A geyser of dirt erupted in the cactus
field simultaneously with the crack of the shot. The men trying to circle
around to cut them off were closer, and therefore more dangerous.
“Shoot back if you have a target,” Ben
said.
Toussaint made a grunting sound as if to
say he already knew to do that.
Ben meanwhile was scanning the ground to
his front, looking for any sign of movement, any kind of target, while at the
same time watching the civilian who lay next to him, his face ashen with fear.
There was a long moment of silence, which was
broken by a ragged volley of fire from the vicinity of the five concealed
gunmen. Some of the rounds hit the wagons making a dull thudding sound, while
some knocked up dirt and rock around them.
Out of the corner of his eye Ben saw one
of the soldiers, the one who’d been on the wagon with the Mexican driver, raise
up, his shoulders above the line of packs, aiming his weapon.
“Get down -” Ben started to yell, but
there was a sharp crack and the man grabbed his shoulder, rolling over against
the soldier beside him.
“Ow, I been hit,” the man moaned,
clutching at the widening dark spot on his shoulder.
“All of you stay down,” Ben said with as
much force as he could muster.
He scooted over and look at the man’s
bleeding shoulder. He could from the hole in the back of his tunic, where blood
was already spreading, that the bullet had gone completely through.
“Keep down and see if you can stop the
bleeding,” he said to the wide-eyed Mexican. He put a hand on the wounded man’s
knee. “It went clean through. When he stops the bleeding you’ll be okay.”
Ben eased back into his position as the
man’s jacket was removed, a difficult task with them all lying down. The man
gritted his teeth against the pain.
“We just lay here,” George Toussaint said.
“They gone keep shootin’ and pick us off one by one.”
Ben was all too aware of that. He had no
answer for Toussaint, though. His mind worked feverishly to think of a plan to
get them out of the trap the robbers had sprung.
As if to underscore their predicament,
there was a volley of shots from the road ahead of them where the other three
gunmen were concealed. The robbers’ strategy was clear to Ben now; they would
alternate shooting from each position. Those not shooting would move forward
while Ben and his men were distracted by the shooting, moving ever closer. It
was just a matter of time until one group or the other was in a position to get
clear shots them.
He couldn’t maintain the position for
long.
“You’re right, George,” he said. “We need
to take the fight to them somehow.”
Toussaint’s dark face lit up in a smile.
The man relished a good fight.
“What you got in mind?” he asked.
Ben explained what he thought the robbers
were doing, and suggested using a variant of it themselves. The three men who’d
circled around them were closest, and therefore, the most dangerous. His plan
was relatively simple. While the rest of the group would lay down a volley of
heavy fire at both groups of robbers, four troopers, Davis, Tatum, Hightower,
and Buckley, the best shots besides Ben and Toussaint, would slip out of the
barricade and work downslope through the scrub and make their way up the trail
toward the three, who, if things worked, would have their heads down to keep
out of range of the withering fire.
“It might work,” Hightower said. The other
three nodded agreement.
As the four men eased to the side,
preparing to crawl underneath the wagon and into the brush, Ben repositioned
the remainder of the group to have an equal number of weapons firing in each
direction.
“Get ready,” he said quietly. He looked at
Hightower, who would be the first to go. Hightower nodded. “Fire,” Ben yelled.
The
crash of eleven rifles firing almost simultaneously was deafening. A cloud of
gun smoke hung over the wagons, causing Ben and the others to cough. But,
between coughs, he ordered them to continue firing.
It worked; no return fire came from either
direction.
While part of his mind focused on
reloading and firing his carbine, another part was counting off seconds since
the four troopers had slipped from the relative safety of the wagons. Ben knew
that Hightower, with the skills he’d learned when he and his mother had lived
with the Indians that had kidnapped them, would be able to move quickly and
quietly through the brush. The others wouldn’t be as quick or quiet, but each
had experience in the field and would follow Hightower’s lead.
“Cease fire,” he said, when he felt the
four men had had enough time to get well away.
The sudden quiet was as deafening as the
gunfire had been.
“Think we hit anybody?” Danford asked.
“Probably not,” Ben replied. “But, the
idea was just to keep their heads down, and we did that.”
“What do we do now?”
Ben gave the man a sympathetic look.
“We wait a few more minutes to see what
they do next.”
The crestfallen look on Danford’s face
told Ben that this wasn’t what he’d been expecting, wanting to hear, but it
would have to do. He looked over at the wounded trooper who seemed to be okay.
His tunic had been removed and his shirt torn away so that a bandage could be
wound around his shoulder. The bandage was bloodstained, but there was no sign
of seepage, indicating that the bleeding had stopped. One less thing to worry
about, Ben thought.
“You feeling better?” He asked the man.
“It
hurt like the devil,” the man said, wincing. “But, I think I gone live.”
“Next time, stay down.”
“That for sure.” The wounded soldier
smiled weakly.
The sound of gunfire caused Ben’s head to
whip around. It came from the direction of the three gunmen. He recognized the
unmistakable crack of the Springfield carbine along with what he suspected was
a Winchester repeater; Hightower and the others had encountered the outlaws.
The fire kept up for about two minutes and
then as quickly as it had started it stopped.
For Ben, the next few minutes were the
longest of his life. Had Hightower and the others been able to prevail, or had
he sent four men to their deaths? This was one aspect of command he’d never
learned to view dispassionately, this possibility that his decisions could
cause the death of his friends. Just when he thought he couldn’t take the
waiting any longer, a figure appeared on the trail. He could see that the man
coming over the curve of the slight hill wore a cavalry uniform, so he began to
breathe easier. Then, he recognized Hightower’s lanky form when he raised his
carbine high above his head and waved it. The mission had been a success.
Ben crawled toward the opening between the
two wagons and began waving toward Hightower. First he pointed to his rear, and
then he made a sweeping motion to the left. Hightower waved and disappeared
over the hill.
Toussaint chuckled.
“So, you gone use they trick right back at
‘em, huh?”
Ben smiled.
“What’s good for the goose is good for the
gander, my pa always says.”
Ben rearranged the men, leaving only two
to cover the east side, while moving the rest to aim west toward the remaining
five outlaws.
“W-what are you planning to do, sergeant?”
Danford asked when Ben returned to his position under the settler’s wagon.
Ben moved to a position on his back, with
his shoulders against the packs, so that he could see everyone.
“Marcus, Hezekiah, Tom, and Lucas are
coming with me,” he said. “We’ll ease out front here, grab our horses and ride
off toward the southeast to get out of range. Then we’ll turn around and head
back along the bottom of that ridgeline south of us until we’ve flanked the
outlaws. That way, we’ll have ‘em in a crossfire from Samuel and the others. If
you fellas down here see one of ‘em pop his head up, take a shot as well.”
The four men Ben had named to accompany
him nodded, slight smiles creasing their faces. Toussaint, however, frowned
deeply.
“Shouldn’t I be the one to lead this,
Ben?” he asked quietly. “You in charge of the whole shebang, so you oughta stay
here where you can watch everything, you know.”
Ben and George Toussaint hadn’t exactly
hit it off when they first met, but over the many months they’d served
together, had developed a close friendship. He also knew that it would have
been tactically sound to put his second in command in charge of the little foray
he was planning, but he had to occasionally demonstrate to the men that he
wasn’t sending them out to do anything he wasn’t prepared to do himself.
“I’m tired of layin’ here on my backside,”
Ben said. “I’m leaving you in charge here and getting out to stretch my legs.”
He smiled broadly. He lifted the canvas
bag and tossed it to Toussaint. “Keep hold of that until I get back.”
He didn’t have to say, “and, if I don’t
get back, it’s your responsibility to get these two bags to the adjutant;” the
look in his friend’s eyes told him the message was received and understood.
“Okay,” Toussaint said. “We’ll provide
cover fire when you ready to slip out.”
Ben and the others checked their weapons
and ammunition.
“You ready?” he asked them. They nodded.
“Okay then, let’s move out.”
As they wormed their way to the horses,
dragging their saddles, Toussaint and the others took aim at the rise to the
west and began firing methodically. There was no return fire.
They kept as low as possible as they
saddled their horses. When they were done, they took the reins and moved east
along the trail a ways and then to the south into the tall scrub. Once they
were about a hundred yards deep into the grass, they mounted and began moving
at a trot southwest to make their way to a point somewhat south of where they
figured the outlaws were.
The firing from their position kept up.
Ben knew that Toussaint understood what he was trying to do, and was doing what
he could to keep the outlaws distracted.
When they’d reached a point that Ben
estimated was directly south of the top of the rise, Ben had them ride a bit
further west in hopes they would come out behind the outlaws. At they swung
north, he heard the crack of rifle fire from somewhere to his front; Hightower
and the others must have arrived and engaged the outlaws, he thought. He
spurred his horse to a gallop and pulled his carbine from the scabbard. The
other four followed suit.
As they burst from the tall grass onto the
trail, he saw that they had indeed worked their way past the outlaws who were
now moving toward their horses, firing as they ran. He could hear the crack of
carbines and see puffs of smoke from a clump of trees to the northeast.
“Let ‘em have it, fellas,” he yelled as he
brought his carbine to his shoulder and fired one-handed.
Taking fire from two sides, the five
outlaws panicked. They were now scrambling madly toward their horses. The
animals, picking up the fear from their owners, were bucking and shying, trying
to pull free from the small bushes they’d been tethered to. The outlaws were
firing back over their shoulders as they ran, but their shots went wild.
Ben, on the other hand, was calmly aiming,
and as the carbine bucked against his shoulder, one of the outlaws threw his
hands in the air and pitched forward. He twitched once and was still, face down
in the dirt. Another screamed and dropped to his knees, grabbing at his right
leg, where a large dark stain was spreading along his trouser leg.
The three outlaws in front, ignoring their
comrade’s cries for help, leapt for their horses, ripping the reins from the
bushes. Lying low across the horses’ shoulders, they kicked them into action,
all attempts to fire back at the cavalrymen forgotten in their desire to get as
far away from them as possible.
Hightower got to the wounded outlaw just
before Ben did. The man was sitting on the ground, his hands clasped around his
thigh, moaning as he rocked back and forth.
“Ow, it hurt,” he cried. He looked up at
Hightower, fear in his eyes. “Please don’t shoot me.”
Both Hightower and Ben regarded him
impassively. Ben walked over and kicked the man’s rifle away. He then reached
down and removed the pistol from the man’s holster.
“Patch him up as best you can, Samuel,”
Ben said. “Then tie him up and put him in one of the wagons. We’ll take him
back to the fort and let the colonel decide what to do with him.”
“What about the dead ones?” Hightower
asked. “This one here and the three at the other end of the trail.”
Ben took a deep breath and shrugged.
“Guess we ought to bury ‘em.”
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