ADVANCE REVOLVERS: Fighting the evils of Murder, Comancheros and War

By John Bunch

John Pierre Alvarado is the son of the most famous gunfighter in the old west that no-one ever heard about. He must climb out of his father’s shadow and make his own life. But is first wife is murdered on their honeymoon and he has to kill her murderer. He descends into a life of depression. His redemption comes when he rescues a young girl from a gang of Comancheros. But war intervenes and John Pierre must fight to get back to his new love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Jun 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9781977265999

John Bunch

John “Blue” Bunch is a graduate of Gonzaga University. He has a PH.D. in education, a masters in business and a bachelor in history and culture anthropology. A 22 year veteran of the USAF, who currently teaches on line and has for 20 years. He is a life member of Cowboy Mounted Shooting Association, and a civil war reenactor.  

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Advance Revolvers

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2023 John Bunch

v2.0

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-9772-6599-9

Cover Photo © 2023 Dawn Richard. All rights reserved - used with permission.

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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1: PREDICATE

2: MARY HOLLY TERESA

3: EUPHORIA

4: HOPEFULNESS

5: HOPELESSNESS

6: THE RUSH FOR GOLD

7: COMANCERHO

8: NAVIGATING

9: RESCUE

10: SPECKLE BELLY

11: HERO

12: CAPTURED

13: KETTLE HILL

14: ASSAULT

15: REINTERMENT

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

1

PREDICATE

John Pierre had no real reason that was fathomable to him as to why he was hiding behind the military crest in sand and thorns in forsaken Cuba. He, like so many others had been caught up in the fervor of punishing Spain for the way it was treating its colonial Cuban citizens. Remembering the sinking of the battleship Maine seemed all that was needed to invade this jungle choked island. All these amateur and eager soldiers were ready to make things right for the oppressed Cuban citizens. Somehow, John Pierre just went along, and now he was sweltering in his blue wool uniform on an ungodly hot and humid day, surrounded by a lush green jungle and Spanish soldiers.

At times like these, the men of the 2nd Regiment of Cavalry auxiliary let their minds wander. Inaction being the devil’s work shop, and inattention to a dangerous situation hazardous to a long life. At any time, a Spanish sharp shooter could pick off a careless soldier. But what else was there to do. The men were restless, the canteens half empty, and they had no victuals for the last 24 hours. It would almost be a pleasant relief to charge the enemy to arrest their own momentary suffering in this God awful heat. No protective trench just lay under the unforgiving sun; the men sat still and suffered. Whoever decided these blue wool uniforms were good tropical attire was insane, or at least they were wearing the new tan cotton uniform. Damn army any way, what about the soldiers!

John Pierre Alvarado was hiding from something. It was the giant shadow that his father casted over the city of New Orleans. His famous gunfighter father, The French Vaquero, was the leading gentleman of that cosmopolitan city. Before, during, and after the Civil War, father had dominated New Orleans society. Although reluctantly, he was still the foremost celebrity in the business and political world. Many sought his advice and support for their respective causes. His father had transcended greatness and become a legend.

Initially, John Pierre enjoyed all the visitors that came to see his father. But for some reason, they all felt it necessary to tussle little John’s hair in some sort of friendship tribute to his father. After the 48th time, John Pierre hid when there was a knock on the family home door. After all, a young man has his dignity to defend.

But it was the relentless visitors who always interrupted John Pierre ‘s life. He was always bumping into some wealthy gentleman in the sitting room or on the door stoop. It was as if there was a conspiracy to deprive him of any play time with his friends: Don’t do this, don’t do that, no running inside, all from people he did not recognize. But, as his father pointed out, somethings go unsaid when making deals, business or political.You may have to compromise to get something done, putting up with momentary inconveniences like messing up John Pierre’ s hair or waiting to play might be one.

John Pierre was in his forties now, and did not feel he had accomplished a damn thing in his life. He had seen a Thomas Edison movie reel and talked on a telephone, which were minor high points in life. Working for the Alvarado freight business was the only work he did, and much of it was cheerless for him. It was mostly something to do. The Alvarados were well to do but were instructed by the family patriarch, grandfather Pique, not to be ostentatious about it. John Pierre’s family history, tracing back to the Desoto expedition that explored the southwest for the King of Spain, gave a feeling of importance to the family. They were truly one of the first families of New Orleans. But father was always the focus. Little John never understood the fame heaped on his father. He knew from the small discussions between his mother and father that he surreptitiously overheard, that father was a reluctant hero. His mother was no less famous for her subterfuge in dealing with the Yankee invaders and occupiers of New Orleans during the Civil War. There was a lot to live up to in his family, making it harder for him to create his own life.

Alvarado, Berquist, Jay, to me barked Sergeant Major Thompson.They assembled at the bottom of the hill. All three privates were glad to be moving and not sitting still in the burning sun.

You three gather all the company canteens, move to the assembly point, and fill them. Get crackers, tomato juice and ammo for the entire company. Be quick about it, boys. And don’t bother rustling up any of that embalmed beef. (Canned meat) It is likely poisoned. On their way back to the rear area, they noticed a downed observation balloon riddled with shrapnel and bullet holes and tangled in the jungle canopy. All three were thankful to be on the ground, fearing the worst for the balloon crew.

At last, something to do, menial but potentially lifesaving for others in his regiment.Baking in the sun was mitigated. Once they were on the move any breeze pulsing through the fibers of their wool uniforms had a cooling effect; thank God. The three-hundred-yard march to the rear area limbered the boys up from their stint on the line. What a welcome relief!They felt grateful thanks to Sergeant Thompson.

Sergeant Major Mac Thompson had to be the oldest sergeant major in the entire army. He had earned his strips in the early Seminole Indian wars in Florida and then the first war with the President of Mexico at Vera Cruz. He must be in his 70s now. He was the very same sergeant who tried to recruit his father for the incursion into that southern country. His leadership during the Civil War was notably exceptional. Known as a soldier’s soldier, younger men always looked up to him. But even he was at a loss to explain why the 2nd Regiment of cavalry did not have any horses in this ugly Cuban campaign. Also amazing to the rank and file, the ranking general officers were all Civil War veterans, from 30 years ago.

The rear area was utter chaos. John Pierre, and his lifelong friend, Thyne Berquist, with their backgrounds in logistics, were appalled at the total disorganization. Such total inefficiency would not do in the civilian world. After they had run the full canteens of water back to the line, John and Thyne had to find the correct ammunition for their company. Finding food was an even more difficult task to tackle. Jesus in heaven, no wonder the Army was bogged down. It could not support itself. Even Hannibal crossing the Alps with elephants was better organized than the U.S. Army at the present. But he also knew it was not entirely the Army’s fault. Political infighting was at the root cause of this debacle.

The Army, if left alone could and would get the job done. But Washington politicians kept interfering. No wonder it took eight days to sail from Tampa Bay Florida to Cuba. It also explained why the 2nd Calvary regiment did not have any horses."

For the sake of my crying mother, someone was not paying attention, John screamed to himself internally.

John and his cohorts were beside themselves trying to get crackers and ammunition for their company. They saw several crates of the new 30-40 Craig Jorgensen rifles just setting in the rear area. Their own unit was equipped with the Indian’s War relic 45-70 trapdoor Springfield. Why weren’t’’t the new rifles being deployed with the other front line units? WHY?

As John Pierre was trying to understand the army logistic nightmare, he was slapped on the back while resting on an ammo box. Turning around, he saw Lt. Pasqual Toussaint, a company commander for the regular black troops. He was a member of the four regiments of Smoked Yankees posted to Cuba. Pasqual was his father’s best friend and life-long confidant. They grew up together, fought on opposing sides in the Civil War, and defeated the tyrant General Butler, the Beast of New Orleans. John Pierre was not totally sure, but he thought Lt. Pasqual and his aunt had been in a serious relationship for the last thirty years. But even liberal New Orleans would not sanction a black man marrying a white woman, not in 1898 anyway.

John Pierre had always addressed Pasqual as Uncle, and he made a monetary slip of the tongue in front of his cohorts. But he quickly re-addressed Pasqual as Lt. Toussaint. But Private Jay was suspicious. A quick glance at him by John ended any speculation.

You look troubled, John Pierre, what bothers you this very hot and dry evening?

Lieutenant, this back area is so disorganized, it is unbelievable. You know father, being in the freight business, could have this rear area up and running efficiently in no time. I just can’t believe we are chasing the donkey’s tail here.

Yep, Little John, I am incredulous the same as you. But it’s what we got. Can you help find a supply of 45-70 government ammunition? We have just received two sections of Gatling guns, and they run through shells fast.

It took John’s small detail almost an hour to find and deliver the boxes of ammunition to Lt. Toussaint’s flanking position next to John Pierre’s own company. The staccato bark of those’ Gats kept the Spanish soldiers’ heads down.

This expedition was supposed to be a reconnaissance force. Disembark from small ships, bring supplies ashore for the Cuban rebels, and then re-embark and sail back to Key West; a two-day operation at the most. But, unluckily for John Pierre, the Spaniards decided to come out of their block houses and hunt down his small force of 200 troops. Pinned down by the effective fire of the Spanish infantry, hope was waning for relief. His unit was using up the supplies meant for the Cuban freedom fighters.

The minute that his small detail returned from the ammo run, Sergeant Major Thompson was telling the detail to pick up their rifles and grab stretchers and move to the front. Several of his company cohorts had been wounded. Most of the wounded were severely hurt. It was not pleasant to listen to yells, moans, and crying out from those they carried to the aid station. And what a mess the aid station was! John Pierre could not believe how the wounded were treated. Many were not treated at all! It was worse than the logistics nightmare. What is wrong with the Army? John cried out to himself.

The worst of it was the Spanish Army was firing on the aid station. The smokeless powder from the Spanish Mauser rifles made it extremely difficult to locate the snipers’ positions; unlike his trapdoor Springfield bellowing out white smoke at every shot. The wounded were being wounded again by the relentless incoming rounds. The ping of a ricochet would keep the doctors and medical stewards dodging and diving in a fruitless effort to shield the wounded from additional harm. But it was the sickening thud sound when a Spanish