by Rusty Young
‘It made no difference,’ I assured him. ‘He wants to give us Caraquemada instead of surrendering himself. He sent me a photo of him with his civilian girlfriend. He says I have twenty-four hours to think about it. Of course, I’d never accept, but this proves that once we have Buitre we can force him to divulge the girl’s identity. She might lead us to Caraquemada.’
I thought Rafael would be happy with this. After all, Caraquemada had given the order to execute Beatriz. But he folded his arms, unconvinced.
‘Why would Buitre send you a photo? You didn’t bargain with him, did you?’
‘Don’t worry!’ I told him. ‘I stuck mainly to the script. He sent it to me for virtually nothing.’
‘What do you mean virtually nothing? Please tell me you didn’t let him speak to Ernesto!’
‘Only for five seconds. I had Buitre call Palillo on a phone we’ve never used with a new SIM. There’s no way he could have figured out Ernesto is here.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure. The Guerrilla scan our radio frequencies. Buitre might know Palillo’s voice … So if Palillo spoke even a few words during that phone call …’ He stood, squinting as he surveyed the camp perimeter. ‘We need to be very careful, Pedro.’
At that moment, Pantera came running from the milking shed. ‘We have an emergency! Puerto Princesa. The caller said he sighted six guerrilleros. They’ve blown up the ferry. And one of them is shouting through a megaphone that if villagers turn out to vote, the Guerrilla will come back and do much worse.’
‘¡Mierda!’ I said angrily. The Guerrilla often tried to sow chaos in the lead-up to elections. If we didn’t respond immediately, villagers would never trust our ability to protect them. I radioed Palillo with the news and asked him to call his most trusted contact in Puerto Princesa. He ran over with the man on speakerphone.
‘It’s true!’ rasped an elderly male voice. ‘The ferry’s ablaze and sinking. They’re dynamiting all the boats and torching the wharf. Please come quickly!’
‘Caraquemada’s cutting off river transport to Santo Paraíso,’ I said to Palillo. ‘I want your squad and four of Pirata’s men. Load ammunition into the pick-up truck. We’ll take the Toyota, the Mercedes and two bikes. Meet me back here in two minutes!’
‘Wait!’ said Rafael to me as Palillo raced off to rally his men. ‘Something’s not right here, comando. Buitre calls you this afternoon. Now there’s an emergency in Puerto Princesa for the first time in seven months. What if it’s not Caraquemada? What if it’s Buitre making a move? Drawing you to Puerto Princesa so he can ambush you on the way, or trying to reduce the number of men here on the base in order to attack it?’
Rafael’s words made me uneasy. I glanced towards the barn, where Palillo and his men were frantically loading the pick-up truck with RPGs and extra magazines.
‘Why would Buitre attack, after proposing we negotiate?’
‘Because he’s figured out Ernesto is here.’
Four of Pirata’s men roared over on the Yamahas. A minute later Palillo pulled up in the Toyota with his eight soldiers – including Giraldo, Mona and Coca-Cola – sitting anxiously in the back tray, clutching their rifles.
‘Let’s go!’ Palillo said. ‘While you señoritas stand here gossiping, Caraquemada might be killing people.’
I, too, was itching to confront Caraquemada’s troop; however, before making my final decision, I radioed the four perimeter posts myself and had Coca-Cola radio Buitrago’s base.
The perimeter guards reported no suspicious movements. But when Buitrago’s base responded that they were aware of the emergency – in fact, twenty guerrilleros had been sighted and Buitrago was sending two platoons – I heeded Rafael’s advice.
‘Palillo, stand your men down. Keep the ammunition in the pick-up and your squad on standby. If the army needs us, we go.’
On Palillo’s signal, his soldiers leaped from the Toyota and gathered by the henhouse to await orders. It was now fifteen minutes after sunset. The temperature was dropping and the light fading. Pantera returned to the command centre. I walked with Rafael and Palillo to the open space in front of the farmhouse. It afforded an almost uninterrupted view of the camp’s southern, eastern and western perimeters. I turned in a slow arc. Rafael now had me thinking.
Only a minute later, Ñoño and Iván came running towards me, carrying one of the German shepherds on a blanket. Her tongue was lolling out of her mouth, and her lips were encrusted with dried white saliva.
‘It’s Coco!’ Ñoño said as they laid the dog at my feet. Normally, we kept her chained to a tree near the VHF repeater cabinet at the far west of the camp. ‘She was lying semi-conscious at her post.’
Hearing the commotion, Mona and Camila rushed out of the farmhouse.
‘Oh, the poor thing!’ exclaimed Camila. ‘Looks like dehydration.’
Piolín stroked the dog’s head. Iván looked on anxiously while Ñoño rang the vet.
Rafael folded his arms and once more looked sceptical. ‘Could be poisoning.’
He now had my full attention. If he was right, that meant Buitre was close by.
‘Ñoño, take Camila, Iván and the dog to the cottage!’ I ordered. ‘Piolín and Mona, go to the command centre.’ I radioed Johnnie Walker. ‘I want your squad manning the trenches – three men per trench.’ Then I radioed the perimeter guards a second time: ‘Be alert! Check the dogs. Possible enemy attack.’
‘All clear,’ they each reported back. Apparently, the four other dogs tethered between each post were fine.
Palillo’s phone rang. ‘What? Mamá … now’s not a good time. Why are you whispering?’ He frowned in annoyance, but then suddenly clutched his forehead and responded in a fierce whisper. ‘¡Jesucristo! Keep the kids hidden in the bushes! Pedro’s right here. I’ll put him on speakerphone.’
Palillo held out his phone, its screen glowing. Dusk was now falling rapidly; within minutes it would be dark. His mother spoke so softly that Palillo, Rafael and I had to lean in to hear.
‘Help us!’ she whispered. ‘Men with guns surrounded our house and ordered us outside. We obeyed, but now I can see one of them stomping on the roof, splashing gasoline everywhere – it’s trickling down the walls. They’re yelling obscenities, saying Palillo’s a kidnapper and we have to pay the price. What’s going on, Pedro? I don’t understand. Please come! They’re going to burn our house to the ground.’
‘It’s a bluff,’ said Rafael with absolute certainty. ‘Buitre is here. He’s watching us right now. He’s seen that we didn’t fall for the ferry trick. This is his next move to draw your soldiers off the base.’
‘What the fuck do you mean a bluff!’ yelled Palillo, turning viciously on Rafael. ‘My mother’s not lying. The Guerrilla are ten fucking metres from my brothers and sisters. Pedro, we need to go right now.’
I felt panic rising within me. There was no longer any doubt – Buitre was behind this. Whether he was taking revenge against Palillo for holding Ernesto or planning an ambush on me or an attack on the base, I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t leave the base unprotected, but there was no way I could leave Palillo’s mother in danger either. This was my fault. I’d fucked up by letting Buitre speak to Ernesto.
‘Comando,’ said Rafael calmly. ‘He’s here for you and Ernesto. I know him. He’s got every angle covered. Divide your troops and we all die.’
Torn, I looked from Rafael, whose understanding of Buitre I trusted, and who I knew, logically, was probably right, to Palillo, my most loyal friend, who’d been there on the day of Papá’s death and who’d offered to transport Papá to the cemetery and take the blame himself. The friend who’d done everything since to protect me and the people I loved most in the world. It was a tough call to make. If Buitre had set an ambush, then we might never reach Palillo’s mother, and many more lives might be lost.
‘Tarantula, drive the Toyota back to the barn and unload the ammunition. You four,’ I said to Pirata’s men, ‘man the defensive firing positions surrou
nding the command centre. Everyone else inside,’ I said, walking briskly towards the milking shed. ‘I’m sorry, Palillo. I need to assess the situation.’
‘Fuck your assessments!’ said Palillo, grabbing my elbow and ripping me to a halt. ‘This is my family we’re talking about.’
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘To me it is. I’m going. At least give me my squad and the Toyota. But if not, fuck you, Pedro. I’ll do this on my own. Just remember this: if me or my family dies, you’re the one who let Buitre hear my voice.’
He was right. This situation wasn’t about military logic. This was my best friend and his family. I changed my mind.
‘You, me and four men,’ I said to Palillo, tossing him the keys to the Mercedes. ‘We take the armoured vehicle in case it’s an ambush.’
‘Mamá.’ Palillo spoke into the phone. ‘Stay out of sight. We’re on our way.’
‘Come quickly, hijo,’ his mother replied, ‘they’re—’
But the call cut out. A few seconds later we heard an explosion from the direction of Llorona. The ground rumbled. Some of my men raced out of the milking shed, and Camila, Ñoño and Iván came running from the caretaker’s cottage.
‘What was that?’ Camila cried, huddling against me.
Palillo held his phone up. ‘No signal!’
‘The Guerrilla must have blown the cell phone tower in Llorona!’ Ñoño said. The tower was located on the crest of the hill, about a kilometre and a half down the road.
‘¡Mierda! I keep telling you!’ said Rafael. ‘Buitre’s about to attack.’
Without explanation, he sprinted to the generator by the barn, heaved a twenty-litre barrel of diesel into a wheelbarrow, tipped the barrel on its side and ripped off the cap. He then wheeled the barrow frantically in a circle around the farmhouse, dousing the dried grass with fuel.
‘Radio the army again!’ I shouted to Coca-Cola in the command centre. No sooner had I said the words than a bullet whizzed past my ear. I hurled myself against Camila, pulling her to the ground.
The camp lights went out and then, from the southern and western perimeters, more bullets rained in on us.
‘Go! Go! Go!’
Taking advantage of the darkness, I dragged Camila to the milking shed. Palillo, Ñoño and Iván crawled along beside us.
Inside the command centre, by the dim light of two torches held by Pantera and Piolín, I counted about twenty men, all lying flat on the concrete floor.
I had to think quickly. If I’d listened to Rafael, I would have already had more men in each trench. I could use his advice right now, but where was he?
‘Pirata, situation report.’
‘Twenty-six men accounted for here,’ said Pirata, grim-faced, ‘including four manning the defensive positions. Three men in each trench. No word from the southern and western guard posts. They’ve cut the power. Our hand-held radios are working. But the VHF repeater is dead. Landline too.’
Buitre had cut us off completely. Without radio or phone, there was no way to get word of this attack to Beta or the army. We were on our own.
Since the firing had come from the south and the west, and those guard posts weren’t responding, I reasoned that Buitre’s forces were already coming in from those perimeters.
‘Coca-Cola, hand out the extra radios. Giraldo, I want you and thirteen men defending this shed. Indio, send reinforcements to the southern and western trenches. Stay low!’ I yelled. ‘But get to your positions quickly. Go!’
As my men fanned out through the door, a rocket struck the diesel generator by the barn. Camila clutched my hand in terror. Then two more explosions rocked the area near the Mercedes and the Toyota pick-up truck. Heavy sustained gunfire rained in on us from the western perimeter, along with lighter fire from the south.
‘Palillo, Ñoño and Piolín, come with me upstairs! Bring the RPGs. We need to stop their advance.’
I turned to Iván. ‘You remember that secret place I showed you?’ In my torchlight, I saw him nod. ‘When we get to the farmhouse take Camila down to the cellar. You know where to go if the guerrilleros get inside the house.’
With Palillo, Ñoño, Piolín, Camila and Iván, I dropped into the connecting trench to the farmhouse. We raced the fifty metres, ducking our heads beneath the parapet of sandbags as bullets whizzed above. Once inside, Iván and Camila headed for the cellar while the rest of us sprinted upstairs to the bedroom at the south-west corner, which had almost 270-degree coverage through its four large windows.
Rafael was already there, crouching by an open window. He had a rag in his hands, which he was wrapping around a small rock. It stank of gasoline. I wanted to apologise – he’d been right all along – but his wink made this unnecessary. ‘Come take a look,’ he said. ‘Their forces are concentrated in the west, with backup from the south.’
I dropped to my knees and crawled over. I saw muzzle flashes as Giraldo’s squad returned fire from the barricades surrounding the command centre. The soldiers in our southern and western trenches added their firepower.
Keeping my head low, I fired my RPG towards the enemy’s most concentrated firing positions. As soon as the rocket left my rifle, gunfire shattered the glass above me and strafed the interior wall behind us. I ducked and moved to the adjacent window. Ñoño handed me a second RGP, and I fired again while he reloaded the first. Meanwhile, Palillo, supported by Piolín, was firing rockets from the western windows.
Suddenly, the enemy guns went silent.
After a lengthy pause, Buitre’s voice came over a megaphone from the south-western perimeter.
‘Pedro Gutiérrez, we have you completely surrounded. You have thirty-eight men left. I have one hundred.’
‘He’s lying,’ said Rafael. ‘I counted their rifle fire. I’d say he has no more than thirty.’
‘My brother is innocent,’ boomed Buitre’s voice again. ‘A sixteen-year-old boy you kidnapped from his workplace. How many lives should be lost because of Pedro’s cruelty? Tarantula, will you give your life for a vendetta that doesn’t involve you? Pantera and Mona. Piolín and Ñoño. Try to make Pedro see sense. If not, as Palillo can confirm … we’ll find your families …’
‘It’s not true,’ Rafael said. ‘Everyone in the river villages knows your aliases. This is a common Guerrilla tactic. Don’t let it get to you.’
‘Release Ernesto now and no more lives will be lost. Just yell “yes” from your upstairs window.’
Of course, I didn’t dare show my face. Ten seconds later, we heard the first of three mortars launch. The first two landed on open ground, but the third crashed through the roof of the milking shed with a thunderous explosion.
‘Ernesto!’ Buitre shouted. ‘If you can hear me, yell out now. Tell me you’re alive.’
From the northern bedroom, I heard Ernesto yelling, ‘Kiko! I’m here! I’m here!’
‘Mierda,’ I muttered. He was locked safely in his cell, but I should have gagged him.
‘Pedro, just let Ernesto walk out the front door and towards this light.’
A spotlight came on near the western guard post.
‘Comando,’ said Rafael. ‘This doesn’t make sense; he knows you won’t send Ernesto out. Radio the eastern trench.’
I tried. There was no reply.
‘It’s a trick,’ said Rafael decisively. ‘They’re sneaking in from the opposite side. Go and look for yourselves!’
Clutching the gasoline-soaked rag, he sprinted from the room.
Palillo and I raced to the window of the eastern bedroom and scanned the ground below – Palillo with night optics and me with my scope.
‘There!’ said Palillo. ‘There. And there.’
Sure enough fifteen silhouettes were belly-crawling across the grass, their rifles flat in one hand. They were approaching from widely different angles, moving stealthily but quickly towards the house.
Before I could even line up a shot, I spotted Rafael crawling out directly into the path of the approachin
g guerrilleros. Ten metres from the farmhouse he sparked a lighter against the gasoline-soaked rag and rolled sideways, lobbing the flaming projectile onto the grass where he’d earlier laid the circle of gasoline. The grass lit up and flames licked along the line of fuel, spreading left and right like two startled snakes and creating a metre-high blazing wall of fire that encircled the farmhouse and radiated outwards. Agonised yelps went up from the attackers. Four of them had caught fire and they rolled from side to side, trying to extinguish the flames. I shot at one. I hit him. Then I hit another, and then the remaining two. Even through the clouds of smoke, the fire produced enough light to illuminate my fleeing targets. Rafael began firing from where he’d taken cover behind a wall of tyres as the enemy scurried away. I raced back to the south-western bedroom.
Below me I could see Johnnie Walker and Pirata and their men holding the western and southern trenches. Giraldo, Indio, Pantera and their soldiers were hanging on at the far side of the milking shed but were completely cut off because the section of roof nearest the farmhouse had collapsed thanks to Buitre’s mortar bomb. The connecting trench had also been hit – there was a giant crater in the middle of it, the sandbag parapet had fallen and it could no longer be used for cover.
‘We have to counter-attack,’ I said, ‘but Buitre hears every word I say on this radio. I need human messengers. Ñoño and Piolín, get word to Johnnie Walker and Pirata: when I launch the RPGs, they’re to fire all at once and storm out of their trenches. Palillo, I need you to get the same message to the men cut off in the milking shed. Without the connecting trench, you’ll be exposed.’
‘Assuming I reach the milking shed,’ said Palillo, ‘counter-attack how?’
‘Do you think the Mercedes is driveable?’
Palillo shook his head. ‘Engine’s blown.’
‘Then release the handbrake, put it in neutral and have your men push it towards the enemy. There’s a slight slope so it should roll. Use the vehicle as cover and hit them with everything you’ve got. This is all or nothing.’
I held my breath as I watched the barely visible shadows of Piolín and Ñoño belly-crawl towards the southern and western trenches. They made it. Then it was Palillo’s turn. His role was the most hazardous, and I ordered the southern trench to fire at Buitre’s position as a distraction. Palillo crawled out, but halfway across a hail of bullets rained in and he had to dive and roll to reach the milking shed, and then squeeze under the collapsed roof. Two minutes later, Palillo and six others crawled out near where the Mercedes was parked. Its bulletproof glass and heavy armouring would provide them with some protection. When they were ready, Palillo waved to me and I fired my first RPG at Buitre’s position. That was the signal.