The Adventurers

by Robbins, Harold

  "Shall we proceed to the business at hand, gentlemen?" I asked.

  They nodded.

  I opened my attache case and took out the typewritten forms and placed them on the table between us. "I assume that you gentlemen have already read the draft of this document which was handed you last night, and that you understand it and accept all its conditions?"

  "There is but one condition that I would like your excellency's permission to discuss," Vasquez said.

  "Proceed."

  "It is clause six, pertaining to the punishment of individual personnel according to their rank, responsibility, and guilt as determined by court-martial."

  "Yes, Colonel. Your question?"

  "It is not a question," he answered. "Colonel Pardo and

  I are quite willing to accept our punishment. But it is our feeling that it should be ours alone. The officers and men under us were merely doing their duty. They are good soldiers and have been taught to obey their superiors without question. Surely they share none of the responsibility for what happened."

  "That is true," the other colonel interjected. "You cannot punish three whole regiments because they were misled."

  "That is not our intention, gentlemen," I said. "Your men have been guilty of insurrection and rebellion against the government. I am sure they were aware at whom they were shooting, yet they aimed at their fellow soldiers."

  The two officers did not answer.

  "I have constructed clause six most carefully and explicitly," I continued. "Undue hardship and injustice can and will be avoided as much as is humanly possible. I call your attention to the words 'individual personnel.' This means there will be no mass trials where a man could be punished for the sins of his associates. Each man will be judged on his own."

  "I ask amnesty for my men—" Vasquez' voice broke.

  I looked at him sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I have not the authority to change these conditions. They were read and approved by el Presidente."

  Pardo hesitated a moment, then picked up the pen. "I will sign."

  A moment later Vasquez also signed, then Tulia and I. We all got to our feet. "You will place yourselves and your men in the custody of Colonel Tulia," I said. "At the proper time he will issue further instructions."

  "Si, Coronel." They both saluted.

  I returned their salute and as they turned Colonel Vasquez stopped before me. "I apologize for my tears, excellency."

  I looked at his sad, weary face. "Your tears do you honor, sir."

  Vasquez turned again and continued out the door. The war in the south was over.

  CHAPTER 31

  But the war in the north was not yet over. The bandoleros were not soldiers; they did not fight according to the rules of warfare. To them war was not a game like chess, when if the situation was hopeless one resigned. To them war was to the death. They would continue to kill until they themselves were killed.

  And they died. By the hundreds. But in dying they also killed, not only soldiers but anyone and anything that lay in their path. They moved through the land like a plague, and like a plague their savagery was contagious. Our soldiers grew callous and careless. In a matter of days they became no better than their enemy. They, too, began to destroy everything that got in their way merely to get to the enemy.

  The roads became clogged with campesinos, women and children fleeing first one way, then another. They were unsure who was their enemy or in which direction safety lay. The stories that came back to Curatu, carried by refugees, were almost too incredible to believe.

  Murder and rape had become commonplace, death and torture a way of life. And the lawlessness was common to both the soldiers and the bandoleros. Between the two, entire villages were wiped out in the name of war. The bandoleros acted out of a fear that the villagers might lead the army to their hideouts, and the army reacted because they were afraid the campesinos might give comfort to the bandoleros. The helpless campesinos, caught in the middle, had no choice but to die, for if the soldiers did not kill them the bandoleros would.

  And for every bandolero that the soldiers killed, at least one got through their lines. Relentlessly the army pushed after them. Each day the war became more vicious, more improbable. Because it was no longer even a battle. It was total extermination.

  On the fifth morning after my return from the south, el Presidente asked if I would fly him over the battlefields. He wanted to see for himself the progress of the war. We flew in bright shining sunlight over the bleakest terrain man has ever seen. The earth had been truly scorched. In many places the winter harvest still smoldered in the fields, and animals lay dead and decaying. Entire villages had been fired, and the buildings which still remained were silent in their lonely emptiness. Nowhere was a sign of life visible.

  Occasionally on the roads below us an army vehicle moved or a platoon of soldiers trudged toward the north. But outside of that the only people we saw were occasional straggles of refugees, bent under their packs and heading toward the safety of Curatu.

  It was not until we had almost reached the mountains, not far from my hacienda, that we witnessed actual war.

  There we saw an entire regiment besieging a small village. They had surrounded it with cannon and mortar and were mercilessly lobbing shell after shell into the tiny hamlet. I did not see how anyone could remain alive after such a holocaust. I glanced over to see how el Presidente was reacting to it.

  He was looking down, his face impassive. I sent the plane into a wide slow circle. Almost at the same instant two men broke from one of the houses below us, carrying rifles. Behind them came a woman, pulling a small child. She turned and ran between one of the houses. The men were obviously trying to cover her escape. The four of them made it almost to the back perimeter of the village before the two men were cut down in a murderous crossfire. The woman got to the last building and sank down, the child at her back.

  I banked the plane again, looking over the side. The soldiers were moving in. Slowly and cautiously. There was no returning fire. Now a group of them was gathered around the woman and the child, who knelt there beside the building, staring up at them.

  One of the soldiers gestured at her. Slowly she got to her feet and with an odd gesture dusted off her skirt. The soldier gestured again and she took the child's hand. He prodded her with the muzzle of his rifle and she stumbled to the door of the small cottage. He motioned for her to go inside. She hesitated. He raised his rifle threateningly. With a last backward glance she pushed the child before her and went in through the door. A moment later the soldier and several of his companions went in after her.

  I glanced at el Presidente again. His lips were drawn back tightly over his teeth, his eyes shining. He looked up and noticed that I was watching him. For a long moment our eyes met, then his face became expressionless again.

  "It will teach them a lesson," he said harshly, "the bandoleros and the campesinos who help them. It will be a long time before any of them will want to make war again."

  "If that child lives," I said, "it will hate the government for all its life. If it is a boy, as soon as he is old enough, he too will go back into the mountains."

  El Presidente knew what I was talking about. It had always been that way. The children who somehow survived la Violencia were scarred, something inside them became warped and they, too, carried the seeds of violence.

  "It is war," el Presidente said emotionlessly, "and there is nothing that can be done about it."

  "But they are soldiers, they are not animals! Where are the officers who are supposed to control them? Do you wish them to become the same as the bandoleros?"

  El Presidente looked at me for a moment. "Yes, they are soldiers but they are also men. Men swollen with victory, or the fear of death, and faced with a sudden realization of the nothingness of their lives."

  I didn't answer. I had no answer.

  "We can go back now."

  I nodded and began to bank left, then on a hunch decided to fly ove
r my hacienda. We were scarcely ten minutes away. I came down to about a thousand feet. There was nothing left except a few charred and burned timbers and the stones of the foundations. Even the barns were gone.

  Only the cemetery remained, its small white headstones standing like tiny beacons in the scorched fields around them. I glanced over at el Presidents. He was looking out the window but I doubt that he realized where we were. His face was expressionless.

  I altered course to take us directly back to Curatu. There was a strange tightness in my breast. Suddenly, for the first time in the last few hectic days, for perhaps the first time since I had arrived home, I thought of Beatriz.

  Something inside me lightened. I was glad now that I had taken her there before it was too late. And I was glad that she had freed the ghosts of my family so they would not have to see their home burned down.

  I stopped the plane and cut the engines right next to el President's big black limousine, which was parked on the field awaiting us. He turned to me before getting out. "Make sure your plane is in order. Tomorrow you are flying back to New York."

  I nodded.

  "I wish to talk to you tonight. Alone. We have many things to discuss. I think the Americans will give us that loan now. You will come to my apartment at eleven. I shall leave word to admit you. If I am not there you will wait for me."

  "Yes, excellency."

  El Presidente pushed open the cabin door, then looked back at me. "And by the way," he said, almost as if it were an afterthought, "this time you are not going merely as our ambassador. This time you are going as vice president of Corteguay. The news was announced over the radio at noon, about the time we were flying over your hacienda."

  I was too stunned to speak.

  El Presidente smiled briefly, then with a wave of his hand he was gone. I watched his car pull away and go roaring out the gates before I cut the engines in again and started to taxi to the hangar.

  New York, I thought. It would be good to be back in New York again. There was nothing to keep me here now. Except one thing. Beatriz. I would not go back alone. This time she would go back with me. As my wife.

  CHAPTER 32

  The change in my status was evident the moment I got down from the plane in the hangar. Giraldo, who had become accustomed to being with me and had grown rather careless about his uniform and his manners, now stood stiffly at attention, his uniform neatly brushed. The two mechanics behind him also stood at attention. Even Fat Cat, in his own sloppy way, seemed to stand straighter, though I could see from the look in his eyes that it was more for their benefit than for mine.

  "Lieutenant—"

  "Si, excelencia!" Giraldo had spoken before I'd a chance to finish.

  I would have to remember now to speak more quickly or I should be giving all my orders in two installments. "Please have the plane serviced and thoroughly checked out."

  "Si, excelencia!"

  I looked at him. "I hadn't finished yet," I said mildly.

  "Pardone, excelencia!"

  I had to smile, I couldn't help it. "Fill the tanks and stand by. We are soon to return to New York."

  "Si, excelencia!" Giraldo saluted sharply, then looked at me hesitantly. "May I offer your excellency my congratulations and best wishes in your new position, and assure you of my total loyalty?"

  "Thank you, Giraldo."

  Again he saluted, and this time I returned it. I went out of the hangar ringing with his orders to the mechanics. Already Giraldo saw himself as attached to the vice presidential staff.

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see Fat Cat walking slightly behind me. He was still in that strange posture which seemed so wrong and awkward for him. "You'd better relax," I said to him out of the corner of my mouth, "you'll break in two."

  Almost immediately everything dropped. His chest deflated, and his stomach reappeared again. "Thank God!" he murmured gratefully. "I was beginning to think I would have to remain like this forever!"

  The two soldiers who drove me were at attention beside the jeep. Everybody saluted. I saluted, then they saluted again, and finally to put an end to it I got into the car. We roared off toward town.

  "How was it out there?" Fat Cat whispered under cover of the roar of the wind in our faces.

  "Not pretty," I said. "It will be years before we recover from this." I was silent for a moment. "The hacienda is gone. There is nothing left but the cinders."

  "You can build again."

  I shook my head. "No. Another house, yes. But not that one." The feeling of the loss was beginning to register. It was as if a part of my life had vanished.

  Fat Cat knew how I felt and changed the subject. "I was in the control tower when the news came over the radio. Everyone wanted to know what it meant."

  I didn't answer.

  "There were some who thought that at last the old man was getting ready to step down and turn it over to you. At least that's what they kept telling me."

  "What did you tell them?"

  "What could I tell them?" Fat Cat asked expressively. "Let them think I was a fool and didn't know? That it was as much a surprise to me as to them?"

  I detected the faint note of reproach in his voice. "It was a complete surprise to me," I said.

  Fat Cat looked at me for a moment, then decided I was telling the truth. The reproach faded from his eyes.

  I soon discovered there were some advantages to my new position. We raced past the checkpoints without once being stopped, and when I got to the Palacio del Presidente I found I had been moved from the small office in which I had been installed on the day I arrived. I now had a large suite of offices next to el Presidente's own.

  By the time I reached them I had run a gauntlet of good wishes and protestations of undying loyalty. It was with a feeling of relief that I finally closed the door to my private office behind me. I walked around the desk and sat down in the chair. I leaned back, swinging, trying it out for comfort.

  "You look as if you'd sat there all your life," Fat Cat said.

  I looked over at him. "Don't you begin."

  Fat Cat didn't answer.

  "Go up to our apartamiento and bring down my suit. I want to get out of thus uniform." Suddenly I didn't feel right in it any more.

  Fat Cat nodded and left. A moment later I had my first official visitor. It was Coronel Tulia. "I'm sorry to disturb your excellency, but I have important papers that require your signature."

  There was something about this tall reserved soldier that I liked. I felt none of the usual Latin American effusiveness in him, the false compliments or scraping to superiors. He had not even mentioned my new position.

  "My signature?"

  "Yes, as vice president."

  "What are they?"

  He took them from his briefcase and handed them to me. "Execution orders," he said briefly. "For Pardo and Vasquez."

  I looked at him in surprise. "I wasn't advised of their court-martial."

  "There has been no court-martial, excellency." Tulia's face was expressionless. "They were condemned by order of el Presidente."

  I stared at him. Tulia knew as well as I that this was contrary to clause six of the surrender agreement. Under its provisions no man could be judged without trial. "Then why didn't el Presidents sign the order of execution?"

  "Under our constitution," he answered, "it is the vice president who has the power to set the final penalty in cases of treason. The president is considered to be the government and therefore in prejudice. Only if there is no vice president is the president empowered to act." Tulia paused for a moment, then added significantly, "You are now the vice president."

  Tulia did not have to point out that. It had already begun to dawn on me. I looked down at the papers. Were el Presidente to sign them an outcry would go up around the world; these men had been denied their rights under the surrender agreement. But not if I were to sign them. I would assume the responsibility.

  I looked at Tulia. "If these men had come before a court-m
artial what do you think the verdict would have been?"

  "I cannot guess the decisions of others."

  "If you were to sit in judgment would you have found them guilty?"

  Tulia hesitated a moment. "No."

  "Despite the fact that they led their troops against their own government?"

  "Yes." Tulia's answer came without hesitation. "You see, I know the facts of that decision."

  "The truth?"

  Tulia nodded.

  "I would like to hear it."

  For the first time I noticed the tension under which Tulia was laboring. Faint beads of perspiration dampened his forehead. Suddenly I realized the courage it took for him to come even this far with me. One word and he might stand beside the others in the dock.

  "Sit down, Colonel," I said gently. "You are among friends."

  Gratefully Tulia sank into the chair. To give him time to compose himself I took out a thin black cigar from my case and offered it to him. He shook his head so I lit it. Then I leaned back and waited.

  "There were seven regiments in the field when the fighting began. Seven regiments, seven colonels, including Mosquera, who is now dead." Tulia leaned forward. "In many ways the rebel attack was what has become almost the classic opening in modern warfare. Like the German blitzkrieg of Poland and the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, it came without notice, without warning. And we were caught completely unaware.

  "It was on a Saturday morning that the attacks began in the north. Nothing much was said about it at first because everyone assumed it was just another bandolero raid. By the time we realized that it was more than that the fighting had begun in the south. The news came while all seven of us were having dinner together at my headquarters. You cannot imagine the confusion and rumors. At one point during the night we even had a report that el Presidente had been assassinated, and that the rebels were in complete control of the government."