Mercenary s-5

by Duncan Falconer

‘The enemy have scattered!’ Marlo shouted. ‘But they should all be dead! Who fired the rocket?’

  The smouldering rebel was beating his boot heels with his cap to stop them from bursting into flames again. ‘It was me.’

  ‘You damned fool!’ Marlo shouted, taking an aggressive step forward. The guerrilla, a proud peasant and former farmer with heavily muscled arms and shoulders, stood his ground and looked Marlo coldly in the eye.

  ‘It was my fault,’ Victor said, moving between them. ‘I am responsible. I said he could shoot the rocket.’

  Marlo stared into Victor’s eyes. ‘Then you’re the fool,’ he said, a dangerous edge in his voice.

  The Indian scouts arrived and Marlo faced them. ‘How many did we kill?’ he demanded harshly.

  The old Indian held up three fingers as he looked at Marlo coldly. He obviously did not like the man’s tone.

  ‘Three?’ Marlo shouted as he moved away. ‘We should have killed all of them. I have joined an army of idiots. And that makes me look like an idiot,’ he said, pausing to look back at Victor. ‘I don’t like that.’

  From at least one angle the attempted ambush had been a farce but from what Stratton had seen the rebels had been a match for the government troops, who were not professional soldiers either. But Marlo was right. Had it not been for the misfired rocket they would have killed a good number of them. The men hanging in the trees would have been avenged.

  The rebels did not take long to reorganise themselves. The hanging corpses were placed in a single unmarked shallow grave. There were too many to take back with them and, according to David, they came from another camp too far away for them to be transferred. David also told Stratton that if the grave had been marked and any Neravistas came across it they would simply dig it up and hang the bodies again or maybe mutilate them even more brutally.

  As the column started on its way again, Stratton stood to one side, his parachute bag in his hand. Considering all that had happened he was still uncertain whether or not he should leave them. According to his GPS they had covered twenty-three kilometres as the crow flew. He’d heard the rebels say that they would be at their camp by nightfall, which was only a couple of hours away. Having come this far he decided he might as well see the camp at least. Then he could give the guerrillas their weapons training and be on his way by mid-morning the next day.

  This was a good enough place to hide the emergency pack and Stratton found a tree whose appearance and position looked sufficiently easy to memorise, buried the small pack at its base and cut a mark at eye level with his knife. He hit the waypoint mark on his GPS, which would get him within three metres of the tree, and typed in a name.

  He hooked his parachute bag to a passing burro and joined the column.

  Victor was subdued for the rest of the journey. When night fell the column continued moving with the Indians, who were adept at their task, guiding the rebels through the darkness. After a steep climb, traversing for more than a kilometre, they reached the summit of a hill and the glow of campfires could be seen in the distance. It was quite a sight. The sky was clear and the stars were exceptionally bright. It had been a long day: Stratton was looking forward to lying down and closing his eyes.

  Chapter 2

  Stratton followed the column of men and burros into the rebel camp. Two large sandbag-and-log defensive emplacements at either side protected the entrance, and two more were set back thirty metres, providing defensive depth. All of them were protected from the rain by a mixture of natural materials and canvas and were manned by a couple of men, each with M60 belt-fed machine guns. Half a dozen armed men policed the entrance, which appeared to rely on the familiarity system. If a stranger’s friendly intentions could not be verified they would not easily gain entry.

  The main thoroughfare into the camp was broad and muddy, with stones and logs filling the deeper ruts. Judging by the number of cooking fires, the main living quarters, a sprawling township of tents and tightly packed dilapidated wooden and corrugated-iron huts, were arranged in one huge mass in a central lower area. It bustled with activity, and music wafted from somewhere along with the sound of many voices.

  The sentries eyed Stratton suspiciously as he approached but Victor was waiting to escort him. Stratton unhooked his parachute bag from the burro and gave it a pat on the rump by way of thanks. A bunch of barefooted children ran past through the mud, chasing a partially deflated football; a woman shouted for one of them to come home.

  ‘I’ll show you to your quarters,’ Victor said.

  The Frenchman looked preoccupied as he led the way along a narrow muddy track that was shrounded in darkness. Stratton supposed he was still unsettled by the day’s activities and stayed a few metres behind him to give him his space.

  The sounds of the camp died away as they approached a dense patch of jungle. Up ahead a large bonfire illuminated a collection of log cabins. A dozen or so men were gathered at a large wooden table made from split tree-trunks. Some sat while others stood close by. All were listening soberly to a man who was speaking in authoritative tones.

  Victor stopped far enough away from the group to hear what was being said but not so close as to become a part of what was obviously an important meeting. Stratton waited behind him. The tension in the air was palpable.

  ‘This is an opportunity for peace,’ boomed the speaker, a large, bear-like individual who stood at one end of the long table. He wore clean olive-green fatigues with a long brown shawl draped over his shoulders and tucked under a thick mane of hair that served only to augment his imposing appearance. ‘This time we must consider the offer that has been placed before us,’ he went on. ‘I don’t remember anyone ever saying we wanted an endless, sustained guerrilla war. Our plan was always to fight until we could influence the government, to become a voice that would be heard and respected. Then the fight would continue. But not with guns. With words - words backed by the respect that we have won.’

  ‘You have arrived at a most interesting time,’ Victor said to Stratton, keeping his own voice low. ‘I think this could be a pivotal moment in this rebellion. The man speaking is Hector. He will either bend us in a new direction or we will snap and break apart. He is head of the Fifth Brigade . . . and he is as formidable as he looks. But these days he would rather be a politician than a soldier.’

  ‘I have told Neravista’s representatives that we are ready to discuss terms,’ Hector continued.

  ‘You had no right to speak on behalf of everyone.’ The new voice was soft yet strangely piercing. Everyone turned their heads to look at a white-haired older man who was sitting at the opposite end of the table. The look in his eyes revealed a deep inner strength.

  ‘That’s Sebastian,’ Victor said.

  Stratton studied the man. He looked the oldest in the group, the only man with white hair, but he was not frail. He was also the only one not wearing military-style clothing. But what really distinguished him from the others was an aura of clear superiority that was inherited, not learned. He had an aristocratic air about him that seemed quite out of place in this grubby jungle setting.

  ‘And you had no right to bring in these new weapons without consulting the council,’ Hector retorted. ‘Yes, I know about the rockets and special mines.’

  ‘We are still at war,’ Sebastian replied coolly. ‘It is each brigade leader’s duty to maintain armaments.’

  ‘It’s your timing that I am most concerned about. By bringing in these new arms now you are sending the wrong signal.’

  ‘I do not accept any terms offered by Neravista, therefore my signal remains the same as always.’

  ‘That is not your decision to make. We are five brigades held together by a democratic union. It is the council that makes the decisions, not any single member.’

  ‘We are not a democracy, Hector. Not yet. That is only our ambition.’

  ‘We have been fighting for peace and this is an opportunity to achieve it.’

  The older man shook his head
slowly. ‘We did not begin this fight for peace. We already had that. But it was Neravista’s kind of peace, where whoever threatened his dictatorship was imprisoned or murdered. It was peaceful only for those who did not challenge him. You are not going forwards, Hector. You’re throwing this struggle into full reverse.’

  All eyes went to Hector as Sebastian’s words made their impact.

  ‘I want Neravista’s leadership dismantled now as much as I did when I began this fight,’ Hector countered, undeterred. ‘But it is time to change our strategy. We can still achieve our goals. For three years we’ve fought. Many have died. I don’t want to spend the next twenty years burying my people who’ve died in the fighting. There is more than one way to win this struggle.’

  Stratton noticed out of the corner of his eye someone over at the entrance to what appeared to be the main cabin. A young woman in jeans and a leather jacket walked from it towards the group. Her long dark hair was tied back in a ponytail and she stopped behind Sebastian, near the table, where everyone noticed her. Hector was distracted momentarily by her arrival.

  The glow from the fire revealed her youth as well as the noble confidence of her solemn expression. Stratton found her stunning to look at. But something else about her, apart from her beauty, struck him.

  ‘I warn you now,’ said Sebastian, speaking slowly and deliberately, ‘I will not be a part of this ridiculous parley. It’s an insult to everyone who has fought, and in particular those who have actually given their lives, for this struggle. And if you go ahead with it I will continue the fight without you.’

  ‘And I hand the warning back to you,’ Hector said, leaning forward on the table as if to enforce his point. ‘I will not allow you to destroy this opportunity.’

  ‘I always understood an opportunity to be a moment of favourable circumstances,’ the young woman said. Her voice was confident and clear. ‘While we fight Neravista there will always be the opportunity to talk.’

  Victor smiled. ‘Sebastian’s daughter,’ he said softly, the pride in his voice unmistakable.

  ‘With all respect, Louisa,’ Hector said, ‘this is a meeting of the council. You are not a member.’

  ‘I can do what I want. I’m a rebel,’ she retorted.

  Several of the men found the comment amusing, including Hector.

  Louisa remained solemn in contrast. ‘My father provided you with opportunities greater than any that Neravista will ever give you. He began this revolution. You all followed him. He has always been the backbone of this great cause. Why is it that you no longer trust him?’

  ‘No one here denies Sebastian the respect he deserves. I will break the neck of anyone who does not show him any,’ Hector said, looking around darkly at the others to reinforce the threat. ‘But it is time for a change of direction. If Sebastian cannot see that then perhaps it is time for him to step back as . . . as our spiritual leader.’

  ‘What makes you think you are qualified to take his place?’ Louisa asked, a frown creasing her brow.

  Hector’s tightening expression revealed his growing irritation at her effrontery. ‘I am not alone,’ he said. ‘I have the support of the rest of the council.’

  ‘Sheep,’ she muttered, loudly enough for those the comment was aimed at to hear.

  ‘That’s enough, Louisa,’ Sebastian said curtly.

  Hector might have been fuming but he seemed unable to sustain his anger. His stare softened and, if anything, reflected a certain admiration and, perhaps, desire for the outspoken girl.

  Victor took a deep breath and stepped decisively towards the group. ‘I am not a member of the council either, but I have a say too,’ he said in a raised voice.

  Everyone looked towards this new intruder.

  ‘This matter is beyond the brigade leaders and council members alone,’ Victor continued. ‘We are all a part of the rebellion, every man, woman and child in this camp and the others. I am under Sebastian’s banner as your lieutenants are under yours. But Sebastian does not own me. We are not a conscript army marching at the behest of ambitious officers. We are individuals, egalitarians expressing our beliefs and willing to put our lives on the line for them. This is a critical time in our adventure and we all have the right to say what we believe.’

  The speech was met by mixed reactions among the rebel leaders. Louisa did not hide her evident fondness for Victor.

  ‘And so what is it that you believe, Victor?’ Hector asked with more than a hint of contempt in his voice.

  ‘I do not believe that when you have your sword against the throat of your adversary you remove it in order to negotiate with him - certainly not with one like Neravista.’

  ‘But you can’t expect a straight answer from a man with a blade at his throat,’ the big brigade commander replied. ‘I believe it is time, not to give up our weapons but to keep them with due vigilance in our hands while we try to work something out. Neravista wants to discuss terms. We should give him the space to do so.’

  ‘Have you forgotten what kind of animal he is?’ Sebastian said, getting to his feet. ‘He has murdered thousands of our people, many of whom died at the hands of torturers such as his own brother. Those people lost their lives simply because they wanted a change, a fairer, more just alternative. We began this fight to remove Neravista. But all you want is to join him. Do that and you will only share the blame for the blood he has on his hands.’

  ‘Be very careful, Sebastian,’ Hector growled.

  ‘There is no negotiating with Neravista!’ Sebastian insisted. ‘He has to be destroyed. And we cannot allow another dictator like him to take power. We have to wipe this country’s political slate clean. We must begin again. We will build a government based on liberal democracy. Freedom. That cannot be negotiated with Neravista. To him, the words “liberal” and “democracy” are like a crucifix to a vampire. He will fight to the death of everyone in this country to hold on to his power. He has no choice. He knows he will die otherwise.’

  Most of the rebel leaders paused for thought at this. One of them, sitting beside Hector, whispered in his ear.

  Hector looked at Stratton. ‘Who is that man?’ he boomed. ‘Since when are strangers invited to listen in on our council meetings?’

  ‘He works for Steel,’ Victor said.

  ‘Why is he here?’

  Victor was about to speak when Hector interrupted him. ‘Let him speak for himself.’

  All stares focused on Stratton. ‘I’m just the delivery boy,’ he said.

  ‘Ah. The weapons,’ Hector surmised.

  ‘He’s our guest,’ Victor said. ‘There’s no need for this.’

  ‘I know why you brought these weapons here, Sebastian. Not to destroy Neravista’s army but to destroy this opportunity for peace. That decision was made by you and you alone. Is that the kind of liberal democracy you are fighting for, Victor? I’m beginning to wonder if we might not just be exchanging one Neravista for another.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Louisa snapped, stepping forward aggressively.

  Her father put an arm out to halt her.

  Hector was aware that he had gone too far and directed his ire elsewhere. ‘Leave,’ he said to Stratton.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ said Victor.

  Stratton was rapidly growing uncomfortable with the situation. He did not like the way things were heading.

  ‘Don’t dare to counter my command,’ Hector shouted at Victor. He looked at Stratton. ‘Get out of this country,’ he growled at him.

  Stratton did not move, more out of indecision than stubbornness. Lines were clearly being drawn in the sand and whoever he obeyed would score a point. Right then, he felt like siding with Sebastian but he reckoned he should leave his options wide open. The only thing he was certain of was his regret at not getting out earlier.

  ‘You either leave on your own or I will have you tied behind a mule and dragged,’ Hector said, taking a step from the table towards him. Several of his men moved their hands to their pistols, staring m
alevolently at Stratton.

  The Englishman had suddenly become a political football in this overheated debate. Since he was not one of the rebels his death could be an acceptable symbolic insult to the Sebastian faction that no one would actually be obliged to avenge. Stratton thought of his M4 resting on the pack behind him and won - dered which way he should run when he grabbed it.

  ‘He is our guest,’ Victor repeated defiantly, straightening his back. ‘You will stop this childish bullying.’ His determination to stand up to Hector was clear for all to see.

  Hector was a short-tempered bear who was unused to being disobeyed and Victor’s attitude served only to enrage him. He reached beneath his jacket and took out a glistening machete. ‘You dare to give me orders, and in front of the council! I’ll show you what I think of your guest,’ he said, striding towards Stratton. ‘Run, little dog, or I’ll cut you in two.’

  Stratton appeared to have only one ally and it looked as if he was not going to be enough. The Englishman watched the big man step closer, his mind racing through his very limited number of choices. If he stood his ground and defended himself he would lose whatever sympathy the others might have for him. If he took off, their hostile feelings might not be intense enough for them to want to pursue him. It was a case of saving his skin or his pride. Staying alive was the wiser choice and he decided that if he could depart at a walking pace it might at least leave him some pride. He raised his hands in a soothing gesture and was about to step back when Victor stepped in front of him to face Hector.

  Sebastian’s second in command tightened his jaw as Hector neared them.

  ‘Don’t challenge me, Victor. Step aside.’

  Victor did not move.

  Hector continued to advance. ‘I said step aside.’

  The Frenchman clenched his sweat-soaked fists at his sides. It was clear to everyone that he was not going to get out of Hector’s way.

  The big man stopped an arm’s reach from him, keeping his machete level. ‘This is the last time I will ask. Stand aside.’