And still no flicker of red from my Battle Ring.
I had served under Captain Suarez for nearly a month, and I had seen soldiers come and go. Many were killed in their first battle. Only a few of us were alive to speak of prior missions. I began questioning our tactics, as they were highly predictable.
I expressed my concern to the Captain.
“Steven, the orders come from my father. He was a highly decorated officer in the Ecuadorian Army, a master strategist and a tactician. I’m a military man. Whether I agree with the orders or not, I’m trained to take orders and follow them to the letter.”
I felt like I was talking to a brick wall. I approached the radio operator and fired a message to Don Karcher, seeking help and telling him that we were in dire consequences. I slept well that night.
Several days later, I received a reply that guns and ammunition were on their way via some rather sketchy business partners of Don’s. They were to be picked up by boat a short distance off of “Beggar’s Bay” on a specified date and time. Only one problem: we didn’t have a boat.
***
Captain Suarez called for a meeting with his subordinates and all personnel. He said the battalion had been ordered to “stand down,” to not attack the palace, and to maintain our perimeter. He was traveling to Los Rios for a strategy meeting with his father and would be back in a few days.
He then motioned me to his tent.
“I hear you have acquired some firearms through your friend, Don.”
“Yes,” I said, not knowing if I was going to be berated or not.
“Receiving guns that way is against protocol, and I won’t be a part of it. However, I don’t wish to upset Mr. Karcher, as he has helped us tremendously. As you heard, I will be gone the next few days. If by some means some guns show up…I won’t be upset.” He smiled.
I then informed him of a missing part of the plan: a boat.
“One of the soldiers has a boat. When Miguel burnt his farm, it was the only thing he left. Find out who it is and commandeer it.”
I turned to leave, and Suarez spoke.
“Off the record, Steven, good job. I’ll let everyone know that you’ll be in charge of this mission.”
I was in charge? I had never been in charge of anything before.
Using some unorthodox sign language, I found who had the boat and where it was. I then selected my soldiers to accompany me.
I felt like a big shot.
***
With Captain Suarez gone, I began organizing my troops, and soon we were destined for a small port close to Beggar’s Bay. Morale was high as we cut through more Amazon underbrush in our huge halftrack, licking our chops at the thought of getting some modern weapons with which to fight Miguel’s Army.
I tabbed fifteen soldiers to ride the fifty-foot fishing vessel to meet up with the freighter that was delivering our weapons. The owner of the boat was only too excited for us to use his property to help defeat Miguel’s forces. The rest of us would travel the coast in the half track.
The plan was to meet the freighter off the coast, and through a series of horn blasts, they would identify each other. All was going to plan. Thoughts went through my head about how I had maybe missed my calling. Maybe I was a born leader. Maybe I should have gone to military school or joined the army. I was ready to relish in victory, as we would return to camp with a new cache of weapons.
All seemed quiet as I monitored the situation through binoculars while standing on the highest part of our transport vehicle. My view was unobstructed, and I could read the letters and numbers on the side of the ship. As I watched intently, a warm glow grew from my Battle Ring. My stomach felt uneasy.
High caliber shots rang out from the freighter!
Our vessel was under attack!
The soldiers on the boat fought back with rifle shots that bounced like pebbles from the exterior of the huge ship. In a matter of minutes, our valiant attempt to gain some type of advantage over Miguel had fallen by the wayside.
Even as our boat was completely submerged, the freighter continued to fill the water with ammunition, eliminating any chance of survivors.
We sat motionless on the coast. It had all been a trap. Meeting far enough from the coast had been part of the plan. Our soldiers on the boat were overmatched, and our guns on the halftrack didn’t have the range to return fire.
The remaining soldiers awaited orders as I struggled to make a decision. As the first dead bodies washed ashore, I decided to stay put and make sure all were accounted for.
It was nearly twenty-four agonizing hours from before we left to when we returned. We had taken no provisions, thinking we would return a short time later. On the return trip I tried to remember the numbers and letters that were on the ship. I wrote down several variations of what I thought they were.
After a brief rest and some rice, beans, and potatoes, we began burying the dead.
Chapter 32
I awoke the next morning hearing Captain Suarez’s voice. He was back. I cringed as he headed my way. He pulled the covers from me and yelled. “In my quarters! Now!”
I jumped from my cot, dressed myself, and ran to Suarez’s tent. I walked in, watching him pour himself a stiff drink.
“Steven, what the Hell happened?”
I was lost for words and had no explanation on what had transpired. Captain Suarez continued berating me.
“Before you have any dealings with anyone, you need to check them out! This is war! You can’t take anything for granted! Understand?!”
I hung my head and nodded.
The captain calmed himself and asked if I had any clue as to who had been aboard the freighter.
I gave him the piece of paper with the variations of numbers and letters.
“I’ll send this off to headquarters and see if they can decipher it.”
He took a long drink. “As it turns out, our intelligence information has been all wrong. Miguel and his leaders, whom the media have dubbed the “Cabinet of Evil,” have been in Bogatá, Columbia for the last few weeks. They are negotiating the takeover of Columbia’s government.”
I had to ask, “How do you negotiate the takeover of a country?”
Captain Suarez replied, “They give them an ultimatum. Give up peacefully or die.”
“So the whole time we have been attacking, Miguel hasn’t even been in the palace?”
“That’s right.”
It all made sense now. My Battle Ring hadn’t turned red, because there were no Evil forces present, just infantry that hadn’t been influenced or contacted by Miguel. They were regular soldiers doing what they were told. I gave a slight grin but wiped it from my face, as I could tell Suarez was serious as Hell.
Captain Suarez continued, “I’ll rally our troops and my officers and order our battalion to continue ‘standing down’ and guard our perimeter. Steven, I need you to grab some soldiers and go into Balso for supplies. We need to use this time to reorganize.”
Balso was a small village an hour from camp with a local market where we bought our food and supplies. I selected five men, and we all dressed in street clothes so we would not be recognized as soldiers in case Miguel’s men were present. We tucked our handguns in our belts. I also took my Holy Stick.
Some of our volunteer soldiers were locals, so we had access to their vehicles. We used an old Crosley pickup truck from one man. As we entered Balso, its small narrow streets were packed with activity. People were buying up the produce, as they had heard that Miguel was back and feared for their lives. With an ample supply of goods, the locals could go into hiding.
We paired off, each with a list of things to buy and with a plan to meet back at the old Crosley pickup truck as soon as possible. There were so many people in the streets, you just had to go with the flow of the crowd until you reached your destination. I was looking up from my list when I caught the eye of an old man. He was walking towards me. No matter which way I tried to avoid him or lose eye contact with him,
we met face to face.
“Hello, Steven. That certainly is a beautiful ring you wear. I had a friend with one just like it.”
I was confused, yet intrigued. How did he know my name? It was so crowded that there was no way he could have seen my ring from his vantage point. I looked closer at the man, and he gave me a knowing nod. He turned and walked away. My instincts told me that this might be part of my journey and that I should follow him.
Trying to find him was another story. The crowd swelled with activity, and I felt that I had lost him. A voice called my name, and a crooked finger motioned me into an alley. It was then that I recognized him. He was one of Father Patrick’s warrior friends who had helped distract the Randolphs on that fateful night of Father Patrick’s death.
I looked at my ring to make sure it wasn’t some kind of trap. “What do you want?” I asked.
He spoke hastily: “I don’t have much time. I have been sent here to give you news of your journey and to tell you that Father Patrick is most proud of you and that he is glad he has chosen you for this destiny.”
I spoke excitedly. “Is he here?”
“No, my son. His soul is alive, and his spirit rides with you, but he will never grace this planet again. He would also like you to know that you did not kill him. Minutes before you arrived at the church with the infant Miguel, Father Patrick was given the order from the church elders to kill the baby or risk losing his immortality. They feared the baptism would not be strong enough to kill the Evil in the infant. When he failed and fell on the axe, it was the perfect alibi for the church.” As he spoke, he quickly looked about as if he were doing something wrong or was afraid of being caught giving me this news.
I was floored by this new information and glad I hadn’t given in to the requests from the church to return the Battle Ring.
“So Father Patrick was really an immortal?”
The old man looked confused. “Yes, he was an immortal, but more than that, he was St. Michael, the Archangel, the leader of all the Archangels!”
Now it was my time to look puzzled.
“Oh, my. I can see you are not aware of the full spectrum of your journey. Father Patrick chose you to succeed him in his sole duty of ridding the world of Evil and thus becoming the successor of the title of St. Michael the Archangel. With the acceptance of the Battle Ring, you possess all of the power that Patrick had. The church elders opposed his choice of you because of your father’s history with Miguel. Being a legacy to Evil, they thought you to be a risky choice. They will never accept you as a saint until you prove your worth.”
“And what is that proof?” I asked.
“Killing Miguel and ridding the world of Evil.”
I was still questioning this new information. “Why didn’t he just tell me he was St. Michael?”
“Would you have believed him? And would you have accepted the ring, knowing that you would be his successor to the title of St. Michael the Archangel?”
No on both counts.
The old man continued. “When you walk in the shoes of St. Michael, it means that you do so at your own risk and that you serve the Lord anonymously and humbly with no expectations of being hailed a hero. Even when you choose your successor, you must do so with little information as to the responsibilities of becoming an Archangel, just as Father Patrick did with you. Your successor must be able to use his instincts as a tool to navigate his way to his destiny.”
This was all new to me. I told the old man I didn’t want to be St. Michael. I just wanted to kill Miguel and seek revenge for him killing my dad.
“It’s too late, Steven. You are the Chosen One. This is your destiny. Just remember, once you kill Miguel, your journey will not be over.”
He continued looking at me with endearing eyes and wished me well.
“What do you mean my journey won’t be over?” I yelled as he turned and scurried through the crowd. With the news that I wasn’t responsible for a death that I spent ten years of my life paying for, I felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. And I vowed to complete my journey and kill Miguel in the name of Father Patrick and my dad.
I was overwhelmed, but I went back to focusing on the task at hand: getting supplies. I was sure that with the detour talking to Father Patrick’s friend, I would be the last one back to the old Crosley pickup truck.
There was a bustling in the crowd, and my Battle Ring grew red. I was not wanting a confrontation on this random trip for supplies. I saw two of Miguel’s disciples dressed as soldiers holding one of my comrades at bay. He was a young kid who had just joined the Freedom Fighters after Miguel’s men had slaughtered his family. He had mistakenly worn his uniform hat, and the enemy had noticed. I acted swiftly, well beyond the ability of a mere mortal. I threw my Holy Stick, stabbing and killing one of them. I then disarmed my lone enemy, killing him with his own bayonet. I retrieved my wooden weapon, grabbed the shaken boy, and hustled him from the scene.
We arrived late at the old Crosley pickup truck amid complaints of our tardiness. I made a halfhearted excuse and ordered the driver to high tail it back to camp. I was breathing heavily, because I had, for the first time in my life, killed a person.
Once we arrived at camp, the tale of my exploits spread like wildfire. Pats on the back were followed by offers of wine and peyote. I refused both and appreciated the attention. I concentrated more on the information the old man had given me of my innocence in Father Patrick’s death, and that I was to become the successor to the title of St. Michael the Archangel.
I was called to Captain Suarez’s tent.
“I heard you had an eventful trip to Balso.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to look humble.
“Looks like my training paid off.”
I stood silent, as it appeared that he was taking partial credit for my heroics, and it pissed me off.
He continued. “I received some information on the numbers you gave me from the freighter. It looks like the owners of the ship are Thorpe Industries. Any idea who they would be?”
Thorpe Industries? Thorpe Industries? I was racking my brain when I realized that Jackson Thorpe’s family had a business by that name and they were disciples of Miguel! I was mad as Hell at Don for not checking out this company before giving them the job. He had to have known they were Evil.
I left Suarez’s tent in a huff and had the radio operator fire off a nasty transmission to Don, saying that his negligence had cost fifteen brave soldiers their lives. I waited for a response.
***
In the meantime, Captain Suarez rallied our troops to launch another attack. This time they were sure that Miguel and his Cabinet of Evil were inside. Plans were made, weapons were loaded, and we waited for nightfall. For this battle, we had many new volunteers anxious for some action.
As the halftrack rolled to a stop, Captain Suarez climbed from Olympus. We exited the transport and followed our Captain into battle. He called for me to take the point and fire the first shot. While he meant for me to use my rifle, I pulled out my handgun, and with a bright glow of Evil emitting from my Battle Ring, fired at a guard approximately one hundred yards away, killing him instantly. From the first shot, all Hell broke loose. Our Battalion advanced, with Suarez and me on point, and for the first time, we reached our objective: the door entering the compound. We broke through, only to be met by Miguel’s highly trained forces firing at will. I shot and reloaded with speed and accuracy unmatched by even Captain Suarez, killing with each shot fired. My Battle Ring was blood red. We had them on the run, and they knew it. They retreated behind a reinforced wall as we ran short of ammunition. We were forced to fall back and return to camp.
Feeling victorious.
Emotions were high, and the party started immediately after arriving home. Captain Suarez seemed to take it all in stride. I was sure he’d had many military victories, but for the rest of us, this was our first taste.
I was summoned to his quarters.
He w
as pouring himself a drink and invited me to join him. I accepted, and he spoke.
“Just thought I would let you know―off the record―this is my greatest victory.”
“I’m glad,” I said as we toasted each other’s efforts.
He then started questioning me. “Steven, where do you come from? What has happened in your life to make you fight like you do? To fight with no recourse? Like you are fighting to save the earth.”
I gave him my traditional smile and a shrug of my shoulders, but he continued to inquire about me and my past.
“I’ve never seen anyone with your abilities. Killing someone with a twenty-year-old handgun from a hundred yards away. This has nothing to do with my training. If anyone has the ability to kill Miguel, it’s you.”
I shrugged off the compliments, but he continued his barrage of questions as we drank glass after glass of some dark alcoholic drink. I soon found myself, for the first time in my life, drunk and wondering why I hadn’t partaken in this wonderful experience before. I soon caved and told Captain Suarez all about my journey and the “supposed” reason for my existence, including the latest information gained in Balso. I spoke of my Battle Ring and its power, and explained that only when it was red did I have great warrior abilities. He sat slack jawed, inebriated well past the point of understanding my explanation. Our celebration ended at the first light of morning, but not before Suarez insisted that I call him “Benny” and he had professed that he was just a kid from the streets of Chicago playing army in Ecuador.
***
I felt a gentle nudge from a soldier as he handed me a piece of paper with a message from the radio operator. I had a fuzzy tongue and a huge headache, and I promised myself I would never “partake” in alcohol again. I tried to focus my bloodshot eyes on the message but soon found it was for naught, as it was written in Spanish. I struggled to my feet and staggered past many Freedom Fighter warriors that had also been bitten by the same bug as me.
The Killing of Miguel Page 15