Stratton was placed in the middle of the group of ambushers. As he trudged along, his hands tied behind him, he could only wonder what fate had in store for him.
They walked along a track that led down into the valley and followed it until it entered another, larger valley, where they met the line of government soldiers in camouflaged clothing whom Stratton had previously spotted heading towards the rebel plateau. Each man carried a rifle and bulging backpack and looked equipped for a substantial campaign.They were accompanied by burros carrying ammunition boxes and machine guns.
Stratton’s group veered onto a different track and continued for several kilometres before arriving at a large, flat area next to a precipitous rockface. A number of dark brown canvas tents and a large white marquee had been set up to form what was evidently a headquarters. It included a flagpole with the army’s colours flapping at its top.
Stratton was made to halt in the open while the others headed for what looked like a field kitchen with a collection of tables outside. One of the men remained with him as a guard while the leader made his way to one of the brown tents.
The area beyond the HQ buzzed with activity. Dozens of horses were tethered in lines, their saddles and other accessories on racks beneath wood and canvas shelters. Burros carrying supplies trailed in from another direction. Soldiers grouped in companies, cleaning their weapons, chatting, smoking and generally hanging around. A whistle blew, accompanied by shouts, and one of the companies began to form up into a column.
A familiar noise began to drift above the general cacophony, the deep beating sound of rotors cutting through the air. It grew louder rapidly. The helicopters, unseen as yet, were closer than they sounded. Then the lead bird rounded the rockface, heading for the camp, a large artillery piece suspended beneath it on a long cable. A second was close behind. The noisy machines slowed as they approached the landing area, the rotors changing tone as their pitch altered. Some of the horses obviously resented the unfamiliar intrusion and a couple of the burros kicked out in fear.
The choppers came into the hover, kicking up a storm of dust, and men ran to the artillery pieces to disconnect them. Stratton noted the twin M60 machine guns mounted inside the doors. They were obviously combat-ready.
‘They ain’t new but they’ll do the trick,’ a voice shouted from behind him.
Stratton recognised Steel’s drawl immediately but did not turn to acknowledge his presence.
The American stepped alongside him as the artillery pieces were disconnected, hitting the ground with rocking thumps. The lead chopper’s turbines increased power and it ascended vertically before turning on its axis, lowering its nose and powering away. The second moved close to the HQ tents and eased itself to the ground. When it was completely down, several officers hurried to the cabin door as it opened. Two burly soldiers climbed out. Behind them another man in military garb eased himself from the cabin and onto the ground. The officers came to stiff attention and gave crisp salutes. More men clambered out behind him.
The entourage headed towards one of the large tents, past Stratton and Steel. ‘In case you don’t know, that is Neravista himself,’ the American said.
Neravista was in his late fifties and fastidiously groomed from head to toe. He had a large, ugly face, with a bulbous nose and ears to match. His dark eyes flicked in Steel’s direction and he gave a perceptible nod on seeing the American. Steel returned it.As Neravista passed he glanced at Stratton just long enough to notice the Englishman’s tied hands. Stratton watched him until he entered the HQ tent.
‘He is as charming as he looks,’ Steel said. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if his lifelong heroes were Hitler and Stalin. I’m sorry to see you like this,’ Steel said.
‘You don’t show emotion easily.’
Steel chuckled as he bit into an apple. ‘You made a mistake.’
‘Yes. I never realised how much of an arsehole you were.’
Steel continued to smile. ‘I meant after that. You got involved. You should know better, a man of your experience.’
‘You’re not working for the administration, are you?’
Steel looked round conspiratorially, as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear. ‘Keep your voice low, damn it. They don’t know that.’ He was clearly relishing his own sense of humour. ‘Well, truth is I am a little and I’m not a little. I was officially sent to monitor the situation and then was given some latitude when it came to offering assistance to the revolutionaries. But this country has a lotta valuable resources. Here, look at this,’ he said, digging something out of a pocket. He held up a dull chunk of ore the size of a golf ball. ‘Platinum,’ he said. ‘I could carry a fancy car’s worth out of here in my pockets. A lot of private companies are interested in investing in this place,’ Steel continued. ‘Hell, some of ’em are downright chomping at the bit to get in here. But you can’t bring in civilian contractors where there’s a war going on. It’s dangerous and expensive. So, yeah, I’m acting as point for a few of those companies, representing their interests.’ Steel grinned. ‘The sooner this place can get itself cleaned up, the sooner the investors’ll start doing what they do best.’
‘When did you switch from Sebastian to Neravista?’
‘You mean did I know I was sending you in to help the losing side? Yeah, I did. But I wasn’t clear how I was going to manage it. Switching sides was never gonna be easy since the Congressional funding was voted in to aid the revolutionaries, not Neravista. The trick was in reducing confidence in Sebastian and making him look more like a terrorist.That’s the magic word these days. Changes everyone’s perspective. We’re just putting the final touches to that right now. Look, Neravista was the tougher guy in the end. The revolutionaries couldn’t go the distance.They started squabbling. I had to take advantage of the situation as it presented itself. As long as Neravista can tone down the human rights abuses we should be fine. He may find that a lot easier now that his brother’s dead,’ Steel laughed. ‘Good job, by the way. Nice hit.’
‘Did you put the grenade in the weapons box?’
‘Neravista’s negotiator got a little pissed when he discovered how much ordnance you’d brought in. Shit, he went a little crazy. So I had to take some back. Sorry for any inconvenience caused.’
Stratton looked at him, doing his best to hide the venomous hatred he felt for the man. ‘Why am I here?’
‘I need you to kill Sebastian.’
Stratton just stared at him.
‘Of course I know you won’t do it. That’ll be our little secret. But it’ll get done and you’ll get the blame. You did it for the money, you greedy little mercenary, you.’
Stratton realised the implications. ‘What about Louisa?’
‘Sweet kid, that one. If she makes it, fine. I hope she does. I like that gal. She’s got oomph, you know? Great ass, too. I’m surprised you weren’t all over that one. A little out of your league, maybe. Then again, I think she’d go for a guy like you.’ Steel studied Stratton’s expression for a moment, looking for any clue that he might have struck a nerve.
He could not find any and gave the ambushers’ leader a nod. The man guarding Stratton came over to grip his arms, unaware of the pressure building in his prisoner. He gave Stratton a shove but the Englishman suddenly braced himself like a rock and would not move. The man was surprised and mustered his strength for greater effort. As he pushed again, Stratton bent away and then swung back, striking him in the face with his forehead with such force that the man’s nose burst and he fell, poleaxed and almost unconscious. The bearded leader lunged forward but Stratton flattened his testicles with a knee to the groin. The strength went out of the man as he grabbed his crotch and dropped to the ground where he began to cry with the pain.
Stratton turned on Steel who whipped his pistol from its holster and levelled it at his face.
‘You don’t need to be alive for this next phase,’ Steel said. ‘It’s just more convenient if you are. Which is it gonna be - dead or alive?’
Stratton did not doubt that Steel would shoot so he stopped in his tracks, glaring at the man. The other ambushers came running over, grabbed Stratton roughly and hauled him away.
‘You keep a good eye on that boy,’ Steel called out as he lowered his pistol. ‘Tie ’im up good.’ He grinned as he put his gun away and looked down at the two men on the ground, one of them sobbing in agony, the other still trying to figure out where he was. ‘I told you,’ Steel said, chuckling as he walked away. ‘You gotta watch that boy.’
Chapter 8
Stratton sat with his back against a tall, sturdy wooden pole fixed solidly into the earth, his hands bound securely behind it by a leather strap. His face and body were battered and bruised where the ambushers’ leader had taken revenge once he’d eventually managed to stand up again. Dried blood was caked around the Englishman’s face and on his chest, where it had dripped from his cuts. He had not moved for hours and had stirred only at the sound of Neravista’s helicopter departing.
His captors had made a temporary camp on the edge of the broad clearing, their ponchos doing service as overhead covers above their bedding a stone’s throw from Stratton. Nearby a company of soldiers lounged around, brewing coffee on small wood fires.
Stratton had been stripped of all his clothes and footwear except for his shorts. He was parched, having been denied water since his capture. But at least the sun had been hidden behind thick clouds all day and the temperature was lower than it could have been.
He had drifted into semi-consciousness during his beating and soon after coming round he gave up plotting any escape for which he would have to depend on his own resources. His bonds were secure and the pole was too high to loop the strap over. A brief effort to push against the pole proved he would never be able to break it or pull it out of the ground. His only chance would come if his captors gave him a window of opportunity. But the beating he had given the patrol commander and his subordinate had made them wary of him and they were keeping a close watch on him.
Stratton estimated the time at around four in the afternoon although it was difficult to judge without being able to see the sun. He could only hope that the clouds would burst soon so that he could ease his thirst with their rain.
He realised several soldiers were looking at him and it became obvious that he was the subject of their conversation. One of them walked over to talk with the ambushers’ leader. Several of the others followed him. It attracted the attention of the rest of the ambushers and before long there was quite a gathering.
The bearded leader seemed to arrive at some kind of agreement with the soldier and together they walked over to Stratton, followed by the others. The leader and the first soldier stopped in front of the captive while the others surrounded him.
‘Stand up,’ the leader demanded.
The uniformed soldier stared intensely at Stratton, a grimace on his rugged face.
Stratton brought his feet under him and shuffled his arms up the pole as he straightened his legs. The ambushers’ leader decided to lend a hand and grabbed him by the hair to help him up. The soldier stepped closer to square up to him, his face full of hatred.
‘I’m told you are the one who blew up Chemora,’ the soldier said.
Stratton couldn’t see any reason to deny it. ‘I had that pleasure,’ he said. There was no point in being half-hearted about it, either.
‘My brother was on that bridge. I could not find him when they asked me to look at the bodies. All I know is that he isn’t here any more.’
Stratton could only stare at the man. But it didn’t matter. The very sight of him seemed to enrage the soldier. He gritted his teeth, clenched his fist, drew it back and drove it deep into the pit of Stratton’s stomach with all the strength he could muster. Stratton bent over as the wind left his lungs and he thought he was going to throw up despite having nothing in his stomach. But the soldier had not finished with him. He grabbed hold of Stratton’s hair, yanked him upright and gave him a stinging blow across the face. Blood splashed those nearby as the wounds already on Stratton’s lips reopened. He dropped forward again and his vision clouded. The soldier pulled his head up once again and delivered another savage blow to his body, following it up with another to his face.
‘To hell with this,’ the soldier said, taking a knife from his belt. ‘I’m going to fillet him right here.’
He gripped Stratton by the throat and was about to shove the point of the long, sharp knife into the Englishman’s gut when the ambushers’ leader grabbed his arm. ‘No, my friend,’ he said, holding the soldier steadily. ‘I’m sorry about your brother but this bastard’s work is not done yet. My orders are to keep him alive . . . He dies tomorrow but not before.’
The soldier was far from satisfied but he did not force the issue.
The bearded leader seemed relieved that the soldier had backed down. ‘If you’re around at the time you can do it yourself. I’ll look out for you.’
The soldier released Stratton and stepped back. He sheathed his knife but before leaving he hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spat it in Stratton’s face.
Then he walked away, his colleagues patting him on the back and consoling him.
‘I lied to him,’ the ambushers’ leader said, watching the soldiers go. ‘I’m going to kill you myself.’
As the bearded leader and his colleagues walked away Stratton slid back down the pole and slumped to the ground. His vision was still fuzzy and he felt nauseous. He dropped his head to one side, closed his eyes and drifted into unconsciousness.
Louisa stood in front of the stables, looking out across the jungle towards Hector’s encampment. She had learned about the return of Victor’s horse and Stratton’s subsequent departure. It was late in the afternoon and the activity in the camp had greatly increased with the rumours of a Neravista attack. Reports that patrols from some of the outlying observation posts had not returned and their reliefs had failed to open up communications only increased the speculation.
Men headed to defensive locations throughout the camp. Sebastian had given the general order to stand to. The rebels’ living quarters buzzed with preparations, the wiser ones among them gathering their possessions and packing them up in order to move quickly if they had to. Generally, confidence remained high that the combined guerrilla forces could repel a government attack.
Their leaders, however, had reason to be concerned. The other brigades had been unusually quiet, in particular their nearest neighbour, Hector. What messages they had received were vague. Their requests for intelligence on enemy troop activity had been met with inconsistent reports and even silence.
Sebastian had said very little about the matter. Some read this as evidence of calm confidence while others felt he had run out of ideas.
Louisa decided to give up waiting and headed back towards the cabin, looking over her shoulder one last time at the edge of the jungle behind her.
Men were preparing for combat in the courtyard in front of the cabins and on the open ground beyond. They were quiet as they speculated about the intentions of the Neravistas and the other rebel brigades.
Louisa entered her father’s cabin where half a dozen officers surrounded the dining table, poring over diagrams of the camp and outlying area and discussing their defences.
Sebastian was not there. She crossed to his bedroom at the back and knocked gently on the door. ‘It’s me, father.’
She heard him reply and she opened the door. Sebastian stood by his wardrobe, holding a smart-looking uniform on a coat-hanger. He placed it on his bed with some reverence.
‘What is that?’ Louisa asked. She had not seen it before.
He looked strangely cheerful, as if the uniform gave him some kind of pleasure. ‘It’s a dress uniform. I had it made some years ago.’
‘It’s very regal,’ she said, wondering why he was revealing it now. ‘Is everything okay, father?’
Sebastian’s expression became serious. ‘I want you to leave, Louisa.
Can you do that for me, without arguing?’
‘No,’ she answered lightly.
He looked tired. ‘Why won’t you do as I ask?’
‘I have told you. It’s my life now. It’s no more complicated than that.’
Sebastian took a moment to consider his next words. ‘If you are to pursue your ambitions, this is where we must part company. I must stay and finish what I started. You must go and begin your new life.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘This is over, Louisa. My dear girl, they mean to destroy us.’
‘If that’s true then why don’t you just surrender, prevent all the bloodshed?’
‘Neravista would hang us all anyway. He has already delivered his ultimatum. That would be the end of the revolution. Hector has betrayed me, but not what he believes in. So now I must do what I can to help him, to help what’s left of our struggle. Hector is waiting for you on the road to his camp.’
The reality of what Sebastian was saying hit home and Louisa’s lips quivered as she fought back tears.
‘Will you go now?’ he asked. ‘Before it’s too late.’
She shook her head. ‘I would be deserting. That’s not the reputation I want.’
‘You’re not a soldier.’
‘Nor are the wives and children of those men out there.’
Sebastian looked at his daughter, the light of his life. Louisa would not leave because she was like him. He took her in his arms. She clung to him and buried her face against his shoulder, the tears rolling down her face.
He released her finally and walked out of the room, leaving her to face the painting of her great-grandfather charging across the Jarama Valley.
It was dark when the rain began to fall, hitting Stratton’s upturned face. The gentle sting of the heavy droplets brought him out of his fog. He blinked heavily and opened his mouth, grateful for the water that fell on his dry lips.
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