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?’