Freedom Fighters

26. La Plata

"A river!" Camilo called out in excitement.

Instantly, a shot of life seemed to have been injected into the gaunt and lifeless eyes of the ragtag group. Through the cluster of winding and towering trees, a river lay in sight. Its serenely calm waters beckoned, like an oasis in the desert, for the men who had not bathed in days to soak their grimy and sweaty bodies in it.

In place of the trudging dreariness, there was a spring in their hastened steps as they approached the river. They stripped down to nothing. Leaving their belongings and rifles by the bank, they immersed themselves in the cool waters, feeling the accumulated days of exhaustion being drained out of them.

Fidel studied his pocket map, ascertaining their exact position before nodding.

"We are at Magdalena River, which separates a ridge beginning in the Sierra Maestra Mountains, and La Plata, a village by the sea. I say we go to scout out La Plata. Any objections?"

There were none.

That afternoon, they went to climb the last hill before reaching the vicinity of La Plata. They had stumbled onto a narrow trail, which had been marked out by machete for them by a local sympathising peasant they stumbled across.

They sighted the La Plata army barracks the next day, a collection of palm-thatched buildings and brick ones with zinc roofs. A group of half-dressed men were moving about, but nevertheless their enemy uniforms could be marked out. Fidel decided that they should attack the camp. The rebels watched the position intently, looking out for anything of note.

Just before sundown, a coastguard boat came down the La Plata river. Some soldiers got out and others climbed aboard. Fidel, watching the scene, racked his brains for a way to take this barracks. Exasperated, he decided that they would approach the road along the river leading to the barracks and take a look. In the cover of the night, the sixteen revolutionaries crossed the shallow river and took up position on the road.

By sheer chance, two peasants happened to be passing by, and thus the revolutionaries apprehended them.

With terrified eyes, they knelt down and raised their arms in submission.

"Don't kill us!"

Fidel gently put down their arms and spoke softly. "Stand up. Do not fear us. We are friends of the people."

"Friends?"

"Yes, we are of the Movement."

They looked at each other apprehensively.

"What do you need?" The older one asked warily.

"Information," Fidel said. "About the barracks."

A new wave of fear descended upon their faces, as they realised that they were caught in a crossfire and could do nothing about it.

The same peasant said cautiously, "And if we say we don't know?"

Fidel grinned, giving his most disarming smile. "Then our good intentions cannot be guaranteed."

Camilo shuddered at the casual ease Fidel subtly threatened the two poor peasants, but noted its effectiveness when they volunteered all the information they had.

The barracks held about twenty soldiers of the Rural Guard, a branch of the Cuban army that guarded the interests of wealthy landowners. The peasants also said that Chicho Osorio, one of the region's notorious overseers who worked for the local landlords, was about to pass by. 

"The Lavitis!" the older peasant exclaimed, referring to the landowners with fearful eyes. "They pay Chicho a lot of money! And the soldiers too! They make sure we pay our rent to the Lavitis. Even when we cannot! The Rural Guard say that they are here to maintain peace and order, but when we have problems with the Lavitis, they always help them. Because they take their money!"