Freedom Fighters

31. Interview

"There's a patrol on the road. About five of them," Oliverio reported when he came back from his scouting. 

"Damn," Dario cursed. Security was tightening up.

As Eutimio the traitor had promised in his last words, Batista's forces did come, though not in a full-scale direct attack to evict them out of the mountain range. Instead, they formed a ring around the territory of the beleaguered revolutionaries, tightening up security, trying to enforce some sort of blockade. It was working, to a degree. Everyone was becoming more paranoid, because the frequency of enemy patrols kept increasing. The villagers were terrified, and the supplies and information they provided slowly dwindled. The Movement had to rely more on Huber Matos, Juanita and Celia Sánchez to come through with their logistics network. However, even they were facing issues in deliveries due to patrols.

"Marco. Lionel," Dario whispered to the twins who were kneeling beside him. He pointed to the road. "Take up positions on the road. Get ready to fire on my signal."

The Almeidas obeyed the order and without a word, got up to a crouching position to navigate their way through the thick vegetation as quietly as possible.

Dario sighed, the dreariness of another direct conflict weighing down on his mind. He had lost count of the number of times he had to fight in skirmishes with enemy soldiers. But, this time, he must secure the road and failure could not be accepted. Just yesterday, a messenger arrived at his platoon encampment on a horse. Apparently, Fidel had received a message from Celia that she was coming with a North American journalist who wanted to interview him. Because security was so tight, Fidel decided that Dario should go and escort them, since his camp was nearest to Celia's route back. 

And their meeting point was supposedly this road.

Dario muttered another curse under his breath for being tasked to do this. All this trouble just so that Fidel could have another moment in glory in a newspaper. Then he suppressed the thought immediately. Publicity for Fidel meant publicity for the cause and that could help undermine Batista's hold on power. He licked his lips. Anything to down Batista.

"Come. Let's go. Oliverio, lead the way."

He followed behind the reliable Chinese youth who found the way to a spot near the edge of the vegetation with minimal noise. There, they got down to their prone positions. Since the density of vegetation was thinner there, Dario could make out the shapes of the five men standing in a circle, donned in the familiar grey uniform complete with jungle hats. Their rifles hung slackly by the sides. Rings of smoke rose above them from the tips of their cigarettes.

"Look at them," Dario sneered. "Standing around, smoking like they own the place."

"Well, actually they do," Oliverio pointed out. "We are the ones hiding like rats."

Dario chuckled softly. "Not anymore. These idiots won't know what hit them."

He lifted his rifle and cocked it, feeling the familiar weight fit tightly in the hollow of his shoulder. Wanting to get a better viewpoint, he dug his elbows into the mud and crawled forward a small distance. Oliverio readied himself for battle too. 

Like the seasoned guerrilla he was, Dario aimed his iron sight at the head of one of the soldiers. His rifle hung still. His fingers stayed ready over the trigger. 

He fired, the shot tearing the lazy smoking session asunder. The soldier, hit with a bullet in the head, slumped down to the ground, limp, cigarette still between his lips. The other four were taken aback by the sudden shot and immediately reached for their rifles. But before they could take cover, more bullets flew in towards them, this time shot by the Almeidas. Oliverio fired his bullets, managing to take down one of the soldiers.