Freedom Fighters

39. Santa Clara II: Train

Dario could see the train tracks. Partly rusted, bathing in the scorching afternoon heat. They lay on a distinct path of white-grey stones, standing out from its grimy surroundings of concrete rows of houses. 

He squinted his eyes, making out the structure of the train tracks. That was it. Their path to victory. 

"Get down!" Marco shouted at him.

Instinctively, he ducked his head beneath the window ledge. Just as foretold, a precise shot landed on the wardrobe behind him a few seconds later.

"Thanks Marco," he said breathlessly, before cursing in a derisive tone. "God damn those snipers."

"Yes," Marco agreed. "We have to find a way to take them out."

The snipers inhabited the rooftop of the church, the highest vantage point in this particular neighbourhood. They lay in wait, taking cover behind the large crosses that occupied the front of the church. From there they rained down shots on any brave revolutionary who dared to show their head. Just like Dario did. They provided immeasurable support to their fellow soldiers down below fighting a slow battle of attrition with the rebels.

Too slow for Dario's comfort. He knew that speed was of the essence and he had to eliminate the snipers. 

"Dario!" Lionel voice shouted from the stairs behind him. "We found a civilian!"

"Alright!" he replied. He turned to Marco. "Stay here, Marco, and provide cover. Watch those snipers if you can."

Maintaining his low stance, he made his way down the stairs, conscious of not revealing himself to the snipers.

Lionel waited for him down the stairs in the living room of this once peaceful abode. A middle-aged man, with a rotund belly, and long flaky greying hair stood in wait. He had a resolute look about him, with his milky eyes and thin lips set firm. 

Dario smiled, offering the man his hand. "I am Comandante Dario Ruiz of the Movement. I am in charge of this area. May I know your name, señor?"

"Carlos Guerrero," the man replied, shaking Dario's outstretched hand with firmness.

"So señor, you live in the area?" 

"Yes, I do. I live in the street across here, near the church. Ever since the battle came over here, I have been hiding in my sister's house."

"Sorry to hear that," Dario said. The man's expression did not budge. "Señor," he continued. "Is there a way to breach the church without exposing ourselves out on the street?"

Carlos' eyebrows twitched. He scratched his head, thinking for a moment, before answering. "No, the church is surrounded by rows of houses on its sides. The only way in is through its front door."

"Which the snipers can see..." Dario sighed. Was there truly no way? He could not stand here on the cusp of victory, only to fail. He turned to Lionel. "Can you fetch us a map?"

"Yes, I found one earlier," Lionel replied, before fetching one out of his backpack. 

It was a book. A street directory of Santa Clara. Doubtless, Lionel must have taken it from the abandoned newspaper stand they passed by on their way here. 

He opened the book, flipping to the pages that contained topographic information about the neighbourhood they were in. He then showed it to Carlos.

"Here," Carlos pointed a stubby finger at the church. He then moved the finger in a circular motion, encompassing the mass of red squares around the symbol that represented the church. "These are the houses that surround the church."