Where he was headed he had no idea. Home was the obvious choice. Back to France and his beautiful Pyrenees. Strangely, the idea did not fill him with joy as it had in the past. Enforced on him by the threat of death, his exit from the rebellion would be made under a shadow. No more the return of a valiant hero. It would be a private homecoming. His story, with its unflattering ending, would not be worth telling to anyone, not when he and any listener were sober, at least.
Victor turned his back on Hector’s camp and walked on into the night.
As the first rays of light broke through the gaps in the straw roof, Louisa awoke in Stratton’s arms. They had made love several times throughout the night, their lust for each other heightened by the knowledge that he would soon leave.
Stratton was on the edge of sleep and his eyes opened as he felt Louisa sit up. He watched her stand and walk to the top of the stairs where she stopped to look back at him. She smiled, sadness in her eyes, and walked down the stairs, her rich black hair cascading down her back.
He sat up. He could hear her getting dressed and when her boots sounded across the floor he went to the balcony to watch her leave. She blew him a kiss before opening the door and then she was gone. It struck him that he might never see her again.
Stratton tried to think how it would be to stay. The obvious question was for how long. Even if the revolution ended that week, what would he do? Follow her around like a puppy, hoping she might have a spare moment for him once in a while? Her path was set, or at least she had a plan and was the type to pursue it vigorously. Her political involvement would require work and dedication and mixing with similarly committed people. Having a soldier in tow, a lover from the fighting days, would be trying to live her life in two different worlds. It wasn’t practical. It had no future. If it was so obvious to him it would be the same for her. Last night had been as much about goodbye as it had been about anything else.
Stratton rooted around the kitchen looking for any food he could take with him. He found some bread, cheese, dried meat and an apple which he distributed around his pockets.
He shouldered his parachute and pack, picked up his rifle, took a last look around and left the cabin.
Stratton cut across towards the defensive position at the foot of the slope leading up to the stables. He paused to look at Sebastian’s cabin, the urge to knock on the door and see Louisa nearly overpowering him. He reminded himself once again that it was pointless and took a couple of steps away. But he stopped again. The pressure to see her was too great. It was almost painful.What was the harm, he reasoned. All he wanted was to see her face, a chance to touch her one last time. It was as if a part of him were willing him away while another tried to push him towards her.
A man ran down the slope calling his name. It was David. ‘Victor’s horse has returned without him,’ he said, out of breath and looking extremely concerned.
They hurried together up the incline to the stables where Bernard had unsaddled the animal and was inspecting it.
‘He has cuts on his face and flanks,’ Bernard said, kneeling to inspect its legs. ‘This horse has been run pretty hard through jungle.’
‘Anyone know where Victor was going?’ Stratton said.
There was no answer.
‘Where’re the Indians?’ he asked.
‘Mohesiwa was here when the horse arrived,’ Bernard said. ‘He left as soon as he discovered the animal was Victor’s.’
Stratton thought of his last conversation with Victor. The man wanted to effect some kind of change somewhere that would take him the night to get there and back to. ‘How far’s Hector’s camp from here?’ he asked.
‘Three hours,’ David replied. ‘Why would he go there?’
‘I didn’t say he did.’
‘That road is dangerous,’ David said, wondering if Stratton knew more than he was prepared to say. ‘There have been reports of Neravistas on that path.’
‘I’d like to look in that direction,’ Stratton said, not really knowing what he would be looking for other than an unhorsed Victor lying injured somewhere.
‘The patrol to relieve the northern outpost leaves soon,’ Bernard said. ‘It follows part of the route to Hector’s camp. Maybe the outpost knows something.’
‘Let’s do it,’ Stratton said.
‘Give me those,’ David said, taking Stratton’s pack and parachute. ‘I’ll leave them in the end stall for you.’
Stratton shouldered his rifle and magazine pouch and followed Bernard to the main entrance.
Half a dozen men equipped for their duty in the outpost were getting ready to leave the camp. The main entrance was busy with its usual traffic of burros bringing in food supplies, wood and water.
Bernard had a quick word with the patrol commander and came back to Stratton as the party headed out. ‘We can go with them,’ he reported as they followed the patrol through the entrance. ‘They’ve not heard from the outpost this morning.’
‘Is that unusual?’ Stratton asked.
‘No. The radios are old American HF sets and don’t work very well.’
‘How far is the outpost?’
‘Less than an hour.’
Stratton looked back, thoughts of Louisa still lingering in his mind, hoping she might have heard about Victor’s disappearance and come to see him. He could not see her in the crowd and within minutes the camp entrance was out of sight as they headed into the jungle.
The track was well travelled and easy underfoot, apart from a rocky section that was more of a climb than anything else. From the top Bernard pointed to a distant knoll, a kilometre or so away, where the outpost was located.
They trudged along, spread out in single file, Stratton near the rear with Bernard. As the head of the patrol approached a lone tree with the knoll beyond the lead man quickly signalled a halt, followed by another order to go to ground. Each man stepped off the track and dropped into a crouch, looking in every direction for signs of the enemy.
Bernard turned to Stratton. ‘There’s something wrong,’ he said, looking around tensely. ‘Someone from the outpost is usually waiting by that tree to meet the relief, but no one is there.’
Stratton found Bernard’s unease alarming. The track traversed a long slope covered in long grass and patches of dense bush. They were exposed to the high ground, not the ideal place to hang around. ‘We shouldn’t stay here,’ Stratton suggested.
Bernard understood and moved ahead. As he approached the front of the patrol the lead men were moving forward to the tree. Bernard signalled the others to move on.
One by one, each man walked past the tree, stepping between a group of large rocks and disappearing out of sight.
When Stratton reached the same spot he saw the others up ahead, standing around as if transfixed by something. As he approached he could hear the intense buzzing of thousands of flies. Lying on the ground in a small clearing were the six members of the rebel outpost, all dead, shot through their heads and torsos. One had had his throat slit.
One of the relief patrol moved away to throw his guts up. The rest stared unmoving at their fallen comrades with looks of horror and disgust.
Stratton found the situation curious insofar as the outpost crew had been shot out in the open rather than behind cover as one might expect in a firefight. He picked up one of the dead men’s rifles and removed the magazine. It was full. He checked the man’s magazine pouch which was also untouched. A similar inspection of another dead rebel’s weapon and ammo pouch revealed the same. ‘They didn’t return fire,’ he said.
He grew very uneasy with the location and looked to the high ground.