Stratton rested the M4 on his pack and held out his open hands, a smile spreading across his face. ‘Hola,’ he called out.
The young men did not move, their hawkish stares fixed on him. Stratton swivelled his own gaze from one side to the other, keeping them both in view. They didn’t appear to want to communicate in any way. It was all a little weird. As he pondered his next move a sound that grew louder by the second came from the trees. It was the unmistakable noise of people moving through the undergrowth. He could only hope it was the men he was supposed to meet and that these Indians weren’t working for the other side. If it was government forces he didn’t think they would allow him to leave. In that case he would have some explaining to do.
Stratton kept his hands in view as he looked in the direction of the new visitors. Another half-naked Indian appeared but this one was older and stockier and carried his bow across his back. The heavy trudging sound came from behind him - it sounded like there were a lot of men.
The next man to appear was not an Indian but a dark-skinned Latino wearing military fatigues and carrying an AK47. Behind him walked half a dozen others and when they saw Stratton they stopped to allow two more men through. The one in front looked similar to the Latinos but seemed seriously intense. He walked as if he expected someone to shoot at him any second and looked like he was ready to fire back. The man just behind him was short and stocky, in his forties and with European features. He wore a multi-pocket fishing waistcoat over his camouflage shirt, a floppy hat on his head and the only weapon he appeared to have was a pistol in a holster on his hip. His dress and bearing alone singled him out from the others. It appeared that he was the one in charge. Stratton would have been surprised if he turned out to be a local.
The man in the fishing jacket said something to one of the others who walked back towards the main group shouting at them to halt. The order was repeated for some distance back into the jungle. His intense-looking colleague stopped to let the leader pass. The man eyed Stratton as he approached. When he stopped a few metres in front of Stratton he took a good look around, in particular up at the trees. Stratton maintained a pleasant smile. He felt sure these were rebels and not government troops.
‘My scout says you came through the canopy?’ The man’s accent was distinctly French.
‘Yes,’ Stratton replied in a tone that conveyed regret.
‘I would have thought that since this time they were also dropping a man they might make an effort to hit the clearing.’ The group’s leader looked and sounded irritated. His face had not seen a razor in days. ‘I’ve been up there too so I know what it’s like. It was difficult enough in a balloon. By parachute I would have said it was suicidal.’
Stratton could only puzzle over what he meant about the balloon. ‘It wasn’t by choice,’ he said.
‘Did they push you out of the plane?’
‘Good point,’ Stratton conceded.
‘I hope they’re paying you enough.’ The man scrutinised him more closely. ‘You’re English?’
Stratton nodded, wondering what his story was and how he came to be here.
The man remained moody but he seemed to become less stand-offish. ‘My name is Victor,’ he said by way of introduction.
‘Stratton.’
‘I am Sebastian’s second in command.’
Stratton knew nothing about the conflict nor did he know anyone’s name, thanks to Steel’s terrible briefing. But he smiled politely and nodded as if it was all quite clear.
‘Did any of it reach the clearing, do you know?’
‘I think most of it did.’
‘If you would lead on, then,’ Victor said. ‘Neravistas are in the area. We must assume they saw the drop.’
Another snippet of information. Neravistas were obviously the bad guys. Stratton picked up his pack and weapon. Someone called out the command to march and the shout was repeated several times, echoing back for some distance.
Stratton had already walked several metres before he remembered that he was supposed to be counting paces. He made a rough estimate of how many he’d taken so far and as they headed up an incline he looked back to see a long snaking line of men and burros. He could not see the end of the column.
They came to the first container. It was hanging several metres above the ground, dangling from its shredded parachute which had snagged in the upper branches of a tree. The crate had broken open and several large plastic boxes lay on the ground.
Victor was incensed. ‘If those idiots only realised that it takes valuable time to retrieve these. We must get these boxes loaded as soon as possible!’ he called out over his shoulder.
Orders were shouted and a group of men set about gathering the container’s contents. Stratton continued on. The undergrowth grew taller and thicker as they approached the edge of the clearing and men came forward with machetes to clear a path. They all looked like they had been living rough in the jungle for a while. They were unwashed and grubby, and most of them had long hair and beards. Apart from their camouflage gear, which seemed to have come from several different sources, they didn’t look like soldiers. But there seemed to be a solid enough rank structure and the discipline was there. Stratton wondered about their soldiering skills, though. Not all the weapons he could see looked in good condition.
The men soon cut through to the clearing where the bundles lay scattered over a wide area. Stratton took a count.
‘That’s it,’ he said to Victor. ‘They’re all here.’
Victor nodded to the serious-looking officers, who barked some orders and the rebels hurried into the clearing with their burros in tow. There must have been over two dozen animals and a hundred men.
Stratton made his way to one of the pallets to inspect a plastic container that had fallen out of the crate and had been damaged. He opened the lid and lifted a sponge cover to reveal a couple of dozen green tubes marked with black stencilling.
‘Rockets!’ exclaimed one of the men who saw them. Within seconds several rebels surrounded the box, removed some of the launch tubes and inspected them excitedly.
Stratton watched one of the men holding his tube up the wrong way round. When he began pushing in the rubber firing button, even though the device was not armed at that stage, it was evident he had no idea how to use it. Stratton watched other rebels beginning to do things with the tubes that were definitely inadvisable. He was suddenly alarmed.
‘Whoa, whoa, guys,’ he called out. ‘Stop. Just a minute. Hold on. You, don’t do that . . . Listen in!’ he finally shouted.
They stopped talking and gave him their full attention.
Stratton looked at the men, most of whom were a few inches shorter than him. At six foot he wasn’t particularly tall, neither was he noticeably muscular, though he was athletic. But he was quite big compared with most of the rebels, this bunch at least. ‘Does anybody here know how to fire these weapons?’ he asked calmly.