'Yes,' Stratton agreed, liking the young man. 'What do you think they should do?'

David took a moment to consider his response. 'I would make my decision based on the number of enemy. If we are more than them maybe we should attack.'

'Have you ambushed Neravistas before?'

He shook his head. 'Not like this. But I have taken part in some attacks.'

'How well armed are they?'

'They have more weapons than us. Better weapons.

More machine guns, usually. They have grenades. Sometimes they have mortars.'

'What about artillery or air support?'

'They can't get their big guns into these mountains. There are no roads for them to get close enough . . . You've seen their air force.'

'Are there likely to be other patrols in this area?'

'It's possible. But communications are difficult in this region. We blow up their radio masts whenever they build new ones.' David looked at Stratton, eyeing his sophisticated weapon and other equipment and the ease with which he seemed to take the threat of conflict, as if this were nothing new to him. 'What do you think we should do?' he asked.

Stratton shrugged. 'I'm inclined to agree with Victor. But then, I just got here.'

David nodded thoughtfully as he looked over at his commanders.

'You're an officer?' Stratton asked.

'No,' David said, with a grin that displayed a full set of badly stained teeth. 'I'm hardly a soldier. I'm a teacher.'

Stratton had not given the rebels much thought as individuals but the young man was a reminder that rebellions like this one were fought by ordinary people. 'How long have you been with the rebellion?'

'Only a few months,' David said, looking down at his hands in thought.

'Why did you join up?'

'My father was accused of supplying the rebels with food. He was a farmer. They came one day and shot him . . . and then they shot my mother. Why they shot her also, I don't know.' As David said this it seemed to affect him deeply. 'I had nowhere else to go, I think.'

'How is it going?'

'The rebellion? I don't know. It's hard to tell. We keep fighting, they keep fighting. We hope Neravista will one day give in to us . . . You will have to ask Neravista, maybe.'

The older Indian arrived at the crouch and reported to Victor who immediately appeared disappointed by what he heard. Marlo, on the other hand, became suddenly enthused and moved away to talk hurriedly with the men. David left Stratton to join his colleagues. After a quick briefing a couple of the men headed back to the column while the main group made its way to the crest.

The young teacher hurried over to Stratton. 'The scouts report less than twenty soldiers. That was the number agreed between Victor and Marlo. If there were more we would let them pa.s.s. We will attack.' He left again to catch up with his colleagues.

Stratton watched the ragtag group of individuals go. They wore expressions on their faces that ranged from unease to resolve as they checked their weapons and adjusted ammunition pouches. There was scant sign of any military expertise about them but they seemed determined enough.

Once again Stratton considered getting out of there. He was ready to leave but the motive to do so, the impulse that would push him over the edge and make him go, was not yet sufficiently compelling. He wanted at least to see the men's preparations for the ambush.

He moved to where he could watch the rebels making their way down the steep slope as silently as they could. The tall trees that provided a patchwork canopy continued down the hill. The ground was stony with little undergrowth, making it advantageous to the ambushers on the high ground since it provided them with a clear view below. The slope would also make it difficult for the Neravistas to charge once the ambush had been sprung. So far the position looked good and Stratton decided to wait.

The men formed a line a short way down from the crest, lying or kneeling behind what little cover there was. Silence descended as they settled into position. Marlo moved along the back of the line, whispering words of encouragement.

Two men came over the crest from behind Stratton and made their way towards the far end of the ambush line. Their rifles were slung over their shoulders and they were each carrying one of the newly delivered 66mm-rocket launch tubes.

Stratton wondered whose idea that had been. As he understood it, the rebels didn't know how to fire them. He looked around for Victor but he was nowhere to be seen. The two men moved out of sight beyond the trees and, unable to resist seeing what they might do with the rockets, Stratton followed them.

The two rebels joined the end of the ambush line, where Victor was craning his neck to see down the slope. On seeing the weapons he spoke to the men briefly. One of them extended his rocket tube, which readied it for firing. Perhaps he did know how to use it, Stratton thought. He seemed to have convinced Victor that he could because the Frenchman allowed him to take up a firing position.

Stratton took cover beside a boulder a few metres behind Victor who had gone back to looking for the enemy. The rebel leader suddenly jerked back behind his tree as if to hide. He made a hasty signal to those nearby that suggested he had seen something.

Down the slope Stratton saw the top of a tree move. He eased himself up in order to get a better look. A man in camouflage gear and carrying a rifle was leaning against the tree, digging something out of the top of his boot. He removed the offending bit of debris and continued on through the wood, more interested in watching his immediate footing than his wider surroundings. He was followed by another soldier and shortly afterwards half a dozen more men ambled into view. They chatted casually, rifles slung over their shoulders. More followed, one with a pack on his back that had a long whip antenna protruding from it. Their voices filtered up to the ambushers, each soldier clearly unaware that they were being observed so closely.

One of the rocket men lay on his belly, facing down the slope.The tube rested along his back and he pressed his cheek against its side so that he could look through the sight. The other man was having difficulties with the catch that had to be released for the tube to extend and he tugged at it in frustration.

Marlo had positioned himself in the centre of the ambush line and kept the men from firing until the enemy was in the kill zone. He raised an arm. When he dropped it he cried, 'Fire!' The sudden volley, a combination of single aimed shots and wild automatic fire, shattered the silence.

Victor moved back from the line a few feet: with just a pistol for a weapon he was not going to get involved. Stratton saw the imminent danger and leapt forward. He sprinted down the hill and as he grabbed Victor by the scruff of his neck and yanked him out of the way the rocket fired.

The missile shot out of the tube with a deafening roar as a long tail of fire erupted from its rear. The rocket struck the ground with a glancing blow, bounced skyward at a steep angle and hit a tree halfway up its trunk, which the ma.s.sive explosion shattered. Burning wood splinters rained down. The top half of the tree, a large ma.s.s of heavy branches, came crashing down in front of the ambush line.

The bushes behind the man who'd fired the missile burst into flames - and so did his backside and the heels of his boots. He leapt up screaming, then fell to the ground rolling over and over furiously in an effort to put out the flames. The other rocket man immediately abandoned any plans to fire his own weapon - his partner's fate was a dramatic warning.

Victor lay staring at a burning bush near where he had been kneeling and thought of the horrific consequences if Stratton had not pulled him out of the way.

A handful of guerrillas kept firing but most had left their positions because of the explosion and the falling timber.

The government troops returned a few rounds before they fled, shooting wildly behind them as they ran.

Marlo yelled at the few rebels who were still shooting to cease fire.

Victor got to his feet, shaking with rage as he looked for the rocket-firing rebel who had by now managed to put out the flames but whose clothing was still smouldering heavily. 'You idiot!' he shouted. 'You told me you knew how to fire it.'

'I did, but not how to aim it.'

Marlo stormed over, his face flushed with anger. 'Who fired that rocket?' he demanded, looking from Victor to the man.

Victor was not a vindictive person and although he was indeed angry with the rocket-firing man he wanted to protect him from Marlo who had a dark soul. 'Shouldn't we be more concerned about a counter-attack?'

'The enemy have scattered!' Marlo shouted. 'But they should all be dead! Who fired the rocket?'

The smouldering rebel was beating his boot heels with his cap to stop them from bursting into flames again. 'It was me.'

'You d.a.m.ned fool!' Marlo shouted, taking an aggressive step forward. The guerrilla, a proud peasant and former farmer with heavily muscled arms and shoulders, stood his ground and looked Marlo coldly in the eye.

'It was my fault,' Victor said, moving between them. 'I am responsible. I said he could shoot the rocket.'

Marlo stared into Victor's eyes. 'Then you're you're the fool,' he said, a dangerous edge in his voice. the fool,' he said, a dangerous edge in his voice.

The Indian scouts arrived and Marlo faced them. 'How many did we kill?' he demanded harshly.

The old Indian held up three fingers as he looked at Marlo coldly. He obviously did not like the man's tone.

'Three?' Marlo shouted as he moved away. 'We should have killed all all of them. I have joined an army of idiots. And that makes of them. I have joined an army of idiots. And that makes me me look like an idiot,' he said, pausing to look back at Victor. 'I don't like that.' look like an idiot,' he said, pausing to look back at Victor. 'I don't like that.'

From at least one angle the attempted ambush had been a farce but from what Stratton had seen the rebels had been a match for the government troops, who were not professional soldiers either. But Marlo was right. Had it not been for the misfired rocket they would have killed a good number of them. The men hanging in the trees would have been avenged.

The rebels did not take long to reorganise themselves. The hanging corpses were placed in a single unmarked shallow grave. There were too many to take back with them and, according to David, they came from another camp too far away for them to be transferred. David also told Stratton that if the grave had been marked and any Neravistas came across it they would simply dig it up and hang the bodies again or maybe mutilate them even more brutally.

As the column started on its way again, Stratton stood to one side, his parachute bag in his hand. Considering all that had happened he was still uncertain whether or not he should leave them. According to his GPS they had covered twenty-three kilometres as the crow flew. He'd heard the rebels say that they would be at their camp by nightfall, which was only a couple of hours away. Having come this far he decided he might as well see the camp at least. Then he could give the guerrillas their weapons training and be on his way by mid-morning the next day.

This was a good enough place to hide the emergency pack and Stratton found a tree whose appearance and position looked sufficiently easy to memorise, buried the small pack at its base and cut a mark at eye level with his knife. He hit the waypoint mark on his GPS, which would get him within three metres of the tree, and typed in a name.

He hooked his parachute bag to a pa.s.sing burro and joined the column.

Victor was subdued for the rest of the journey. When night fell the column continued moving with the Indians, who were adept at their task, guiding the rebels through the darkness. After a steep climb, traversing for more than a kilometre, they reached the summit of a hill and the glow of campfires could be seen in the distance. It was quite a sight. The sky was clear and the stars were exceptionally bright. It had been a long day: Stratton was looking forward to lying down and closing his eyes.

Chapter 2.

Stratton followed the column of men and burros into the rebel camp. Two large sandbag-and-log defensive emplacements at either side protected the entrance, and two more were set back thirty metres, providing defensive depth. All of them were protected from the rain by a mixture of natural materials and canvas and were manned by a couple of men, each with M60 belt-fed machine guns. Half a dozen armed men policed the entrance, which appeared to rely on the familiarity system. If a stranger's friendly intentions could not be verified they would not easily gain entry.

The main thoroughfare into the camp was broad and muddy, with stones and logs filling the deeper ruts. Judging by the number of cooking fires, the main living quarters, a sprawling township of tents and tightly packed dilapidated wooden and corrugated-iron huts, were arranged in one huge ma.s.s in a central lower area. It bustled with activity, and music wafted from somewhere along with the sound of many voices.

The sentries eyed Stratton suspiciously as he approached but Victor was waiting to escort him. Stratton unhooked his parachute bag from the burro and gave it a pat on the rump by way of thanks. A bunch of barefooted children ran past through the mud, chasing a partially deflated football; a woman shouted for one of them to come home.

'I'll show you to your quarters,' Victor said.

The Frenchman looked preoccupied as he led the way along a narrow muddy track that was shrounded in darkness. Stratton supposed he was still unsettled by the day's activities and stayed a few metres behind him to give him his s.p.a.ce.

The sounds of the camp died away as they approached a dense patch of jungle. Up ahead a large bonfire illuminated a collection of log cabins. A dozen or so men were gathered at a large wooden table made from split tree-trunks. Some sat while others stood close by. All were listening soberly to a man who was speaking in authoritative tones.

Victor stopped far enough away from the group to hear what was being said but not so close as to become a part of what was obviously an important meeting. Stratton waited behind him. The tension in the air was palpable.

'This is an opportunity for peace,' boomed the speaker, a large, bear-like individual who stood at one end of the long table. He wore clean olive-green fatigues with a long brown shawl draped over his shoulders and tucked under a thick mane of hair that served only to augment his imposing appearance. 'This time we must consider the offer that has been placed before us,' he went on. 'I don't remember anyone ever saying we wanted an endless, sustained guerrilla war. Our plan was always to fight until we could influence the government, to become a voice that would be heard and respected. Then the fight would continue. But not with guns. With words - words backed by the respect that we have won.'

'You have arrived at a most interesting time,' Victor said to Stratton, keeping his own voice low. 'I think this could be a pivotal moment in this rebellion. The man speaking is Hector. He will either bend us in a new direction or we will snap and break apart. He is head of the Fifth Brigade . . . and he is as formidable as he looks. But these days he would rather be a politician than a soldier.'

'I have told Neravista's representatives that we are ready to discuss terms,' Hector continued.

'You had no right to speak on behalf of everyone.' The new voice was soft yet strangely piercing. Everyone turned their heads to look at a white-haired older man who was sitting at the opposite end of the table. The look in his eyes revealed a deep inner strength.

'That's Sebastian,' Victor said.

Stratton studied the man. He looked the oldest in the group, the only man with white hair, but he was not frail. He was also the only one not wearing military-style clothing. But what really distinguished him from the others was an aura of clear superiority that was inherited, not learned. He had an aristocratic air about him that seemed quite out of place in this grubby jungle setting.

'And you had no right to bring in these new weapons without consulting the council,' Hector retorted. 'Yes, I know about the rockets and special mines.'

'We are still at war,' Sebastian replied coolly. 'It is each brigade leader's duty to maintain armaments.'

'It's your timing that I am most concerned about. By bringing in these new arms now you are sending the wrong signal.'

'I do not accept any terms offered by Neravista, therefore my signal remains the same as always.'

'That is not your decision to make. We are five brigades held together by a democratic union. It is the council that makes the decisions, not any single member.'

'We are not a democracy, Hector. Not yet. That is only our ambition.'

'We have been fighting for peace and this is an opportunity to achieve it.'

The older man shook his head slowly. 'We did not begin this fight for peace. We already had that. But it was Neravista's kind of peace, where whoever threatened his dictatorship was imprisoned or murdered. It was peaceful only for those who did not challenge him. You are not going forwards, Hector. You're throwing this struggle into full reverse.'

All eyes went to Hector as Sebastian's words made their impact.

'I want Neravista's leadership dismantled now as much as I did when I began this fight,' Hector countered, undeterred. 'But it is time to change our strategy. We can still achieve our goals. For three years we've fought. Many have died. I don't want to spend the next twenty years burying my people who've died in the fighting. There is more than one way to win this struggle.'

Stratton noticed out of the corner of his eye someone over at the entrance to what appeared to be the main cabin. A young woman in jeans and a leather jacket walked from it towards the group. Her long dark hair was tied back in a ponytail and she stopped behind Sebastian, near the table, where everyone noticed her. Hector was distracted momentarily by her arrival.

The glow from the fire revealed her youth as well as the n.o.ble confidence of her solemn expression. Stratton found her stunning to look at. But something else about her, apart from her beauty, struck him.

'I warn you now,' said Sebastian, speaking slowly and deliberately, 'I will not be a part of this ridiculous parley. It's an insult to everyone who has fought, and in particular those who have actually given their lives, for this struggle. And if you go ahead with it I will continue the fight without you.'

'And I hand the warning back to you,' Hector said, leaning forward on the table as if to enforce his point. 'I will not allow you to destroy this opportunity.'

'I always understood an opportunity to be a moment of favourable circ.u.mstances,' the young woman said. Her voice was confident and clear. 'While we fight Neravista there will always be the opportunity to talk.'

Victor smiled. 'Sebastian's daughter,' he said softly, the pride in his voice unmistakable.

'With all respect, Louisa,' Hector said, 'this is a meeting of the council. You are not a member.'

'I can do what I want. I'm a rebel,' she retorted.

Several of the men found the comment amusing, including Hector.

Louisa remained solemn in contrast. 'My father provided you with opportunities greater than any that Neravista will ever give you. He began this revolution. You all followed him. He has always been the backbone of this great cause. Why is it that you no longer trust him?'

'No one here denies Sebastian the respect he deserves. I will break the neck of anyone who does not show him any,' Hector said, looking around darkly at the others to reinforce the threat. 'But it is time for a change of direction. If Sebastian cannot see that then perhaps it is time for him to step back as . . . as our spiritual leader.'

'What makes you think you are qualified to take his place?' Louisa asked, a frown creasing her brow.

Hector's tightening expression revealed his growing irritation at her effrontery. 'I am not alone,' he said. 'I have the support of the rest of the council.'

'Sheep,' she muttered, loudly enough for those the comment was aimed at to hear.