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 massive explosion shattered. Burning wood splinters rained down. The top half of the tree, a large mass 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 damned 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 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 of them. I have joined an army of idiots. And that makes me 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