29 August 1717 Local

Camp H256, Western Paraguay

29 August

1717 Local

            Senior Lieutenant Miladys Rocha, of the Army of the Peoples Republic of Cuba, smiled to herself and quietly chuckled. 

            “Something amuses you, eh, Lieutenant?”  The Paraguayan Major asked.  He dipped his head and brought up his hands.  One covered the scratched, dented old Zippo lighter that he flicked with his right index finger, shielding it from both the wind and the rain. 

            “I never thought that in my entire lifetime I would be standing in the middle of a Paraguayan Prison - especially in a cold and driving rain, and on the side of a frigid, stony mountain to boot.  The things we do for our people, wouldn’t you say, sir?”  She replied with a smile.  She tapped a few more icons on her tablet PC.  The bleak scene unfolded before them as the gray mist passed before them in bands. 

            Consistency is something, she noted about her Paraguayan hosts.  Even though Paraguay was a poor nation, the Paraguayan airmen and soldiers she had met seemed to be confident and competent.  Paraguayan politicians, on the other hand, were like any of the myriad of other corrupt politicians the world over. 

This prison, not on any map, and high in the Andes, was as close to being on the moon as she’d ever hoped to be.  She had endured a long, scary helicopter flight up the passes and a draw to Camp H, as it was known.  The pilot of the aged, rattletrap helicopter had to have been insane.  Rocha, not a stranger to military aircraft, especially those with inexact maintenance, was still baffled at the route the Paraguayan Air Force pilot had chosen.  Thankfully neither she nor any of the other passengers of the flight had much to eat for lunch that day. 

            Camp H256 was located in what Rocha imagined hell would look like if it had been attacked by artillery wielding angels.  Aside from faint colors of lichen, nothing lived.  Everything was gray.  The metal buildings were gray and although shabby looking, most of them looked to be well maintained, for Paraguay was amongst the poorest of the South American nations.  The Andean talus on which the buildings rested on was gray.  It looked as though the country had been slashed and had bled out.  In fact, the only colors other than gray were of the uniforms of the guards. They were a mottled green and brown, the same as the majority of the other military and police forces in this part of the world.  Her uniform was similar, only the shape and borders of the multi-hued blotches on her uniform were in different shapes and of slightly different colors.  Her epaulets also reflected green, for Cuban Military Intelligence. 

            “Mind the gate, sir, it will swing towards you,” the guard sergeant called.  Rocha and her Paraguayan guide, Major Timotheo Alivar stepped back from the path of the large gate.  The gate itself was comprised of similar materials as the rest of the wall of fence around the Camp.  Like the fence, the gate consisted of razor wire and triple strands of barbed wire on a hinged frame. The Paraguayans had installed an electric opener for the gate.  Rocha and Alivar started in, once the gate had fully opened.  As they passed the center fence line a second gate whirred open, as the first one shut.  Alivar slowed his pace slightly and canted his head towards Rocha.

            “Lieutenant, for the record I would like to state that I am concerned for your safety. This is a hard labor camp. We keep the worst sorts here: murders, rapists, spies, military convicts, the like. If more than a few of them take designs on you, my guards may not be able to stop them all.”

            “Major, I have a sidearm,” she placed her hand on her holstered Browning Hi-Power, “Besides, if your men are even remotely competent, I should be just fine.  I’ve noticed a total of six guard towers and each one of them is manned by at least a three man crew.  If I am not mistaken I see six MAG 58 general-purpose machine guns that have optimal and interlocking fields of fire.  I am confident that my honor and safety are quite secure,” she smiled at him as the rain ran down off the brim of her field cap.  Alivar returned her smile, impressed, recognizing both her grasp of the emplacement of the machine guns, their ability to control any “issues” with the prisoners.  This woman was not only quite attractive, but she new her profession.  This Cuban officer was not the stereotypical communist loyalist political appointed lightweight he had expected.

            “My men are highly trained at the use of their weapons, but your confidence is indeed a compliment,” He nodded.  He looked at her, “It is quite strange to have a Cuban intelligence officer granted permission and authority to address a prison population.  Might you have any details?” he asked hoping to get even a sliver of information that might whet his curiosity. 

            Rocha smiled and shook her head, “I have to apologize, sir,” She returned the salute of the guard sergeant, and turned back to the Major as he began to climb a few steps to the top of a small dais.  “Although I believe that you and your men may find my message interesting, as well. From what I am told, great events are afoot.”

            “I await your message with great anticipation, Lieutenant.  Sergeant!” Alivar shouted. His voice pierced the increasing din of the heavy rain drops on the metal roofs of the prison barracks. 

            “Sir!” came the shouted acknowledgment.

            “Towers! Prepare for assembly!” the guard Sergeant shouted, as he moved from the guardhouse to the center front of the courtyard, in front of the dais.  Rocha saw movement in each of the six towers, as one of the Paraguayan soldiers locked in behind the machine gun, and the other unslung his FAL  rifle and moved to a secondary, covering fire position.  Rocha noted the lack of the sound of bolts being thrown, meaning that the machine guns and rifles were already chambered. She either heard or imagined the sound of safeties being disengaged.

“Assemble the population in the courtyard!”  Alivar thundered.  Rocha was impressed that the charming, handsome Paraguayan could so effectively project his voice.

            “Yes, sir! Guard Sergeants, sound assembly!  Move with haste!”  The prison camp exploded in a frenzy of activity.  Guards shouted and inmates scurried.  Rocha noted the military precision that the formation took.  Men spilled out of the shabby barracks.  The Paraguayan criminals quickly and quietly found their places.

            “Prison discipline does have its usefulness,” Alivar whispered, echoing her own thoughts.

            As quickly as it began, the tornado of activity stopped.  “All present, sir!” The Guard Sergeant shouted, snapping off a salute. 

            “Thank you, Sergeant!  Gentlemen!”  Alivar boomed to the assembled mass of men, “I would like to introduce Lieutenant Rocha.  She is a military attaché to the Organization of American States, representing all of the Americas.  You will listen to what she has to say!”

            The silence that followed genuinely shocked her.  She had expected catcalls and lewd comments to erupt on her introduction.  What she received was silence, save for the roar of the rain on rock and tin.  The prisoners stared at her. She didn’t sense the lust, but she did sense an overpowering wall of resentment, boredom and fatigue. Their eyes, all twelve hundred of them, bored fire at her, the guards, and her uniform. She had seen starvation before and what she saw shocked her.  These men were not starved and rail thin as she had expected and been led to believe. These men were well fed.  All of them had only the pallor induced by the lack of recent sunshine, but otherwise looked fit, and not a little menacing.

“The inmates are much healthier than I had expected, Major,” Rocha whispered.

“I am not a dictatorial Prison warden.  I do have a degree in criminal psychology from the University of Southern California.  We try to use the latest in rehabilitation techniques to compliment the discipline specified by our mandate to provide hard labor.  The hard labor these men perform burns a great deal of calories, Lieutenant.  Not to mention, hunger would introduce an unstable element into a situation that succeeds in stability.  We do the best with the meager funds that Asuncion can provide.  The majority of our expenditures go to feed and educate.  We work them eight hours a day in two shifts of four.  Each man is allotted two hours for religious study and education. After all, this is a rehabilitation facility, and we are not Nazis.”  He looked at her and smiled wryly, “or wretched Stalinists.”  He smiled at her.

She let the barb pass without comment returning a smile that acknowledged her own understanding of the situation, “With your permission, Major?”

“Lieutenant, the formation is yours.”  Alivar stepped aside from the concrete podium. Rocha swallowed and stepped up.  She set the tablet PC in front of her on the concrete podium.  Rain sheeted off of its waterproof surface. Her speech scrolled slowly, backlit on its color surface.

“Gentlemen, I am Lieutenant Rocha, currently assigned to the Inter American Military Development Council of the Organization of American States.  I am here to call for volunteers for a new and highly specialized experimental force that will in all probability see combat action within six months.  Naturally, this force may be required to conduct themselves in a manner outside the normal ways of war. That is why you are being asked.  We need a number of volunteers who would like to repay their nations and all the nations of South and Central America for their crimes, and to allow their people, and all of our people a brighter and more rewarding future. 

“Gentlemen, I do not want to give anyone the idea that this will not be a dangerous and threatening challenge.  Many of you who volunteer will not even survive the training which is, to say the least, demanding.  But you will be trained to the utmost and in a variety of different disciplines.  You will be infiltrated into enemy countries. You will harass supply lines, disrupt communications and generally tie up enemy regular forces.

In any contract there are two sides.  We require of you total dedication, and a commensurate level of discipline.  In return you will receive from us training, food, weapons, equipment, and nothing else.  We will not pay you one peseta, one peso, or one penny.  Your opportunity lies in your conduct in the nations that you are sent to.  If after the conflict is over, you wish to stay in the enemy land and begin anew, you will do so with our blessing.  If you follow all orders and conduct yourselves as we require, your sentences will be commuted and you will have an opportunity to become wealthy beyond your dreams.”

Rocha paused.  She could hear murmurs in the formations of men.  This group has possibilities - educated, disciplined and in better than average physical condition.  Real possibilities!

“If you like or in any way are intrigued by what I have said today, then you should take the next step.  By this time tomorrow, a cadre of OAS officers will be here to interview all volunteers.  If you pass their harsh scrutiny and are found to have what we are looking for, you will be immediately transferred to the nearest military airfield, where you will board a transport for a flight to our main training area. There your training will begin.  Take charge of your lives again!  Live free again, brothers! Good evening.” Rocha shook the rain off of the tablet and placed it under her arm. She stood back from the podium and saluted Alivar. “I return your population to you, sir!”

            Alivar responded with a crisp, professional salute of his own. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Guard Sergeant!” He boomed out.

“Sir!”  came the reply.

“Return the population to barracks.”

“Yes, sir!  Guard Sergeants return the battalions to barracks.”

Alivar about- faced and stepped over to Rocha.  “Fine speech, Lieutenant.  What am I supposed to do if my entire population volunteers?” 

“The future is bright for enterprising officers, Major.  Bright indeed.”