So you see, Good and Evil have the same face; it all depends on when they cross the path of each individual human being. – Paulo Coelho, The Devil and Miss Prym

Gabriel cleaned his AK-47 in preparation for the afternoon patrol. Commandant Luis had avoided him since their little faceoff, and that was fine by him. Gabriel was in a good mood – taking apart and cleaning his weapon helped him relax – and he looked at the neat row of clean parts with satisfaction. He became fascinated with firearms from the first moment he took one apart and got a look at its inner workings. They were elegant, simple, with incredible power. The Old Fighters entertained him with anecdotes and stories of the many different weapons in their small arsenal. Most of the NGAP’s inventory were soviet remnants, but WWII-era rifles also found their way to the resistance. Gabriel gravitated to the old relics; holding weapons that might have been fired in the great battles of Europe filled him with awe.
Gabriel enjoyed teaching others how to clean their weapons, and suspected that was a reason Sergeant Yos promoted him to corporal. It sure wasn’t his impressive combat résumé. He was proficient at the target range, but hitting paper cups was worlds apart from hitting living, breathing targets. For one thing, paper cups didn’t shoot back.
Sergeant Yos stepped into the tent and gestured to the parts lined up on an oilcloth.
“Make sure to put that rifle together right or you’re liable to blow off a toe.”
Gabriel smiled and shook his head. He’d never live that day down. The first time he held a rifle the damned thing went off, and the bullet struck mere centimeters from his boot. Chuckles all around, ha, ha, ha. “Is that what this is?” Gabriel picked up a gleaming gas piston. “What do you call this thingy?”

Chapter 3

‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’ – J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion

The town of Playa Grande came into view on a late Thursday afternoon. A long walk indeed, Gabriel mused. It took the column of thirty-three fighters four days to make the trip from the Cuchumatan Mountains. Playa Grande couldn’t have been more than a few hours ride, but they went to great lengths to avoid the many army checkpoints. Gabriel wasn’t sure why they trekked this far north, but Quiche had been a main theater during the last uprising. Maybe it had strategic significance he wasn’t privy to. Units in Petén needed reinforcements after their heavy losses in recent weeks, but if the NGAP was planning a transfer he was sure Sergeant Yos would have mentioned something. The new dam at Chixoy made a tantalizing target, too. At any rate, they’d arrived and Gabriel wouldn’t thumb his nose at the chance to rest.

The town was quiet lately. The army garrison might prove troublesome, but NGAP informants mentioned the soldiers had left for maneuvers days ago, leaving behind a skeleton crew. Four MPs made up the town’s police force, but they were no match for thirty-three rebel fighters.

“We’ll make camp tonight and head into Playa Grande at first light. Corporal Caamal, set up a perimeter. Corporal Tun, relieve Caamal at 2200. Sergeant Yos, detail scouts to determine the disposition of enemy forces. No campfires. We move at 0500.”

Did Commandant Luis sound competent? Gabriel hated to give credit where no credit was due, but their leader was acting strangely professional. Did a little bird slip him a word? Gabriel looked at Sargent Yos for a clue, but the man’s stony expression remained unreadable. One lone squad on guard duty was unusual, but the commandant set up camp nice and tight.

Chapter 4

We are all in the same boat, in a stormy sea, and we owe each other a terrible loyalty. – G.K. Chesterton

It took the rebels a full day to reach the rally point in Lachua Lake National Park. Sergeant Yos wanted to minimize the chance they’d run into overzealous army patrols, so they stopped often to scout ahead. In addition, they took circuitous routes to avoid the many small houses scattered throughout. It was slow going though muddy game trails and dense vegetation, but the pace allowed Juan, Neto and Miguel to keep up without too much exertion. It was Saturday evening, and the group decided to wait two full days at the rendezvous to give any other survivors time to catch up. No one wanted to hang around in the jungle longer than necessary, but they couldn’t leave while there was a chance other rebels might have survived. Two small creeks provided potable water and allowed them to take quick baths, a reason Commandant Luis had selected the lake as the rendezvous. The dense jungle canopy also offered cover from army helicopters, and the woods teemed with wild edibles and small game. Rabbit stew with berries was quite a feast, given the circumstances.

Sergeant Yos didn’t allow boredom, and when not cleaning weapons or gathering food, the group went over details of the ambush. After discussing certain actions he had the healthy rebels run mock attacks to practice specific techniques. Sergeant Yos said the army executed the ambush in haste, or it was planned by idiots; there was no way anyone of them should have survived. According to him, the enemy should have performed with high precision, not like the ramshackle disorganized mess the ambush turned into. He thought the attackers were former policemen instead of professional soldiers, lacking proper tactical instruction. The military absorbed the National Police to form a new Military Police, but their training hadn’t been as strict. Sergeant Yos

Chapter 5

How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world. – William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice.

Sergeant Yos and Miguel left before dawn, and Gabriel supervised the breakdown of camp. They’d have to be careful to cover their tracks and remove all evidence of their stay. The last thing they needed was a counter-insurgency unit dogging them in the woods.

Sam was on top of things and continued her duties as improvised nurse, but she seemed…subdued, maybe even a little forlorn. Gabriel wondered if her conscience still weighed on her. Neto’s fever hadn’t improved, and his injured hand emitted an unpleasant odor. If they didn’t get him to a doctor soon he could lose the whole hand, or worse. Sam cleaned his wound again, and her worried glance at Gabriel said she noticed it too. The one option no one had brought up was to remove the finger and cauterize the wound with a small charge of gunpowder, or a hot poker. Gabriel shuddered at the thought. If they had to, they had to, but he’d do his best to avoid it.

The small column started the long northward march towards the park’s edge with supplies evenly distributed amongst the able-bodied rebels. Gabriel wanted to stay away from the lake, an area often visited by tourists, which meant they would have to clear their own path through the thick vegetation. The hike would be hard on Gregorio, heck, it would be hard on everybody, so Gabriel decided to carry Gregorio’s pack as well as his own. They’d trekked from one place to another and slept outdoors for three days. That didn’t include their trip from the mountains to Playa Grande, and the ordeal took a physical and emotional toll. Now they’d be moving again, with more wounded to tend to and only Sam and himself in fighting shape. Pedro had occasional bouts of nausea and dizziness, but could still fire a rifle if he had to.