Crown Jewel: The Battle for the Falklands by von Bleichert Peter

Author:von Bleichert, Peter
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2013-12-25T08:00:00+00:00

7: ARAPUCHA

“Guerrilla war is a kind of war waged by the few but dependent on the support of many.”—B. H. Liddell Hart

“Quickly; in here,” Henry said, as he gestured toward an opening in the floor. The thunderous rapping at the door became even more insistent and was accompanied by yelled Spanish.

“No. Where is your shotgun?” Albert countered as the Glock in his hand would not suffice against an enemy breech team.

“Don’t be daft. Leave this to me. We need you to stay alive and out of enemy hands. Now, do as I say,” Henry left little room for argument.

Albert began to climb down into the hide. He paused on the rickety ladder.

“Where’s Annie and Linda?”

“Tending the herd,” Henry answered and pushed down on the top of Albert’s head. The hatch closed and he was swallowed by the pitch black of the old root cellar. Albert heard the carpet being dragged back over the hatch. He shivered.

The cottage door splintered. The soldier with the battering ram stepped aside to allow his armed comrades to enter in a practiced fluid motion. Once inside, they formed a semi-circle around the immovable Henry. Each soldier—Argentinian flags on their shoulders—pointed their assault rifles at his chest. Vargas strolled in, pistol in hand. Henry saw something unsettling in the cold stare of Vargas’s dark brown eyes. This one would kill without hesitation, Henry knew, and he swallowed hard.

In the black of the root cellar, the sounds of creaking boards and stomping boots echoed, and dust from the creaking floorboards overhead rained down upon him. Muffled voices, and then a stubborn shout from Henry: “God save the King.” As the last syllable of the old man’s battle cry was enunciated, Albert heard a single pistol shot, followed by the thud of Henry’s body as it collapsed to the floor. Albert was filled with equal parts fear and rage. He heard footsteps climb the staircase to the second floor of the cottage. When the sounds retreated, and Albert heard an engine turning over outside, he got up on the ladder and pressed his shoulder against the hide’s hatch door. With some effort, he raised it enough to roll Henry off, and peeked through.

Albert felt like a rat leaving a nest. He had hid while an old man stood his ground. As he scampered out, Albert resolved to never again accept sacrifice in the name of his position. He looked to Henry. Blood streamed from his mouth and nose, and there was a single red hole torn in his chest. While barely alive, he locked eyes with Albert, and, with a painful last breath, muttered, “Annie. Linda. Tell them I--” Albert closed the man’s eyelids and finished the sentence on his behalf:

“Love them. I will tell them, sir.”

◊◊◊◊

Albert decided he would find Annie and Linda before the Argentinians did. With his rucksack, Henry’s shotgun slung over his shoulder, the Glock in its holster, and Linda’s .303 in hand, Albert ran from the cottage to the barn. He tried not

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