Crown Jewel: The Battle for the Falklands (14 page)

“Don’t move an inch.”

“What are they?”

“Mines.  Anti-personnel mines,” Albert said, knowing that, for every one he saw, there were likely several more buried types, and others still that were capable of stopping a tank.  He wiped his sweaty face and leaned down to study one device, and recognized the pressure fuse as belonging to a Brazilian-made T-AB-1 land-mine.

“Mines?”  Linda said and began to shake visibly.  “Annie, stay where you are,” she told her daughter.  He voice was as shaky as her body.

“See that disk by your foot?” Albert asked.  “Whatever you do, keep off it...off of them.”  Albert pointed to the other plastic shapes surrounding them.  He realized the farmhouse represented an area command headquarters of sorts, and that the Argentines had sown the approaches with defensive fields.  Turning, he could see their last steps, muddy footprints that had filled with rain water.  Annie seemed to be beyond the edge of the field.  Albert was thankful her little legs had made her slower.

“Okay.  Step exactly where I do,” Albert told Linda.  He moved slowly and carefully, and lowered his boot into the depression of his last step’s print.  He realized Linda’s eyes were rolling back in their sockets;   She was about to faint.  She wavered and Albert struggled to support her weight.  His mangled hand failed, and Linda almost dragged him down as she collapsed into the mud.  Annie shrieked, and Albert waited for the explosion that would kill them all.  If Linda’s weight triggered an anti-personnel mine, it would jump up out of the ground, explode a few feet up, and spray them with deadly shrapnel and ball bearings.  If it were an anti-tank mine, she was likely too light to trigger it.  However, if she did, there would be a massive explosion.  They would all disappear, leaving just a pink mist floating over a crater.  As long moments passed, nothing happened.

“Fancy that,” Albert said with a stressed giggle.  For now, he thought, Linda was better off unconscious.  He scooped Linda up and folded her over his shoulder.  Albert sank into the mud and struggled to escape its suction.  He squinted to see in the downpour, and, as gracefully as he could, egressed from the periphery of the minefield, and toward little, bawling Annie.  When they were back on the slope, and he was certain they were clear of any signs of the minefield, Albert flopped Linda into the grass.  With aching legs, he plopped down.  Annie went to Linda and shook her.  She was unable to rouse her mother.

“Your mum is all right, Anne.  Don’t worry.”  Albert rolled onto his belly, scurried up the hillside, and peeked over the crest.  The rainfall continued to be heavy, and a mist had risen from the ground.  He could hear the Argentine armored vehicle off in the distance, and the voices of a search party.  A bell began to toll.

A church spire poked from the fog that blanketed the island.  The bell rang out 12 times.  Its din—despite the rain and intermittent rumbles of thunder—carried and echoed.  Albert scanned east and saw a barn.

The barn’s roof shingles shone green with moss.  Its brown wood wallboards were worn and weathered.  Fronds of hay poked from between these boards, and little round holes showed where knots had fallen out of the wood.  Albert decided this structure would be their immediate objective, a place to hole up, rest, and defend until nightfall.  Linda moaned.

“Linda, come on, wake up now,”
he said, gently patting her face.

“Mum.  Mummy, time to get up,” Annie added.

Linda’s eyes opened and briefly rolled in their sockets.  Albert lifted her head by the chin.  She looked at him, and then to her daughter.  Both girls smiled widely.  Annie dropped onto Linda and mugged her with hugs and kisses.  Then Annie peeled off her mother to hug Albert.  She squeezed him as hard as her little arms could manage.

“I love you,” Annie declared to Albert.  Those three words warmed him to the depths of his soul.  They went in and uncovered the guilt, lifted it, and took it from his shoulders.  Albert felt lighter, and he felt a nagging worry that he supposed fathers must feel: that he had to do everything in his power to protect this little sprite, to keep her safe, and to shield her from evil and death, with his very own being if need be.

“There’s a barn a few hills over,” Albert told Linda.  “That where we’re going.  So, I need you to stand up and walk.  Understood?”

Linda focused, nodded, and stumbled to her feet.  She leaned on her helpful daughter to steady her steps.  Albert leading the way, they stayed low, skirted small valleys, and used tall grass and large rocks to cover their movement.  The rain began to let up.  Sunshine broke through and burned away the mist.  The grey that had covered the landscape yielded, and a rainbow burst forth, shooting from the ground and into the sky.  Flowers that had been muted in the deluge seemed to light up as though suddenly plugged in.  Their colors sang again, and they swayed in the breeze.  Albert took a deep breath, and, for the first time, realized the truth of beauty of the land he was traversing.  He looked back on the last few days, and realized that, as terrifying as they were, they also satisfied.

He could feel the buzz; probably more lack of sleep than pride at having stayed alive for this long.  Albert suddenly understood the high of the infantryman.  Although he had felt the wonder of the fight from the sky, he could now relate with the man that fought in the dirt, and looked another man in the eyes before plunging a bayonet between his ribs.  Albert wondered that if man felt joy from such a dark experience, perhaps his nature truly was evil.  Then he realized that, by weaving moments of good among those that were evil, man could tip his nature to goodness, could rise above, could shun the Devil and let God in. 
It’s about choice
, he thought. 
We are plunged into situations that reveal our true selves
. 
We are living a test
,
and there will be a reckoning when it is all over; a counting of the coin, pluses and minuses, a spreadsheet of life

Albert suddenly knew that all were being judged, that there was a panel taking score, whether the Pagan plethora of observers, or the one true reckoner, our chits were being counted.  Although he knew he had killed—snuffed the innocent—it would be understood, he believed, that it had been a dreadful mistake.  He had mourned even before the missile’s impact.  Also, he had, after all, tried to stop it.  Albert looked to Annie who stuck out her finger so that a butterfly fluttering about might land there.  With the warming sun on his face, Albert watched the delicate insect alight on Annie, concluded that the human spirit was beautiful and it survived by nurturing itself on simple things.  Albert pulled Linda in close and walked for a moment with his arm about her.  Annie snuggled up too, and the three of them walked together among the wild flowers and tall grass.  The little barn was their immediate goal, and Albert thought it best not to look too far ahead, to think too much.  It was far better to feel what was immediate, to live the moment, and thank the universe for giving you breath enough to say: “I love you both.”  Linda looked deep into Albert, saw his pain and feelings, and smiled.  She felt at home in the deep brown pools of his sad eyes.

Trying to make the best of the lack of cover, Albert, Annie, and Linda moved toward the barn.  When they reached it without being seen, they crouched at one of its walls.  Albert slid the door open and checked inside.

“It’s a hay loft.  We should be able to get some rest.”  He spotted a bin full of potatoes and a small, dripping spigot.  “And perhaps something to eat and drink.”

As soon as they entered, Annie collapsed onto a bed of straw and fell asleep.  Albert started to check the potatoes.  While a few felt too mushy, several others were edible.  He handed one to Linda and took a drink from the tap.  Gulping mouthfuls, Albert realized how dehydrated he was.  Linda took her turn after chewing some raw spud.  She, too, drank deep.  With her belly full, Linda lay down beside Annie.  Exhausted, Albert collapsed his weight to the floor like an imploded building.

“I’ll keep first watch,” he mumbled.

“Want this?” Linda offered the pistol.  He waved it away.  Linda took a deep breath, maybe two, and fell fast asleep.

Even though he tried his best to stay awake, Albert also succumbed to exhaustion, and, with head rested on bent knees, was soon snoring.

◊◊◊◊

Vargas put his hand to Annie’s mouth.  She awakened and tried to scream.  Vargas collected her in his arms.  Linda felt the disturbance beside her.  She opened an eye.  About to scream, too, she decided against it when she saw the Argentinian.  He had a gold-sparkled grin, and he had Annie, a big knife to her soft, pink neck.

“
Eduardo Talbot
,” Vargas said
loudly, the disdain he had for the name was evident.  Albert snapped awake and sprang to his feet.  About to lunge at Vargas, he stopped himself.  His body twitched as his brain countermanded the command sent to his muscles.  His tired mind was unable to conjure anything creative.  It was time to surrender.  Albert looked to Linda.  Her worried eyes bulged, and her teeth ground with hatred and with helplessness.

“Annie will be fine, Linda,” Albert consoled.  “I promise.”  Albert turned to Annie, and said: “Annie, baby, you will be fine.  Okay?”  Annie whimpered and clenched her eyes shut.  This squeezed out a tear that rolled slowly down her blushed cheek.  Albert turned his attention to Vargas.

Flames replaced sadness in Albert’s eyes.  They flickered and licked at the squinted lids.  He just wanted to kill.  He would take true satisfaction in twisting Vargas’s neck until it snapped.

“How’s the hand,
caballero
?” Vargas taunted.

Albert lifted his wrapped hand to show him, painfully extending the middle finger, and smiled wide.

“Still works,” Albert snickered.  “Let her go. 
Now
.”

Vargas fumed and pressed the cold blade to Annie’s throat.  Annie went wooden.

“If you harm her--” Albert warned.

“What?  What will you do?”

Albert thought to say, ‘I will kill you,’ but he decided on another way.

“You are a worm,” Albert said.  “You hide behind a uniform and a flag, but you are just a worm.”

“No,” Vargas said defensively but also visibly rattled.  Then he took a deep breath and calmed himself.  “I am a fisherman, and
this
is my worm.”  Vargas pressed the knife against Annie a bit harder.  “Now, get on my hook, Prince Albert.”

“Albert, please.  Do as he says,” Linda begged.  Albert saw little choice but to comply.  Vargas recognized this realization in the way Albert’s puffed chest fell.

“Get on your knees, and put your hands behind your head.”

Albert complied.

“Now, cross your legs,” Vargas ordered.

Albert did it.

With the Prince now a diminished threat, Vargas grabbed a handful of Annie’s hair, put the knife away, and took out his pistol.

When Linda saw the gun, she remembered the one she had tucked into her hay bed.  She remembered she had chambered a round back at the farmhouse. 
The safety is on
, she thought. 
I will have to be quick
.  As if reading her mind, Vargas turned his attention Linda’s way.

“You.  Do the same: hands on head, get on your knees, and cross your legs.”  Linda knelt as close to where the gun was stashed as possible.  Vargas tugged at Annie’s hair to get her to kneel, too.  Annie yelped and began to cry hard.  Vargas moved his pistol’s point of aim from Albert to Linda and back again.  Vargas let go of Annie and pawed for his radio with his freed hand.  He found it and clicked the transmit button.

“
Culebra zero-dos-uno
,” he spoke into the radio.  When feedback chirped, he used his gun hand to adjust the squelch dial on the little walkie-talkie.

Linda’s heart pounded.  Her throat was dry.  She dove for the hay and felt the butt of the gun.  Vargas realized she was in motion and began to unfold his arm as he hurried to line up the gun barrel on Linda again.  During this moment, Linda was able to raise her weapon, disengage the safety, and get a sight picture.  With the dot of her pistol’s front sight settled on Vargas’s chest, Linda squeezed the trigger.  Just like her father had taught her, Linda made sure not to jerk the gun as she fired.  The gun yapped.

Vargas was shoved onto his back.  He dropped the radio, and, though he held onto his pistol, it was now pointed at the ceiling.  Linda rushed over and stood over him.  Vargas’s radio pleaded for a response.

Still conscious, Vargas struggled to breathe, and tried to talk.  Only blood bubbles and a gurgle came forth.  If he could have been understood, Albert, Annie, and Linda would have heard Vargas say his dead wife’s name.  Vargas smiled and began to sweep his gun toward Albert who had begun to get up.  Linda’s final shot was to Vargas’s head.  It burst like a ruptured cantaloupe and sprayed the hay with red wetness.  Linda dropped the smoking gun and dove for Annie.  She wrapped her in her arms and whispered words of love in her ears.  Annie tried to look at Vargas, but Linda covered her eyes and spoke more whispers of reassurance.

“Is he dead?” Annie asked with the morbid curiosity of the young.

“He will not bother us again,” Linda offered instead of confirmation.  Albert went to them both and joined the hug.  All three looked up when they heard an engine.

“What now?” Albert asked.  He went to the wall to peek out.  There, framed by the weathered boards, was the Argentine infantry fighting vehicle and several soldiers.  They had crested the hill and now headed toward the little barn.  Albert turned back to Linda.  From his anguished look, she could tell it was bad news.  Linda exhaled hard.  Soon, voices, mingled with the ever-increasing mechanical rumble.

“More company,” he said with a sigh.  “And that won’t be of any help,” Albert said as he pointed at the pistol on the hay pile.  He went to it and picked it up anyway, engaged the safety, and tucked it in his pocket.  He returned to his vigil at the wall, and watched the approach of the enemy vehicle.  Their little barn stuck out like a sore thumb.  It was an obvious point of interest, a place on everyone’s list, it would seem.  “Bollocks,” he mumbled.