back to her tent in the darkness, her head full of sensual brass glissandos and diminuendos, knowing she would dream about
the comandante.
Early the next morning, the comandante led his men from the camp on a series of raids. Apart from Sally and Gabriela, only
thirteen were left behind in the camp, and these were some of the recruits who had arrived with them. Gabriela was placed
in charge.
A few hours after the others had departed, Sally heard shouting as she walked with Gabriela among the tents beneath the pines.
This camp was much more extensive than the others she had seen, but the cover offered by the pines here was not so good as
at the first camp in which she had stayed. The trees were bigger here but more thinly spread on the ground. The men shouting
were pointing up at the sky, a calm and peaceful blue in gaps in the branches overhead.
“Push-pull! Push-pull!”
“Stay still!” Gabriela yelled at the men who were running about and shouting.
The big automatic pistol appeared in her left hand and she fired two shots over their heads. That stopped them.
“Don’t move from where you are!” Gabriela ordered. “Next man who moves, I shoot him!”
No one moved.
Gabriela muttered to Sally beside her, “Damn raw recruits. Where do they come from? They should know better.”
Sally didn’t have time to dwell on Gabriela’s sudden transformation, as the Salvadoran woman’s voice was drowned out by the
roar of an aircraft flying low overhead.
Gabriela shouted to Sally above the noise, “See the propellers both fore and aft on the engine mounts? That’s why we call
the plane a push-pull. It’s an 0-2, an observation craft you Americans give to the Salvadoran air force. They often work with
A-37s.”
Sally did not ask what an A-37 was. The recruits had stopped panicking and were looking a bit shamefaced. Gabriela put away
her big pistol.
“They must have seen something,” she announced in a loud voice. She pointed. “Shout to those men over there to keep still.
That plane will make a repeat pass.”
Sally looked around. Earth had been thrown on the fire the previous night—no smoke rose from it. The tents were green, and
everything else was either green also or camouflaged. She had already been told that any brightly colored object that stood
out from its background—even an object as small as the notebook with a bright red cover that one recruit was carrying at the
time—could be seen quite easily from the air, particularly if it was moving. Sally ran an anxious eye over everything, ironically
aware of how she was slipping into the role of a guerrilla and learning survival tactics.
They heard the plane’s engines again, coming from the same direction it had approached before.
“He’s circled around and he’s coming in this timehigher than he was before,” Gabriela told them. “You can bet he’s spotted something if he’s afraid to come in low.”
The plane did not continue its flight path, but cut to the left and began to climb in a tight circle directly above them.
“Bastard has seen us!” Gabriela yelled. “He’s calling in the A-37s and marking our position for them!”
She ran to a nearby supply tent and came out carrying a four-foot metal tube with a scope mounted on it. In her left hand
she carried an energy pack and trailing wires. She hooked up the tube to the energy pack, placed it on her right shoulder
and sighted up at the plane through the scope. And waited.
“Damn,” Gabriela muttered.
“What’s wrong?” Sally ventured.
“I’m waiting for the sound signal that tells when the missile homing system is engaged. This is a Redeye, one of your American
surface-to-air missiles. Its infrared homing device zeroes in on the heat given off by the aircraft’s engines. I hope the
energy system has been maintained.”
Gabriela waited for the sound signal, balancing the tube on her shoulder and sighting the 0-2 plane through the scope
the comandante.
Early the next morning, the comandante led his men from the camp on a series of raids. Apart from Sally and Gabriela, only
thirteen were left behind in the camp, and these were some of the recruits who had arrived with them. Gabriela was placed
in charge.
A few hours after the others had departed, Sally heard shouting as she walked with Gabriela among the tents beneath the pines.
This camp was much more extensive than the others she had seen, but the cover offered by the pines here was not so good as
at the first camp in which she had stayed. The trees were bigger here but more thinly spread on the ground. The men shouting
were pointing up at the sky, a calm and peaceful blue in gaps in the branches overhead.
“Push-pull! Push-pull!”
“Stay still!” Gabriela yelled at the men who were running about and shouting.
The big automatic pistol appeared in her left hand and she fired two shots over their heads. That stopped them.
“Don’t move from where you are!” Gabriela ordered. “Next man who moves, I shoot him!”
No one moved.
Gabriela muttered to Sally beside her, “Damn raw recruits. Where do they come from? They should know better.”
Sally didn’t have time to dwell on Gabriela’s sudden transformation, as the Salvadoran woman’s voice was drowned out by the
roar of an aircraft flying low overhead.
Gabriela shouted to Sally above the noise, “See the propellers both fore and aft on the engine mounts? That’s why we call
the plane a push-pull. It’s an 0-2, an observation craft you Americans give to the Salvadoran air force. They often work with
A-37s.”
Sally did not ask what an A-37 was. The recruits had stopped panicking and were looking a bit shamefaced. Gabriela put away
her big pistol.
“They must have seen something,” she announced in a loud voice. She pointed. “Shout to those men over there to keep still.
That plane will make a repeat pass.”
Sally looked around. Earth had been thrown on the fire the previous night—no smoke rose from it. The tents were green, and
everything else was either green also or camouflaged. She had already been told that any brightly colored object that stood
out from its background—even an object as small as the notebook with a bright red cover that one recruit was carrying at the
time—could be seen quite easily from the air, particularly if it was moving. Sally ran an anxious eye over everything, ironically
aware of how she was slipping into the role of a guerrilla and learning survival tactics.
They heard the plane’s engines again, coming from the same direction it had approached before.
“He’s circled around and he’s coming in this timehigher than he was before,” Gabriela told them. “You can bet he’s spotted something if he’s afraid to come in low.”
The plane did not continue its flight path, but cut to the left and began to climb in a tight circle directly above them.
“Bastard has seen us!” Gabriela yelled. “He’s calling in the A-37s and marking our position for them!”
She ran to a nearby supply tent and came out carrying a four-foot metal tube with a scope mounted on it. In her left hand
she carried an energy pack and trailing wires. She hooked up the tube to the energy pack, placed it on her right shoulder
and sighted up at the plane through the scope. And waited.
“Damn,” Gabriela muttered.
“What’s wrong?” Sally ventured.
“I’m waiting for the sound signal that tells when the missile homing system is engaged. This is a Redeye, one of your American
surface-to-air missiles. Its infrared homing device zeroes in on the heat given off by the aircraft’s engines. I hope the
energy system has been maintained.”
Gabriela waited for the sound signal, balancing the tube on her shoulder and sighting the 0-2 plane through the scope
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