Cities of the Red Night

Commandante: all spit and polish, bathed and shaved, green-jacketed with silver skull-and-crossbones on his shoulders, khaki pants, his soft brown boots carefully shined.

At the guardhouse, five of the prisoners are dead. It is easy to reconstruct what happened. Sergeant Gonzalez, attempting to keep all the liquor for himself, was attacked by Corporal Hassanavitch and an accomplice. The sergeant killed them both with his knife and then drained about half the spirits, holding the rest at bay. The sergeant soon being overcome, the others took the knife and cut his throat. The victors then drank the remains of the bottle, which killed three of them.

'Well, get them out of here.' Hans gestures to the corpses.

The partisans lead the way, planting shovels in the ground. We leave the prisoners digging graves like sullen Calibans and proceed to the barracks, where we are greeted by the smell of cannabis. The soldiers are laughing and talking, more relaxed now that ten wrong men have been removed.

'Achtung!'

The way Hans can say it anyone would believe it.

The men are now brought to the wardroom one at a time. The hawk-faced youth, whose name is Rodriguez, acts as clerk, writing down answers as Hans fires the questions.

'Name? Age? Place of birth? Length of service? Locations and times of previous service? What training have you received as a soldier?'

'Training?' The man looks blank.

'What did you do all day?'

'Well, we had to drill and clean the barracks, cook and wash dishes, work in the Captain's gardens....'

'What about your guns? You received instruction in their use? There was daily target practice?'

'We fired them only at fiestas and parades.'

'Was there instruction in knife and sword fighting? In unarmed combat?'

'No, nothing like that. We could get a citation for fighting.'

'Field exercises?'

'Que es eso?'

'That means you go into jungles or mountains to learn the terrain and pretend to fight a war.'

'We never left the city.'

'So you have no idea of conditions and terrain ten miles outside Panama City?'

'No, sir.'

'During the time of your service here, have you been sick?'

'Various times, senor.'

'And what sicknesses have you had?'

'Well, sir, chills and fever, cramps and loose bowels....'

'Pox?'

'Yes, sir. The whores are rotten with it.'

'And what treatment did you receive?'

'Not much. The doctor gave me some pills for the pox that made me feel worse. There