¡Que Viva el Che! - Finish the Story #28
Revenge of Yayo Che
[The first part of the story is provided by @theironfelix:]
In the dawn of the Peruvian Jungle landscape, a Sendero Luminoso member spotted five OH-6 Cayuse helicopters but waived the anti-aircraft to not launch their load – the soldier radioed in that they finally came and to approach the compound. In these five helis, paratroopers were carrying Russian AK74s and were armoured up. In the leading one, a certain lass finishes her cigar, then picks up the radio and begins to drum up a blood frenzy:
"In Cuba, the Cubans celebrate a hero - name’s Che. In the World of drugs, we got our own Che – he of course went by many names like el Rey de Yayo, but we know him as Yayo Che. A heart in a heartless world, a spirit in spirit conditions and a sigh of us oppressed folk. Yet the World couldn’t stand this – so the World robbed us of him! Killed anyone that followed him! And humbled our pride!... But from the mud we rechristened our humbled pride, determined to show them gusanos what the dirt tastes and show them who the real cockroaches are! For if you mess with us, you’re messing with the BEST! And today marks… El Día de Juicio!”
As she released her radio, she heard from the radio static chants of “!Yayo Che!” and “!El Día de Juicio!” She saw from the dashboard that they were closing in to the compound, the place of the culo that ordered the hit – the Cuban Government intel was correct and she owned them a solid. Funny that they supported her endeavors, but she stopped laughing internally when she realized that political maneuvers and combatting La CIA influence was priority when it came to these matters. Considering this mission as her main payment to the Cubans, she snapped her mag into the AK74 and racked it.
Approaching closer, the pilot asked when to start popping the missiles and rain the lead thunder – her only reply being was “on my signal.” The pilot saluted and began to steer the OH-6 Cayuse into combat formation, resulting in the other helis following suit – she radioed in to the pilots to prepare for contact with anti-air craft and to rain hell, then she ordered to hang and kick the assassin’s corpse out. Moments later seeing her command followed, the pilot asked one last question before they got danger-close:
“¿Estás listo, Yayo Che?”
“¡Sí! Let the lead thunder start hammering the World! Let ‘em know El Día de Juicio!”
Soon she and her paratroopers parachuted and began their descent into the Jungle, there was no coming back and now they had to put all their hearts into it. She briefed all of them a million times on what was to be expected, the ins and outs of the compound and aid from el Sendero Luminoso – they were all going to move as one Arm, one Heart and one Spirit, for they had nothing to lose and everything to gain. El Día de Juicio truly began.
Sorce: Pixabay
¡Que Viva el Che!
[This is my ending of the story:]
Flowers of a violent red blossomed in the jungle, when the five helicopters, buzzing like huge rhinoceros beetles, vomited their fire of revenge over the compound.
Belately, the tearing song of the machine guns rose from the concrete mass, but a burnt smoke mushroom already emerged higher than the forest canopy.
One of the five helicopters, struck, began to spin on itself, in a crooked rumba that ended with an explosion of metal and blood.
The other guerrilleros, however, jumped to the ground from the belly of the other four buzzing insects, urged the defenders of the compound with a passionate ferocity.
"¡Que viva Yayo Che!" Hails of AK-47.
"¡El Día del Juicio!" Explosions of grenades.
The agony cries of the dying mingled with the invocations of victory, in a deadly fiesta with an ever-fraying tangle, in a thousand trickles of violence that swept through every corner of the courtyard, through every room in the structure, gutted like a peccary assaulted by a jaguar.
Panting and almost erotically excited, as she inhaled from the dilated nostrils a mixed aroma of smoke, blood, sweat and fear, she made her way through the rooms of the villa.
The AK-47 was burning in her hand, its song just stopped. Her right side throbbed, dripping a line of dense blood, like rubber tree sap. The pendejo who had given it to her with a knife had that same blade stuck in the throat, three rooms back.
By now the fiesta was dying, but it would soon be reborn in the celebrations for the success of the Día del Juicio and the liberation of the Rey de Yayo! No matter how salty the Cuban price would be, that was her moment, and nobody else's.
With a kick, she opened the last door.
"Yayo Che?!"
"Maritza..." the man calmly answered. He stood in the middle of the room, seated comfortably on a large white plastic-covered bale, smoking a big cigar as if hell was not spewing itself on Earth around him.
Around him, four gringos, armed with assault rifles were barricaded behind a wall composed of other bales. A couple were injured. Nervous fingers tormented the triggers.
"Calm down, amigos, let me talk to Maritza," El Rey de Yayo said with a half smile.
But she pressed him, her astonishment was already mounted in fury:
"Aureliano! You! We... They ?! "
"Yes Maritza, I am not a prisoner, you have come to free me, but I have made an agreement with them."
"¡Conchetumadre!"
"I understand you, you are full of disappointment and hatred for me, but think, with what do we get the weapons for the lucha del proletariado? With this!"
He tapped on the large plastic-covered bale.
"Coca!"
Maritza felt herself failing. A sour spill rose up from her belly to her throat, while the gringos, pointing rifles at her, approached, circumspect like rats.
"You, me, the government, the gringos, the Cubans... everyone wants the same thing, coca. And growing coca, our farmers will always be part of the capitalist system, no matter to whom they sell it. There’s no escape! "
While rapacious hands ripped off the gun from Maritza, el Yayo Che approached, and wrapped his arms around her. She was as rigid as a piece of metal.
However, the guerrillera caught a glimpse of the ancient light in Aureliano's eyes as he touched her lips with his.
"Maritza, the pueblo needs to understand that they will never be free, if they don’t break the coca circle."
Something hard pressed under his shirt, against their wombs, tight against each other.
The gringos understood too slowly.
The last kiss of Aureliano and Maritza was the last gift of Yayo Che to his people. A kiss so explosive to vaporize the entire yearly harvest of coca of the VRAEM*.
*Valley of the rivers Apurímac, Ene and Mantaro
This is my belated entry for the week #28 of the awesome contest held by @f3nix: Finish the Story and earn Steem Basic Income Shares (and now, earn some STEEM too).
I know, I’m out of time, I’m out of the 500 words limit. This story will not qualify for the contest, but I wanted to publish it anyway, since I had a big fun writing it, and I would thank @theironfelix for this! His crackling and caliente action-movie start, gave me a lot of inspiration!
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Is it wrong to praise the competition so highly that you tarnish your own piece by comparison? Well, here I go. This is the best, so far, in my opinion. Pshaw to the 500 word limit. Poof to the deadline. This is good. Cleanly written. No padded descriptions. Clear narrative, linked accurately to the story begun by @theironfelix. There is a twist, but not a showy device. A true surprise, that makes sense. These are impassioned ideologues, who place the value of their lives below that of a social/political cause.
You turn to a staccato style to match the action, when that enhances the piece:
There's more, but I'll stop now. Great writing, @marcoriccardi
Thank you, you're so kind! My pleasure in writing it, pushing on a certain romantic pulp exaggeration I borrowed from Luìs Sepùlveda novels, was big.
I'm glad I transmitted it to you!
I’m glad you published this and I’m glad you didn’t cut it down. It’s exactly the length it needs to be! I love the poetic imagery and the way those images are presented in flashes. A cool twist and a satisfying ending round it all off nicely! Kudos!
Thank you! I usually have no mercy in cutting down pieces of story reducing it below 500, but sometimes I think it's good like that, furthermore this time I was out of the contest ;)
Fantastic piece of work. Thank you for publishing, it was a great read.
Fantastic piece of
Work. Thank you for publishing,
It was a great read.
- sarez
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Thank you for reading!
Like how the words paint pictures. Great short story.
This was exactly what I was trying to do ;) Thank you!