There was small arms firing (guns and riffles) going on between the Chilean soldiers and the folks of the mountain city, San Jeronimo, in the Mantaro Valley region, in the Andes of Peru (the Pacific War, was going on). Civilian, Angel Mayta Rivera, with fierce eyes burning red, with sparks of yellow, several shooting revolvers and riffles stacked up on a wooden box by him, he shot one round after the other like a madman, like a crazy demon, like a machinegun, he was killing Chilean soldiers one after another, as if he was shooting birds out of the sky, the Chileans fell one after the other.

There were other Peruvian civilians fighting, along with the soldiers, but none as aggressive like him, Angel.

Several of the soldiers nearby him, looked amazingly at his proficiency, and daring, if not reckless shooting, but with results.

One soldier telling the other, "He must be some new volunteer; I've never saw him before."

Because of his accuracy in shooting, and bravery, blood poured like wine on the streets of San Jeronimo, over the brows of the Chilean soldiers, screaming with wide open mouths, and yellowish teeth, yet like a wildcat, he would not stop. The Captain told two of his soldiers to go and guard the rear that this civilian soldier, appeared not to need any of their assistance. This would prove a wise move, killing the Chilean soldiers whom circled about, to find a weak entrance into their trenches, and other battle arrangements.

In the far distance, both Chilean and Peruvian soldier lay helplessly wounded, visible by one another, none allowing the other to rescue them. Behind the enemy was an old adobe house, It seemed to the Captain, as he looked at this daredevil, civilian fighter, he was shooting every soldier that tried to enter it. Hour after hour, soldiers half naked, the sun on top of everyone, the battle continued; dogs being shot, while running here and there in the way, as well as horses and chickens, all lay dead among the human flesh rotting in the sun.

Then, both sides unable to win the other, the Chilean commander retreated, to fight another day, left the city, and the dead where they lay.

It was at this point, the Peruvian Army, mostly civilians, regrouped, and were accounted for, all except that wildcat of a man who shot perhaps, and killed fifty to a hundred enemy. The Captain looked here and there, asked soldier after soldier if they had seen him, but no one did after the retreat.

Then, commanded the Captain, "Let's take over the adobe house over there," pointing to where the soldier had killed several men trying to enter the premises, needing the house perhaps for a headquarters. Thus, the Captain and three solders went to talk to the owner, if indeed there was one left.

They entered the adobe house, and saw an old man dead, blood all over his face, on the floor, then looking at a ladder, and up into a loft, saw a woman with a child, perhaps six-months old, holding it firmly against her breasts, then appeared a man, the father of the child, and the Captain caught his breath, continuing to look up into this attic like refuge at what appeared to be the madman, the one who was shooting everyone, who really forced the Chileans to retread. He had no blood on him, not a spot, not a hair out of place, no dirt on his face, not even a weapon in his presence; the Captain grateful for his man's work, was even a little fearful as he stood there speechless for a moment.

Said the Captain, in a strange almost echoing voice,

"Were you not just out there fighting?"

The man looked at his wife, his wife said, "No, he's been right here by my side all the time, since the fighting started, why?" Then she pleaded, "Please do not take him into your war, I need him here with my child and me?"

The man never said a word, but looked straight into the captain's eyes, the captain not really seeing his eyes, but remembering the eyes of the madman, the fire in them, then said, "Although we could use a hundred like him, Mrs., I think he has dune his duty-at least to my satisfaction."

Then the captain and his soldiers left the premises, all somewhat mystified, and went to another home to make their headquarters.

Written at the Café, "Mia Momma," in El Tambo, Peru; 9-18-2008

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com