Chapter 15: A Matter of Life and Death

The last day of May was Tupac Umachik’s second birthday. He was my very first child, a great boy, taller than all the others, but unfortunately a bit heavy for his size because his mother, our cook Luisa, had spoiled him with lots of sweets and Coca juice. Ramona and Luisa had prepared a little party. All eight children born in 2017 were allowed to attend. They were all boys, with one exception, Florence’s little Laia. She was a funny and lovely girl. All the children were so wonderfully healthy and could already walk by themselves, and the best thing was that they always laughed so heartily that it lifted my spirits.

I had intended to focus on more important things that afternoon, checking out our weapons and learning how a Stinger missile works, but when I saw the happy group of children trying to move to the music, clapping and cheering, all I could think about was them. Our kindergarten teacher, Willka, was in charge of the party and tried out little games. It was wonderful to see how enthusiastic the children were, how they ran and tried so hard to pin the tail on the donkey. Some of them seemed clumsy, but it was fun to watch. I laughed the hardest when the older children had to hide. Two of them just closed their eyes and thought no one could see them.

Our doctor had examined the six children from the village and the Casa before the party. She came to me completely surprised. “I am not a paediatrician, but I must tell you that all the children are in excellent health. They were bigger and heavier than the average two-year-old in Europe; they were agile and happy. Best of all, they can all speak a few words and recognise things in pictures, often naming them correctly. Little Michael and my Bruno are even forming little sentences. I’m delighted. Well done, my darling.”

“Why me? It’s the lovely mothers who bring up their children so well, who take care of them and learn and practise with them.”

“You’re right, Michael. The mothers are doing a wonderful job. Yet all these children are developing above average. Either it’s your chromosomes or it’s the special conditions here in our paradise valley, maybe both.”

“Moni, I don’t have a comparison, but what I am experiencing here today is so uniquely beautiful. Just look at the children sitting at the long children’s table, spooning their sweet manioc porridge. It doesn’t get any better than that.”

We laughed as the two sets of twins fed each other. Other children soon followed. The table and their clothes were a mess. Uma used his fingers to move porridge from the table to his mouth. Two children were licking their plates. It was just a wonderful experience.

As I was about to retire to my study, five children called out to me: “Tayta, tayta” and stretched out their little arms to me. I knew the Quechua word for ‘dad’, smiled proudly and went back to the table. Each of the children received a kiss on the forehead. Uma, who was always kissed on the lips by his mother Luisa, opened his porridge-smeared mouth to me, but only got a peck on the forehead.

The two Indian mothers from the village kept repeating two words. “Hutac raymi, hutac raymi”. Olivia translated it as “A great party, a great party”. Then she whispered to me, “Kuyaykim” and kissed my lips. I knew that Quechua word for “I love you”, but Olivia knew how to flatter me with it.

Willka, who had led the party so brilliantly, looked at us briefly, blushed and looked down. Was it jealousy or the desire to be caressed in the same way? I took her in my arms and was amazed to feel her snuggle up to me lovingly, trying to absorb my body heat. I understood her feelings. She was happy with my praise, proud of her performance at the party, but she longed for love. I could not and would not give it to her. Claudio, the father of her unborn child, had only used her; he had not given her love. Gently, I moved away from her and kissed her forehead. Her sad eyes told me that she wanted more, that she longed for the closeness of a loving man. At that moment I decided to find her a partner, a man who would respect and love her as a woman. But it would be difficult. In my opinion, there was little hope for a pregnant young woman.

After dinner, it was finally time to take care of the surface-to-air missiles. I was certain an attack on our valley was imminent and I wanted to be prepared. The carefree attitude of our little ones that I had just witnessed only reinforced my resolve to do everything in my power to protect their lives and health.

Two days earlier, I had brought a Stinger missile into my study in one of the not-so-heavy suitcases. The type designation was FIM-92E. I had learned from Wiki that this surface-to-air missile was a further development of the Stinger used previously. I unpacked the parts very carefully. Luckily, there was a small manual in English. I even found videos on You Tube that explained in detail how to use the missile. After a relatively short time, I knew how to use the weapon, but it was impossible to use. An important part was missing, the so-called battery cooling unit, without which no missile could be fired. Damn it, the weapon I had pinned my hopes on was useless to us.

There were some handwritten notes in Russian. I asked Lenya and her mother to help. They studied the notes, signed by Gennadi, the Russian security man. Lenya found the solution. Four special boxes, each containing four MPUs, would be kept in the air-conditioned dungeon. I ran down the basement stairs like a madman. Out of breath, I searched the dungeon. The crates were hidden, but easy to find. I breathed a sigh of relief. Now we had two cooling systems for each of the eight missile units. With the help of her daughter, Daryna translated for me how sensitive this component was and that once screwed into the weapon, it could only be used for a maximum of 40 to 45 seconds and could not be reused. I had learnt this from the video, but Daryna was proud to explain it to me in broken English. I stroked the two women’s hair with joy.

“Does your mother know how to shoot, Lenya?” I asked, rather jokingly, as the two Russians tried to retreat. I was astonished to learn that Daryna had been trained in the Kalashnikow and the light machine gun years ago. The Russians had obviously been preparing for battle in Ukraine. I couldn’t understand the politics. Two closely related peoples were being pitted against each other, or so I thought at the time. It was all about power and profit. Those in power had no interest in the people or the soldiers. At that time, I was convinced that the Russians and their leader Putin would act reasonably. A few years later, when the Russians attacked Ukraine, I saw that I had been naive.

“Daryna, please teach me how to use a machine gun tomorrow.” She agreed immediately.

On Tuesday we set up two machine gun nests on the roof of the guesthouse and another on the roof of the palazzo. Daryna was great. She had me up and running with the machine gun in no time. In the afternoon we told everyone about the shooting exercise. Everyone had to stay indoors while I fired several test shots from the Palazzo down the hillside about eight hundred metres away. My shots were very scattered, but I was able to use the machine gun. Daryna showed me how to adjust the sights for different distances.

Then she took the weapon, mounted a telescopic sight, and set the distance to 800 metres. She pointed to a tree on the opposite slope. She was a professional, hitting the thin trunk with precision and firing a second shot until the tree fell. I looked at the Russian with an open mouth. That had been incredible. She smiled, almost embarrassed, but her eyes sparkled with pride. I took her in my arms and hugged her. She was a great asset to our team and our defence force.

Of course, I tried shooting again and hit better, but I couldn’t come close to Daryna’s accuracy. Nevertheless, we had new, serviceable weapons. In the evening, we left the guns where they were, covered them with plastic sheeting and copper wire, and covered everything with plywood. We laid out polystyrene sheets for kneeling on and placed the ammunition boxes near the doors of the roof structures. An important step in our defence had been taken.

The surface-to-air missiles were our only defence against an air attack. We urgently needed to test them because, although I knew how to use them in theory, I wanted to test a missile, I wanted to see it fly. I had planned to do this on Wednesday after class.

We drove to the steep hillside opposite our headquarters, perhaps six hundred metres from the Palazzo. Knowing that a Stinger could find its target independently using heat sensors, we made a big fire. It was raining lightly, so the fire would soon go out of its own accord. We piled up scraps of paper and cardboard, plastic waste, and other things on a plateau. It was difficult, but what could be done? Eventually we had a nice flickering fire. We added dead trees and big branches. After ten minutes the flames were several metres high.

We drove back to our headquarters and went up on the roof. We sounded the siren and Ramona told the four people on the walkie-talkie that we were going to try a rocket. I handled the Stinger FIM-92E rocket carefully, which according to the Internet is a relatively modern version of the defence weapon. I screwed the battery-cooling unit into the weapon, activated the search mechanism and released the safety catch. I tried several times, but the missile would not fire. Daryna, who had come with me, pointed to a red button. When I pressed it, the weapon somehow began to move and a melodic beep sounded. The rocket on my shoulder seemed to want to take off on its own. I stood near the parapet facing east, where the fire was crackling, took a quick aim with the sights and pulled the trigger.

The launch was now far too easy, without me aiming properly. The rocket hissed downwards a little, then straightened up and flew in an arc towards the slope. A little later, the hillside literally exploded. The rocket had really chosen its target based on the heat of the fire. A direct hit! We didn’t have enough rockets for a second attempt, but a second person should be able to operate the weapon.

Ramona had documented all the steps on her video camera, how to release the safety catch, how to switch on the aiming device and how to press the magic red switch. I asked which of my followers would dare to do it. Babette wanted to test the weapon right away, but I needed her to defend the driveway. Luca volunteered. We tried, but the launcher was too heavy for him to aim. The two young women Valentina and Adriana, also had problems holding the gun on their shoulders, probably more out of fear. They had enough strength. Anyone reading this who has any military knowledge will probably not be able to stop laughing, but what else could we do but consider everything first and try out the weapon in an amateurish way.

I looked around, wondering which of the older students I could assign this complicated task to. Suddenly Daryna Vernushina took the gun, screwed in a BCU, put the gun on her shoulder and shouted something at me. Before I could answer, there was a beep. The missile vibrated on her shoulder and was already on its way. The second explosion on the slope roared through our valley. I would never have believed that the Russian woman had so much strength and determination. It was actually against my orders. A second person was supposed to practise aiming, but Daryna hadn’t understood, and now at least we had someone who could operate the weapon. Of course she got a kiss of appreciation.

The next day we discovered that the explosion had sent chunks of rock flying more than a hundred metres through the air. We had successfully tested two surface-to-air missiles.

The following Saturday the younger students had classes. There was a lot of hard work going on in the village and in the fields. The older students were busy in our large garden, cleaning the paths and beds and harvesting vegetables and potatoes behind the Palazzo. They took turns looking after their children. Stepping out onto the terrace, I was greeted by a peaceful scene. It was cool, but the sun kept peeking through the clouds. For me, it was the best time to do an alarm exercise. I wanted to see how everyone in the valley would react unprepared to a dangerous situation. I wanted it to be as surprising as possible for everyone.

I only let our doctor in on the secret. She was to record what happened in the Palazzo with her camera after the first siren sounded. I drove our Landcruiser to the container depot and stopped at the guesthouse. Alejandra and Carmen were in the kitchen preparing lunch. I laughed at Olivia. She was out in the garden harvesting carrots and onions but left the work to her son Michi. He proudly carried each carrot to his mother’s basket. I waved to them and drove to the container yard, the former ore processing plant. Here and in the main building we had electric sirens that repeated the agreed danger signal three times when a button was pressed.

I recorded all my observations on my new mobile phone. “It’s 10:40 a.m. I’m setting off the alarm in the container depot.”

The other announcements delighted me. “10:40. First the siren in the palazzo goes off, then almost simultaneously in the village and at the guesthouse. I drive to the guesthouse and climb onto the roof. It’s 10:42 a.m. There’s not a soul to be seen from here. The big garden has been completely cleared. The women in the Casa were already in the cellar. I hear screams and animal noises from the village. Everything is going according to plan.”

“It is 10.46. The village is deserted. I searched the huts. This time everyone has retreated to the camp near the bat cave. I hurry to follow the villagers on foot. I reach the last of the old people just before they reach the huts. Hualpa, the leader of the village evacuation, secured the stragglers. He has a submachine gun in his hand. Great”.

The old people were hiding in the shelters. Some stood in the cave, trembling. The exercise had been a great success. I was proud of everyone, hugged Hualpa gratefully and tried to explain that the exercise was over, but we had language problems. When he understood and told the villagers, there was anger. Some cursed me, thinking it was a real threat.

As I drove back to the palazzo with Hualpa, we were stopped at the ore processing plant with warning shots. Sula and Babette had taken up positions here, showing their determination to fight. I got out, raised my arms, and shouted: “Thank you. The exercise has just been successfully completed!”

The two teenagers came over laughing. They just wanted to prove how seriously they had taken the exercise. We gave the all-clear in the guesthouse. This time the Palazzo’s security gate was locked and secured. The young women were perfect.

After lunch we evaluated the exercise. I had nothing but praise. Ramona was also full of praise. She told us how the girls had helped their godparents to bring the children into the basement. Daja and Lenya had taken up a defensive position behind the stairs, armed. In the basement, the secret door was locked and covered with a curtain in the same colour as the wall when our doctor checked. Only Mayari, who was heavily pregnant, was allowed to stay in the doctor’s office. Daryna had waved us over. She had manned the machine gun position on the roof. Twelve-year-old Janka had been acting as Vernuschina’s assistant since yesterday, partly because she could speak a little Russian and also because she had been adept at providing ammunition and assisting with the Stinger missile.

We still hoped that we could continue to live in peace and quiet, but it was clear to me that the gang wanted the Rus’s immense valuables. We were sure to be attacked, but since today we were even better prepared.

Meanwhile, two new babies had arrived in our valley. Our physical education teacher, Mayari Oliveira de Lima, had given birth to two boys and named them, like her firstborn, Neymar, after two Brazilian footballers. The birth of Renan and Lucas had been somewhat overshadowed by the general excitement, but I had visited Mayari twice a day and was present during the birth. My main focus was on the safety of our team and the smooth integration of the ten new girls, but the birth of twins, which fortunately went almost without a hitch, was even more important.

Mayari enjoyed every visit to the delivery room and was hungry for praise and recognition. She proudly showed me her breasts, which had grown rapidly in the last few weeks, and the milk flow, which was enough for both boys. She confessed to me how much she had suffered from having what she considered to be the smallest breasts of any teenager, even after her first child. Hugs and kisses several times a day were very important to her.

When I saw the newborn babies sleeping peacefully in their cribs, holding their proud young mother in my arms, I knew once again that these lives had to be protected at all costs. Nothing was more important to me. I climbed onto the roof with determination to check the weapons and position them as best I could.

The weather was fine; the sun was shining. It was dry, but winter was approaching with a cold, blustery wind that almost took my breath away as I stood unprotected on the roof. Yes, we needed warm clothes on the roofs. I took care of that that very afternoon. We didn’t want to be shivering from the cold in case of an attack.

Luisa was desperate to buy some essential items for the kitchen. I was afraid to leave the valley, but our cook begged and begged until I gave in to her insistence. We made a list of the next items that needed to be bought. On Thursday, I planned to take Luisa to Mersto to do the errands that were so important to her. Our cook wanted to learn more about spices and ingredients, and to have one or two women explain recipes to her. My dear Luisa had become ambitious after her new kitchen assistant Qesra did some cooking differently and in some cases better. But things turned out differently. Perhaps it was luck, or even divine intervention, that we didn’t want to leave until after 10 a.m., because on Thursday, 20 June 2019, what we had feared, but fortunately had not yet come to pass, happened, the threat to our peaceful life.