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Enrique:
Terrorist Or Patriot?
Slaughterhouse Chile
Eric Lindblom
September 11, 1973
Shoot on sight! Who? Shoot him!
“Get down!” Enrique shouted. A military jeep roared past, its machine gun firing short bursts at just about anything.9 There were no dogs or cats left in the neighborhood: target practice. Blood was everywhere. A dove flew past.
Enrique was a member of the MIR. Some people thought he was a terrorist. He didn’t think so. They were out after curfew on the night of the military coup. The military had orders to shoot on sight.
“That was too close,” Enrique’s BRP10 partner, Lalo, yelled above the racket.
“Let’s fire back!” Enrique said excitedly.
“You crazy? They’d be all over us,” Lalo replied.
Another jeep sped past tipping around the corner. It ran over a Coca Cola bottle in the street. It was full and exploded splashing glass everywhere: Chaos.
“I’m going to shoot,” Enrique promised. He brandished his revolver wildly.
“You do, I’ll blow you away,” Lalo threatened. He sneered.
“No way,” Enrique said.
“Well, maybe not but just the same,” Lalo said. The first jeep returned firing at windows. Hot lead splattered everywhere. “Duck!” The jeep went on two wheels around the corner, bullets going wild.
Enrique looked down the street after the jeep. He noticed a form sprawled on the sidewalk. He approached, looked, kept close to the ground. Enrique ducked behind a low, brick wall; looked quickly again. He saw a woman there twitching, moaning. He went closer. Heavy gunfire had obliterated her face. Enrique blanched. She was shielding a baby who began to cry. “Good God!” Blood flowed into the gutter. Lalo came closer, tentative and afraid.
“What?” Lalo demanded harshly. He looked at Enrique.
“Baby,” Enrique replied stuttering uncontrollably.
“Quiet!” Lalo whispered.
“There’s a baby, here,” Enrique managed.
“So what?” Lalo said flatly.
“So, we take it. We save it,” Enrique said.
Lalo rolled his eyes and focused on the baby. He looked at the woman. She lay still. He glanced at the baby half hidden in the woman’s clothing. He didn’t care any more. Lalo had lost something. He looked at the woman’s ruin of a face and shrugged his shoulders.
“I know this woman,” Enrique said in shock. He looked twice to be sure; he barely believed. The woman was familiar. He looked at her hands grasping the baby.
“Kiss my ass,” Lalo said.
“No, really. I recognize this bracelet,” Enrique said as horror spread across his face.
“No way,” Lalo commented face expressionless.
“My mother gave it to her,” Enrique said. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.
“Your mother,” Lalo said.
“It’s Isabel, she went to our church,” Enrique added.
“Figures,” Lalo said.
Enrique lifted the baby now covered in blood. He wiped his brow, left a bloody streak. Both dashed behind the low wall as military jeep lights lit their area. They left the baby for a minute next to its mother and scrambled. Fire strafed, just where they’d been, hitting the woman. As the jeep passed, Enrique dashed back to retrieve the baby. Bullets had cut it in half. He grabbed for it. “Angelita!” A leg came off in his hand. “For the love of God!” Enrique exclaimed. He ran to the gutter and vomited.
“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Lalo yelled. He didn’t care about any baby.
“Yeah,” Enrique said weakly. He dropped the baby’s leg and retched.
“Let’s paint a wall. Let’s paint Kill The Pigs,” Lalo suggested making a face.
“No, I have to get back to the university before I am missed,” Enrique said suddenly looking tired. He aged visibly as he stood.
“Chicken!” Lalo challenged.
“I’ll come again,” Enrique promised saying anything to diffuse dread slowly overtaking him. He looked once more at the mother and baby. Enrique went white. He took the bracelet and put it in his pocket.
“O.K.,” Lalo conceded.
Lalo and Enrique began the difficult trip to the university ducking behind every wall, using every trick they knew just to stay alive. Enrique was thinking he’d bring Francisco out next time. He had tried to get Pablo and failed. Pablo was no help. He wouldn’t even store the arms Enrique had.
“So, what about the rifles?” Lalo asked Enrique changing the subject anyway he could.
“We’ll cache them,” Enrique said smugly.
“Yeah, right. Where?”
“There’s this disabled tank at the Maipu Open Market.” Enrique said distractedly.
Typical military issue?”
“Yeah, few work right,” Enrique explained.
“Under their noses,”
“Right. Best place,” Enrique said.
“They think the arms are at the university?”
“I think so,” Enrique said.
Enrique was smart. Arms storage in a disabled military tank was genius. Lalo said so. He had automatic rifles and larger weapons. Tanks were all over the streets. Some were active, others not. Arms had to go somewhere and Enrique couldn’t get them into the university.
They heard voices, ducked into the old Maipu open market. They saw a Carabinero Police patrol doing a house-to-house search ( s). The Police were easy to evade. Enrique and Lalo heard the sound of automatic rifle fire. People were being run out of their homes into the street. It was very dark. Enrique couldn’t see much. He thought the gunfire was from FN FAL automatics. He was glad it was dark: the Police patrol couldn’t see them. Lalo signaled to go left then forward. Keep low; lead is flying Enrique thought. He could catch a stray. Once out of range, they could talk.
“Close call,” Enrique wiped his forehead and left a smear of baby’s blood.
“Not really,” Lalo said.
“Guess you are right,” Enrique admitted.
“They’re pretty stupid like Padre Gatica,” Lalo said recalling the legendary dumb Padre from Chilean history.
“Good thing,” Enrique concluded.
“Now what?” Lalo asked looking for some action. He glanced quickly to the right then the left. Lalo shivered.
“Now, the university for me,” Enrique said knowing he may be missed.
“Good...” Lalo said.
“I’ll be back,” Enrique promised.
“Good luck,” Lalo said.
“Thanks,” Enrique answered.
As they neared the university, they split up. It was too dangerous to stay together.
Enrique hid his pistol and sneaked into the university. He noticed a truck was moving a heavy machine gun to a building across the street. Storage, he figured, they have that problem too. He was wrong. Quickly, he went into the interior of the university.
“So, what’s up?” Enrique said as saw his group of students. Pablo, and Victor were just leaving.
“Not much,” Victor said over his shoulder as he left. Enrique noticed Francisco. He looked upset. He always seemed upset. Enrique wondered how stable he was. This is a guy who would leap off a cliff before he, even, looked, Enrique thought.
Francisco was like a child Enrique knew when he was a kid: Guido. He had just moved from the country and didn’t know anything. Francisco was like that even though he’d spent his life in
Victor came back for a second just to say: “I have to check in at the office. Cecilia may have messages.”
Victor broke Enrique’s train of thought. Maybe Victor will sing to us today. “God, I need some inspiration,” Enrique thought weakly. Victor’s music calmed his racing heart. Though he wouldn’t show it, his mind was on the edge of disaster.
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