Cabocolo.

- Cabocolo, De Sylvia.

they faced each other as the smoke twirled in the air like a baton, both men sitting on fine red cotton, the train flowing through scenery, piece by piece. They had both been sidelined from the Paraguayan war, because of an internal spleen injury, but the real reason rather seemed that they were kept for another reason, and this would be it. 

"the city of concrete" Tangara De Serra, in the state of Mato Grasso. "Palma gave us a shelter in the north region, in a small hut with equipment, and we'll be supported quietly." Cabocolo spoke quietly to Sylvia, moving his eyes low. Slyvia nodded, feeling a few steps behind him. 

'they've made it.' he turned around, looking at his men.

'De maria'

'Argentino'

'Permentera'

'Vasquez'

'Riquelme'

And these were going to be the 5 men who will spread apart the sections of soldiers, penetrating each region in the state, trying to stop the coup d'état.  Sylvia blew his cigarette, looking at the men surrounding them, "have you chosen your men yet?" boys, they were children, acting as men. The men nodded at each other before answering, "Yes, we have chosen" they looked far outside the window, seeing the train slowly approach the city, and the sun slowly fell low, painting the sky red and yellow. At a seconds time, all of the men turned their eyes to the back of the train.

&

staring at the red and yellow sky through a slit in the metallic wall, Trem held his thigh as he leaned in the back of a cargo container, his nose smelling the sweat and fear of the other 100 or so kids surrounding him. All lost and contained, these kids were orphans, abandoned, or the children of those whom betrayed the leaders of the country- they had no right to persist, they were thrown into water to drown and feed the sea ground. He remembered the faint ocean he woke up to, the life before he was thrown into here, etched into nothingness, sitting alone yet surrounded by children his age, some even younger. His eye twitched to far east corner, hearing soft crying, seeing a child 4-6 years younger, wearing a soiled diaper, being viciously beaten and laughed at by teenagers probably a decade older. Trem sighed and looked to the other corner, ignoring the now loud wails echoing the steel walls. He scanned each corner, seeing nothing but impending fear and dog packs of denial ridden teenagers, acting out for status and rep, those meant to die, and he did not want to see anymore, burying his face into his hands. 

he was around 14 years old.

as the sleep deprived crust near the corners of his eye dried, he leaned his back on the cargo, stretching out his legs with the tiny amount of space he had, staring weakly at the sunset, waiting for sunrise. He did not know of his task, he did not even know where he was, and if you asked him, he did not even know if he was alive.

&

as the sun rose, bright yellow light hit the cheeks of Riquelme and Sylvia, the cold central air now mixed with faint nicotine smoke, they began to chat.

"Riquelme..." he looked at the children nearby, "you’ll have the smallest... and the most capable squad" smoke escaped from his chapped lips, “5 kids… all ya need. Make sure they ain’t too big, then they’ll get their balls tied up, and if they’re too small they’ll get cut off.” Riquelme nodded, “13…14 year olds hm?” He knew, and every warlord knew, that was the most impressionable age.

“The thrill of rebellion gives them strength, but they have not yet been consumed” it was perfect, for all of them. 

&

Hernan Crespo.

He had friends and family all over the place, they had been in the city for his whole life, and his father had recently retired before dying of pancreatic cancer near the location of his post office, dying in the same hospital which many of his female cousins worked at. That was his city, the city of Tangara De Serra, it didn’t matter if he was Brazilian or not, he grew up there and witnessed the fall and ostracism of people in his hometown. Hernan, the honorable, was born in Paraguay, such was his family, before they legally emigrated decades back. He had been a local military student, working and studying at the university of “Los Borges.” Getting contracts all over Brazil and getting embedded in the war and military culture. It was after Palma overthrew the previous administration, was that there was a spike in Paraguayan- Brazilian crime, and that military contracts were soon being submitted and transferred near the borders and locations where Paraguayans thrives in big groups, where they had “settled” rather that be legal or illegal. And that was until they had received a contract from Palmas man himself, ‘Gentle giant.’ The orders were too bring up local drunkards men as ‘immigration police’ and round up the Paraguayan people, legal or illegal. That, was only the start of it.

What would happen, is that they would get guns and artillery, and start to slaughter small parts of Paraguayan people during the war, and blame it on a phantom ‘resistance’ starting a genocide, and this was going to accumulate in his city- 

“Tangara De Serra.”

He had been unable to be himself, as the brilliant , soon to be military specialist engineer started to recruit his family and friends into an underground peoples group, which later became a local militia, to protect the Tangara De Serra, and begin a coup de’tat to save his people-

He could not say anymore, not now.

Tears fell.