"Any objections?" asked Pablo. The room was silent. "Good," he said. "We strike before dawn."
As the congregation started to dissipate, Pablo noticed a woman walking towards him. She was not the beautiful one, but she possessed admirable courage for a woman.
"Pilar," greeted Pablo, "What are you doing here? You should be keeping the bed warm for me."
"Give me a gun," said Pilar, "I want to fight, too."
Pablo smirked, and then threw back his head as he let out a cackle. "Well enough, woman. Here. You got it."
Pilar caught the rifle Pablo threw her, felt it with her hands, and gave a stern smile. As she went out, an old man with a completely bald head approached Pablo.
"Commander," he whispered, "The phone lines are cut."
"Very well, old man. Now, I have a new task for you. Help me with these," said Pablo as he pointed to a large canvas bag, packed full and heavy.
"Aye, Pablo. Let's go."
"Not yet, old man," replied Pablo, "we can't have them find it before the attack. There's still several more hours. Go and get some rest."
"Good. I'm tired as a drunkard."
As the old man went out the door, so did Pablo. But he did not head to his house, where Pilar awaited him. Instead, he disappeared into a dark ally, where a specially selected band of young men stood smoking.
"Ah, there you are, Pablo. You almost killed us all from standing in the cold for so long," said a man with a black, menacing goatee.
"Sorry, my boys. But get used to it, you're going to be standing around in the cold all night tonight," said Pablo with a grin.
The man with the beard groaned, and stuck out his hand, palm-up. Pablo handed...