The jungle loomed tall and dark around Ramon’s makeshift sentry post high in a ceiba tree. If he turned and squinted through the growth behind him, he could just make out the moonlit peaks of a couple of tents half a mile away, the only visible details of the rebel camp he was standing watch over. The screech and buzz of the jungle night rang in his ears. He thought bitter thoughts of the even more bitter coffee in his cup. When all this business finished, when el Presidente was finally deposed and some measure of justice restored to the nation, Ramon would sit in the finest cafe in the capital from morning until night and drown the memories of war with the sweet, strong flavor of real coffee. Until then, he was stuck with this gritty, burnt mud. He wondered idly if the government coffee was any better. Perhaps not – foot soldiers rarely had the best of anything, no matter which side they fought on.

What was that? Through the monkey howls and insect whines, Ramon thought he heard the distant rumble of a large vehicle, like a truck or a personnel carrier. Yes, there was something out there, probably on the road down the hill. Ears locked onto the sound now, Ramon heard it come to a definite stop, followed by hushed but stern voices and what sounded like many men moving through the brush. It could only be a government patrol. A misstep now would mean the end of everything: of the revolution, of every man in the camp, of Ramon himself. He scrambled down the rope ladder as quietly as possible, gently landing on the ground, and tiptoed quickly toward the camp.

“This is number 52474! Danger! Federal troops ascending the northern slope! Evacuate! Over!” Ramon breathlessly whispered into his Bell South 22 Channel FRS/GMRS 2 Way Wristwatch Communicator. He knew it boasted a 1.5 mile hypothetical range on FRS channels 1-4 and GMRS channels 15-22, but would it carry his warning through half a mile of thick forest? “Message received, 52474,” came the reply through Ramon’s headset. “Report to camp immediately for evacuation.”

By the time Ramon got back to the clearing, all the tents were collapsed and packed away, the men already filing through the trees toward the border. The government patrol was disappointed. The revolution was not lost. The people were not defeated. And after many more hard months full of struggle, Ramon had his coffee in the capital.

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