Click.
When the crew of the other saw this, they shook hands.
Click.
The officer who had gone up the hill now came down it, apparently unhurt.
Click.
The soldiers who had been fanned out on both sides of the road were now summoned to the guns. Some of them picked up the sleds and ran with them to the trucks. Others began picking up the fired cartridge cases and putting them into the now empty ammunition cans. When the cans were full, the soldiers started stuffing their pockets with the empties that didn’t fit in the cans.
Click.
Casa Chica did not seem to be on fire, but what looked like smoke was coming out of where the windows had been and from the holes in the tile roof.
The soldiers who had manned the Maxims came to attention and rendered the Nazi salute when the officer who had come down the hill walked up to them.
Click.
He returned the salute and then offered them cigarettes from a silver case and finally shook hands with each of them.
Click.
The officer who had been at the Chevrolet came up to them and again salutes were exchanged.
Click.
The officer went to one of the soldiers picking up brass and said something to him, whereupon the soldier and another soldier ran to the trucks. They ran back a moment later, this time carrying Schmeisser MP38 machine pistols, which they gave to the soldiers who had manned the Maxims.
Click.
The sergeant and others were now urging all the soldiers to move more quickly back to the road and onto the trucks. This was accomplished in a very short time, and then the trucks and the Chevrolet started to drive away.
Click.
This left the officer, the four men who had manned the Maxims, and another man who had appeared from somewhere standing alone by the side of the road.
Click.
Now what?
They started walking up the hill and soon disappeared from sight.
Stein changed film, just to be sure.
Five minutes later, there came the sound of more gunfire. Not much. A ragged burst of shots, as if weapons had been fired simultaneously on command, and one or two of the shooters had been a little late in complying. And then another shot, and a moment later, another.
“We go now,” one of the old Húsares said.
They lowered Stein first out the window to the ground, one on each arm, and then used his shoulders as a ladder to climb down themselves.
They walked toward the gate. They were almost there when the gray Ford with the Frigorífico Morón corporate insignia on its doors appeared.
That’s right, I forgot. Rodríguez told them to hide it across the street.
They got in that and rode up the hill.
Four bodies were sprawled close together in just about the center of the la nding strip. Two were on their stomachs, one on his back, and the fourth on his side. A fifth body was on its stomach halfway up the stairs leading to the verandah of Casa Chica, and the sixth on his stomach on the runway twenty meters from the others, as if he had been shot in the back trying to run away.