The Seeds of Fiction by Richard Greene, Bernard Diederich Read Free Book Online

Payne’sleg in a tourniquet and sped off towards the capital, passing two more army posts without incident. They raced through the pre-dawn darkness of the capital and headed straight for the main entrance of the Casernes Dessalines (army barracks), behind the National Palace.
    Pasquet barked an order to the sentry announcing they were bringing in prisoners and drew a confused salute as they sped through the gate. Dominique swung the
taptap
in a sharp U-turn and stopped in front of the administrative offices. They hopped out of the jitney and ran up the steps with Payne following behind.
    They surprised the duty officer and shot him dead before he could reach for his gun. Within minutes Pasquet and his men had managed to overcome the sleeping soldiers and secure the barracks. The troops were locked inside the garrison and forced to sit in their underwear with their hands on their heads. Pasquet worked the phones, trying to recruit his friends in the military. Unfortunately none were willing to take a chance. One of his calls was to the Palace, where Papa Doc answered the phone and the two men had a quick and peculiar exchange of words, with Duvalier telling Pasquet to be a man and face him at the gate of the barracks.
    Outside the Casernes Dessalines Haiti had once again woken to the sound of gunfire. The rumours circulated that a rebel force of two hundred had seized the barracks. The entire army and police apparatus appeared paralysed. Many of the army officers were literally sitting on their hands waiting to see how the scales tilted.
    The early daylight hours gave some of the Duvalierists more courage. The plea came over the radio. ‘Aid your president,’ the announcer shouted. ‘Hated Magloirists have seized the Casernes Dessalines and they have brought foreigners with them, Dominicans!’
    However, few appeared to heed the call. In the downtown area a stream of tradesmen, market women and store employees went about their daily chores, setting up for the day’s business, pretending to ignore the obvious. Market women with baskets loaded with vegetables on their heads walked casually past the National Palace without so much as glancing at the soldiers lying on the ground with rifles at the ready.
    Duvalier himself, dressed in a soldier’s khaki uniform, a combat steel helmet and two pistols at his hips, moved about the place giving orders.
    Pasquet and his men held the barracks and waited for reinforcements to arrive. But Perpignan, a heavy smoker, could not control his craving. He sent out one of the prisoners, who also happened to be Mrs Duvalier’s driver, to fetch a pack of Haitian-made Splendids from a street vendor. A group of Duvalierists seized and interrogated him, learning the truth: there were only eight invaders.
    From there, things got progressively worse for the rebels. The reinforcementsPasquet expected never arrived. Captain Daniel Beauvoir, a friend whom Pasquet believed would side with him and fight Duvalier, arrived with troops from Pétionville and took up firing positions in the military hospital across the streets from the barracks. The four hundred yards separating the Palace and the Casernes Dessalines turned into a free-fire zone. There was a general distribution of pistols to volunteers at the Palace side gate.
    The final assault on the rebels came when the Palace guards opened up on the barracks with a .50-calibre machine-gun, making a terrible din. The rebels returned fire with a .30-calibre. Grenades exploded, and there was a loud cheer as fifty soldiers escaped from the barracks, signalling that it was all over for the invaders. The shooting stopped. The eerie silence that followed was broken when a man ran out of the barracks with a bloody cloth in his hands, yelling frantically that he had the brains of Alix Pasquet.
    Pasquet’s skull had been shattered. He lay face up with open eyes as if gazing into Duvalier’s official portrait hanging on a wall