The Andes Dream

At first light, they returned to the place where the screams had died.

One soldier swore he remembered seeing the final glow of a torch there the night before. Now, there was only silence—thick, suffocating silence, as if the jungle itself was watching them intrude.

Blood stained the giant ferns in wide, violent arcs, still dark and wet despite the pale morning mist clinging to the ground. Leaves were torn and bent inward, pointing toward a narrow passage in the undergrowth. There was no body. Only a shredded blue sleeve, half-buried in the mud, and a long, uneven trail where something heavy had been dragged away with purpose.

The jungle had not merely killed the man—it had claimed him. All that remained was the sharp, metallic scent of copper and the deep, unmistakable four-toed prints of the beast that now owned what was left of his soul.

Several soldiers who had failed to sleep the night before crept closer. When they saw what little remained, their faces drained of color. Some turned away immediately, retching. Others stood frozen, unable to look or leave.

Krugger stepped forward.

He followed the trail through the crushed foliage, pushing aside broad leaves slick with blood—and stopped.

The remains lay in a shallow hollow, like an altar carved by claws. The jaguar had begun with the softest parts, as it always did. The chest had been opened with terrifying precision, the organs removed first while the body was still warm. The ribcage was stripped clean, the bones white and glistening beneath the filtered light that broke through the canopy.

There was no head.

The massive canines had likely crushed the skull in the first strike. Whether it had been carried away or consumed entirely, there was no way to tell.

What unsettled Krugger most was the skin.

It had been peeled back with almost surgical efficiency, stripped away by the jaguar's rough, sandpaper-like tongue. What remained was no longer a man, but a skeleton draped in the torn remnants of a Prussian coat, lying in the mud amid the heavy, sweet stench of death.

Mateo stared at the scene and crossed himself."Indeed… a jaguar," he said quietly. "And an expert. It enjoyed the meal—it left nothing behind." He shook his head slowly. "Yesterday, this man was likely laughing, dreaming of a better future. One careless night… and he became dinner."

Krugger frowned.

Something was wrong.

Jaguars killed to eat—but there was no reason to take more than one man.

"Where is the other body?" Mateo asked suddenly, his tone sharpening. "Look for it."

The soldiers hesitated, then glanced at Krugger. He gave a single nod.

They spread out cautiously. After several tense minutes, a voice broke the silence.

"Here—I found it."

This place was different.

The ground was churned into thick mud, trampled and scarred from side to side. Unlike the first body, this one lay almost intact. The limbs were still there. The torso remained whole. Only the internal organs were gone, removed crudely rather than carefully.

Mateo crouched, studying the tracks pressed deep into the mud. His expression darkened, then twisted into a bitter smile.

"The footprints are smaller," he said softly. "More uneven."

He looked up at Krugger.

"Colonel… your men were not only prey." He exhaled. "They were lessons."

Two jaguars had hunted here.

"This one," Mateo gestured to the second body, "was used to teach the cub how to kill. That is why the feeding was clumsy. That is why the body remains."

He paused.

"And that," he added grimly, "is why this poor soul suffered the most."

Mateo, the guide, studied the ground carefully. When he noticed that the tracks near the second body were clearly smaller than the first, he let out a bitter smile.

"Mr. Krugger," he said quietly, "it seems your men were used to teach a cub how to hunt. There were two jaguars. This one…"—he gestured toward the second corpse—"was practice. And because of that, this poor soul likely suffered far longer."

Krugger looked at the remains of his men, his jaw tightening. The thought of being toyed with while bleeding out, reduced to prey for a lesson, made his stomach churn.

"We should have gone after them last night," he muttered.

Mateo shook his head and placed a steady hand on Krugger's shoulder."No, Colonel. That would have been a mistake. The jaguar is not the only danger here. There are snakes, spiders, things that kill without warning." He pointed toward the dead soldier's leg. "He was bitten before he died."

Krugger exhaled slowly, then straightened. He ordered the men to bury the bodies. A short silence followed—no prayers, only bowed heads and clenched fists. Then the march resumed.

This time, every man was tied by rope to three others.

Accidents became more frequent—men slipping in the mud, mules stumbling—but whenever one fell, the others hauled him back up. The jungle could no longer isolate them so easily.

After a long, exhausting descent, the trees finally began to thin. The oppressive darkness lifted, and the land opened into a broad, green hollow.

They had reached the Valley of Urrao.

Krugger allowed himself a rare smile."Finally… civilization."

One of the soldiers laughed softly. "Sir, this place almost looks like Switzerland. Cooler air, open land… and estates." He pointed toward distant farmhouses scattered across the valley. "We might finally get proper sleep."

Krugger surveyed the fields thoughtfully. After a month trapped in the mountains, the sight of grazing cattle felt almost unreal.

He turned to Mateo. "Is there a road from here to Medellín? I don't think the men can handle climbing another range."

Mateo shrugged. "There is a road—but it leads toward Santa Fe. The capital."

Krugger's expression darkened. He knew what that meant. Fanatics. Militias. Men far more accustomed to this land than his own troops. A battle there would be suicide—and if his force was destroyed here, Carlos would be finished.

"There's no other way," Mateo added quietly.

Krugger nodded, resigned.

"Ask if anyone can rent rooms for the men," he ordered. "They've earned real beds. And see if we can buy cattle—meat and salt." He paused, then added with a grim smile, "Especially salt. Twelve days without it is enough."

The arrival of almost two hundred armed men caused immediate panic. Rumors spread quickly—fanatics, disguised Spanish troops, executioners marching in disguise. Doors were barred. Some villagers armed themselves.

Krugger used Mateo as a translator, explaining again and again that they were mercenaries bound for Medellín, not soldiers of the Crown. The fear didn't vanish, but it dulled.

Matters nearly turned violent more than once.

In the end, what saved them was the local mayor—an older man who, to Krugger's surprise, spoke German well enough to understand him directly. Thanks to that, tempers cooled, negotiations began, and for the first time in weeks, Krugger felt the weight on his chest loosen—just a little.

"Mercenaries, eh?" said the local magistrate, studying Krugger with open curiosity.

In settlements too small to be considered villas, the highest authority was a local mayor—a representative of the cabildo. His duties were limited but essential: collecting taxes, settling disputes, and organizing defenses against bandits, hostile indigenous groups, or the savage wildlife that plagued the region.

"And you say you're heading to Medellín," the mayor continued. "That would mean you're working for the Gómez family, wouldn't it?"

Krugger raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised."You're aware of the conflict in the province?"

The mayor chuckled softly. "Of course we are. We travel to the capital from time to time—to sell surplus goods and buy what we lack. News travels faster than people think. Still, I must admit I'm surprised the Gómez family managed to hire men like you."

Krugger shrugged. "They took my daughter from me," he replied bluntly. "At my age, there isn't much else that could push me to fight again."

The mayor laughed, though there was no mockery in it."You know, my wife is German as well. That's how I learned the language. She's the daughter of a mining engineer working in Frontino. I was only able to marry her thanks to the old man's support."

Krugger blinked, mildly taken aback."I've heard that marrying someone from a Protestant country isn't well regarded—at least among the colonial elite."

The mayor nodded. "That's true. It's frowned upon in these colonies. But I'm only the mayor of a small settlement; I can hardly be called part of the elite. People here are simple. They just want to live peacefully and put food on the table."

"Understandable," Krugger said. "In that case, could you help us rent some rooms for the men? They need rest. We'd also like to buy a few cows for meat—and salt. I'd be very grateful, and of course, we'll pay."

He produced a small pouch and loosened its strings just enough to reveal the gleam of pure silver Spanish pesos.

The mayor's eyes flicked to the coins, then back to Krugger."Very well. I'll speak to the people. But I must warn you—many will be wary. With your equipment, you could easily shatter their peaceful lives if you chose to become… troublesome."

Krugger nodded, resigned."Has the group of fanatics from the capital sent anyone into this area?"

The mayor studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable."No. We aren't important enough for them—at least not yet." He paused before adding, "However, you should be careful of the local priest. He claims to have no ties to those men in Santa Fe, but few here believe him. After all, both groups answer to the Church."