Counterinsurgency: After smart weapons, smart soldiers

After smart weapons, smart soldiers

REBELLION is as old as authority itself, and so therefore is the business of putting it down. Nearly 2,000 years ago Jewish militants—known as Zealots, hence the English word—took up arms against the world's greatest power and terrorised those deemed collaborators. The Romans dealt with the revolt in Palestine in familiar fashion, laying waste any town that resisted, prompting many to commit suicide rather than suffer capture and, in 70AD, destroying the great Temple in Jerusalem and taking its treasures. “While the holy house was on fire,” records Josephus, “everything was plundered that came to hand, and ten thousand of those that were caught were slain...children and old men, and profane persons and priests, were all slain in the same manner.”

Modern Western armies cannot, as the Romans did, make a wasteland and call it peace. Modern wars are complex affairs conducted “among the people” and, as Sir Richard Dannatt, head of the British army, put it recently, “in the spotlight of the media and the shadow of international lawyers”. In Iraq in the 1920s, Britain's air force pioneered the use of “air policing” to put down rebellious tribesmen on the cheap; today the use of air power often carries big political costs. The greater the accuracy of modern weapons, the louder the outcry when they nonetheless kill or wound civilians. And the wider the reach of the internet, the bigger the impact of propaganda videos showing insurgent attacks against Western forces, regardless of civilian casualties. The British who fought the Mahdist religious rebels in Sudan in the 19th century had no need to worry about provoking attacks in London; today such a campaign would be seen as another front in the jihadagainst the West.

Such bewildering conflict is regarded by some military thinkers as the “fourth generation” of warfare, distinct from those of previous eras: the first generation, of line and column, which culminated with the Napoleonic wars; the second, of machinegun and artillery, which brought about the slaughter of the first world war; and the third, of manoeuvre with tanks and aircraft, which stretched from the second world war to the 2003 invasion of Iraq. Fourth-generation warfare, according to Thomas Hammes, a retired colonel in the American marines, involves loose networks, made more powerful and resilient by information technology. It does not seek to defeat the enemy's forces, but instead “directly attacks the minds of the enemy decision-makers to destroy the enemy's political will”.

Many others, though, regard today's conflicts as variations on age-old irregular warfare, not least Mao Zedong's “protracted war” in China, the Spanish guerrilla attacks against Napoleon's forces in Spain, or even America's war of independence from Britain. Whatever the definition, “small wars” can have big effects. In the past six decades the British have been driven out of Palestine, the French from Algeria, the Americans (and French) from Vietnam, the Russians from Afghanistan and the Israelis from Lebanon.

Can America and its Western allies avoid similar humiliation in Iraq and Afghanistan? Martin van Creveld, an Israeli military historian, argues that insurgencies have been almost impossible to defeat ever since Nazi Germany failed to suppress Josip Broz Tito's partisans in Yugoslavia. Winning such wars requires one of two tactics: extreme restraint and patience, as shown by the British over nearly 38 years in Northern Ireland; or extreme brutality, as shown by Syria in 1982 when the army destroyed much of Hama, a stronghold of Islamist rebels, killing at least 10,000 people. Any other method, says Mr van Creveld, risks being too harsh to win the support of the population but not harsh enough to cow it into submission.

This rule is too stark. Experts point to successes such as the end of the insurgency in El Salvador, the collapse of the Shining Path rebels in Peru, the end of the civil wars in Mozambique and Angola, the demise of the Red Brigades in Italy and of the Red Army Faction in Germany. Much of this debate revolves around the meaning of victory and defeat, as well as the definition of counter-insurgency, civil war, counter-terrorism and so on. One school of thought holds that America's forces had largely defeated the Vietcong in Vietnam when its politicians lost the will to stop North Vietnam's conventional army from overrunning the south. That is to miss the point: in counter-insurgency one side can win every battle, yet lose the war.

LESSONS UNLEARNT

Such arguments are a hot topic at Western military colleges, especially in America. More has been written on counter-insurgency in the past four years than in the previous four decades. The study of small wars was largely abandoned by the United States army in the 1970s as commanders promised “no more Vietnams” and concentrated instead on how to defeat the massed Soviet armies. America's humiliating retreats from Lebanon in 1983 and Somalia in 1994 convinced many Americans that, as Colin Powell, a former general (and later secretary of state), once put it, America should not get involved in “half-hearted warfare for half-baked reasons”. The swift ejection of Iraq's forces from Kuwait in 1991 reinforced such beliefs. Counter-insurgency became a secondary task undertaken mainly by American special forces, which sometimes offered training to friendly governments.

Given the difficulties in Iraq and Afghanistan, American officers are relearning the history of their own interventions in Latin America and, more important, the lessons of British imperial policing. Why, American experts asked, did Britain succeed against communist revolutionaries in Malaya in the 1950s, whereas America failed to defeat the communists in Vietnam in the 1960s and 1970s?

In his 2002 book “Learning to Eat Soup with a Knife” (a title drawn from T.E. Lawrence's “Seven Pillars of Wisdom”, describing the messiness of waging “war upon rebellion”), John Nagl, an American lieutenant-colonel, concluded that British soldiers were better than the Americans at learning from their mistakes. General Sir Gerald Templer, the British high commissioner in Malaya, argued that “the shooting side of the business” was only a minor part of the campaign. Coining a phrase, he suggested that the solution “lies not in pouring more troops into the jungle, but in the hearts and minds of the people”. In contrast, says Colonel Nagl, the Americans in Vietnam remained wedded to “unrestrained and uncontrolled firepower”, despite some work with small units that were deployed in border villages and civil-military reconstruction projects.

British officers are less impressed, saying their predecessors often repeated their errors. During the troubles in Northern Ireland, the arrival of British troops in 1969 was at first welcomed by Roman Catholics. But the army's heavy-handed methods, such as large cordon-and-search operations and the shooting of 13 civilians on Bloody Sunday in 1972, pushed many Catholics into the arms of the Provisional Irish Republican Army.

In any event, the American army and marines have produced a new counter-insurgency manual. One of its authors, General David Petraeus, is now in charge of the “surge” in Iraq. It may be too late to turn Iraq round, and Afghanistan could slide into greater violence. But the manual offers some comfort: it says counter-insurgency operations “usually begin poorly”, and the way to success is for an army to become a good “learning organisation”.

According to Mao's well-worn dictum, guerrillas must be like fish swimming in the “water” of the general population. T.E. Lawrence, helping to stir up the Arab revolt against Turkish rule during the first world war, described regular armies as plants, “immobile, firm-rooted, nourished through long stems to the head”. Guerrillas, on the other hand, were like “a vapour”. A soldier, he said, was “helpless without a target, owning only what he sat on, and subjugating only what, by order, he could poke his rifle at”.

Western armies have unsurpassed firepower, mobility and surveillance technology. Guerrillas' main weapons are agility, surprise, the support of at least some sections of the population and, above all, time. The warren of Iraqi streets and the fortified compounds of Afghanistan compensate for the insurgents' technological shortcomings. The manual, however, attempts to change the army mindset: in fighting an enemy “among the people”, it says, the central objective is not to destroy the enemy but to secure the allegiance of the citizenry. All strands of a campaign—military, economic and political—have to be strongly entwined.

Much of this thinking is drawn from the British experience in Malaya, but conditions today are vastly different. In Templer's day, securing “hearts and minds” did not mean just acting with kindness to win the people over; it also included coercion. Hundreds of thousands of ethnic Chinese, among whom the insurgents mainly operated, were uprooted and moved into guarded camps known as “new villages”, where they were offered land. If the British could not find the fish, they resorted to removing the water.

They also sought to starve insurgents by restricting supplies of food to the population. In some areas rations of rice were handed out in cooked form so they would spoil before they could reach fighters in the jungle. Such measures are unthinkable today. Even the building of separation walls to reduce sectarian killings in Baghdad arouses Iraqi opposition. Checkpoints and curfews now have limited impact.

Templer was both the civil and the military boss. He emphasised policing rather than military operations, and the use of indigenous forces. The majority Malay population largely supported the British. In a peninsula, the borders were relatively well controlled and the rebels had few external sources of support. Above all, the British had full sovereignty over Malaya. They could undercut the insurgents' claim to be fighting colonialism by guaranteeing equal rights, and by promising—and eventually granting—independence.

By contrast, the borders of Iraq and Afghanistan are permeable. Some neighbours are either hostile to the West (Iran) or unable to remove insurgent havens (Pakistan). The powers of America's Coalition Provisional Authority in Iraq lasted a year, long enough for America to make egregious errors, such as disbanding the Iraqi army and removing former Baathists, but not long enough to correct them.

DISCONTINUITY OF COMMAND

In Iraq the American effort is split between the military operations overseen by the generals and the civil and political work conducted by the embassy. In Afghanistan leadership is even more divided. There are two separate Western military commands—the NATO-led International Security Assistance Force, which provides the bulk of the troops, and the American-led Operation Enduring Freedom, which concentrates on hunting “high-value targets”. Alongside these are a myriad of poorly co-ordinated reconstruction agencies.

Coalitions add further complications. Britain, America's only ally of any military significance in Iraq, is slowly leaving. And in Afghanistan, where boots on the ground are in short supply, NATO is wobbly. Many allies refuse to join a fight that has been waged mainly by American, British and Canadian forces, and several are under domestic pressure to bring their troops home. Overt colonialism has died, and with it have gone the large colonial armies. Counter-insurgency requires large numbers of security forces. But the West's all-volunteer forces have progressively cut expensive manpower in favour of technology. They have become infinitely better at finding and destroying things; but the best source of intelligence on the ground is often the soldier on the street with his “Eyeball mark-1”.

Nationalist and pan-Islamic sentiments are much stronger than in the past. Information technology has helped jihadists spread the “single narrative” that Muslims everywhere are under attack, a contention reinforced by America's rhetoric about the “global war on terror”. The internet provides a new and unassailable sanctuary from which to propagandise, organise and share tactics.

Still, the generals plead for more time. They point to Iraq's Anbar province, where Sunni tribes are turning against al-Qaeda. In Afghanistan, says Britain's General Dannatt, “strategic patience” is essential. American officers quote internal studies showing that it takes nine years on average (and often much longer) to defeat insurgencies. Yet perseverance is no guarantee of victory; many campaigns have taken as long, if not longer, to lose.

A growing body of opinion, both in the Pentagon and outside, has concluded that insurrections are best fought indirectly, through local allies. “It is extremely difficult for Western powers to defeat insurgencies in foreign countries in modern times,” says Max Boot, author of “War Made New” (2006). “At the same time, there are very few instances of insurgencies overthrowing a local government. The problem is that Western armies lose the will to maintain imperial domination.” Western forces always have the option of going home; for local governments, though, fighting insurgents is a matter of survival.

A better model than Malaya, argues Mr Boot, is the end of the Marxist insurrection in El Salvador in 1992. American forces did not lead the fighting. Instead, a small contingent of under 100 advisers from America's special forces helped the democratising government reorganise its army and avoid the fate of nearby Nicaragua, which fell to the Sandinistas in 1979. This approach has its own difficulties: America's reputation was tarnished by right-wing Salvadorean death-squads. In the end it was external political factors—the demise of the Sandinistas in Nicaragua, partly caused by an American-backed insurgency, and the collapse of the Soviet Union—that helped bring about a settlement and the incorporation of the guerrillas into a new-found democracy.

David Kilcullen, an Australian colonel and General Petraeus's main adviser on counter-insurgency, says fighting insurgencies in other people's countries is hard. “Running Baghdad is not like trying to police New York City; it's like the Iraqi police trying to run New York City.” Tellingly, he says, Indonesian forces successfully put down an insurrection by the Islamist Darul Islam movement in the 1950s and early 1960s, but could not quell the resistance to their annexation of East Timor.

The dilemma for Western forces in Iraq and Afghanistan is that, though they may lack the wherewithal to win, the national governments they seek to help are unable to stand up on their own. At best, Western armies can create the political space to build viable governments. But this has proved difficult enough even where the fighting has stopped and the main political forces have been co-operative (or at least acquiescent)—as in Bosnia and East Timor. It may be impossible under sustained fire.

MORE BRAIN, LESS BRAWN

Although most armies have now relearnt the limits of force and the importance of the “comprehensive approach”, commanders complain that other branches of government have not. In a recent article, General Peter Chiarelli, an adviser to Robert Gates, America's secretary of defence, says more money has to be spent not on the Pentagon but on the “non-kinetic aspects of our national power”. He recommends building up the “minuscule” State Department and USAIDdevelopment agency (so small it is “little more than a contracting agency”), and reviving the United States Information Agency.

As the American army expands, some thinkers, such as Colonel Nagl, say it needs not just more soldiers—nor even linguists, civil-affairs officers and engineers—but a fully fledged 20,000-strong corps of advisers that will train and “embed” themselves with allied forces around the world. The idea makes army commanders blanch, but they do not question the underlying assumption. Insurgencies may be the face of war for the West in the years ahead. Even if America cannot imagine fighting another Iraq or Afghanistan, extremists round the world have seen mighty America's vulnerability to the rocket-propelled grenade, the AK-47 and the suicide-bomber.

The Economist

Ineficácia Militar Árabe

Ineficácia militar árabe

Os árabes são o povo que talvez mais consistentemente envolveu-se em conflitos armados e mais consistentemente sofreu derrotas. Nos conflitos modernos isso é uma constante. As vitórias, até o século X, devem-se muito mais ao fato de enfrentarem inimigos enfraquecidos e pelo seu conhecimento do deserto do que a qualquer outra coisa.

Um dos livros mais interessantes sobre história e estratégia militar que li nos últimos tempos busca responder esta questão. O livro é o "Arabs at War, Millitary Effectiveness, 1948-1991", Kenneth M. Pollack.

Desde a segunda guerra mundial, o Oriente Médio foi provavelmente a região mais conturbada, quase todos os conflitos com envolvimento dos árabes em alguma escala, e em todos eles a ineficácia surpreende. Alguém pode observar o histórico militar de Egito, Iraque, Arábia Saudita, Jordânia, Líbia e Síria, em combate com israelenses, europeus, americanos, persas, curdos, africanos, e até entre eles mesmos, e é sempre impressionante como atuam com ineficácia de maneira bem consistente, independente do adversário e das condições.

Dois exemplos extremos tanto em caso de vitória quanto derrota são a Síria na Guerra do Yom Kipur, e o Iraque no conflito com o Irã, e o final decisivo do conflito entre Líbia e Chade no norte do país em 1987-1988.

A ofensiva da Síria contra as forças israelenses no Golan em 1973 é comparável em disparidade à Operação Bagration pela URSS contra as tropas da Alemanha na Bielorússia durante a segunda guerra mundial. Um exército de veteranos defendendo linhas bem estabelecidas e fortificadas contra uma ofensiva massiva de surpresa com grande superioridade numérica. Os soviéticos tiveram sua maior vitória, enquanto os sírios tiveram sua pior derrota em condições de superioridade similares.

O Iraque passou praticamente uma década enfrentando o Irã com grande superioridade numérica e tecnológica, mas só conseguiu uma vitória em 1988 usando armas químicas em larga escala, matando cerca de 20,000 soldados iranianos, quase 1/5 das forças, e criando forças locais com disparidade de até 30 para 1 em relação aos iranianos.

No Chade, depois que os líbios perderam seu apoio entre os dissidentes chadianos, ainda contavam com decisiva vantagem numérica e tecnológica. Os chadianos não tinham tanques, blindados, aviões e artilharia, e não sabiam usar bem o pouco equipamento de infantaria que tinham. O único armamento pesado e transporte de que dispunham eram pick-ups Toyota com mísseis antitanque Milan fornecidos pela França na última hora, e confiavam na força aérea francesa e stingers fornecidos pelos EUA para defender-se dos líbios. Mesmo com a vantagem em todos os aspectos, os líbios sofreram uma derrota completa no norte do país. A principal base foi abandonada com muito equipamento ainda funcionando, soldados líbios morriam ao fugir pelos próprios campos minados, e a força aérea líbia tinha de destruir o próprio equipamento para evitar que fosse utilizado pelo inimigo.

Ou seja, independente do oponente e de vitória ou derrota, as forças árabes sempre atuam com muito menos eficácia do que esperado para seu número, equipamento e posição. Qual o real motivo disso?

Eu nunca havia pensado muito a fundo no assunto, e por conhecer melhor o conflito árabe-israelense, aceitava a explicação de cada guerra em particular, sem me preocupar muito nisso como característica dominante. Agora li um livro que trata especificamente do assunto, falando dos diversos conflitos e achei que valia a pena enumerar algumas das explicações que achei mais relevantes para discussão. Algumas das explicações auxiliam até a entender melhor outros conflitos.


1. O argumento mais óbvio é o treinamento das tropas. Alguns dos pontos dele são relevantes para outros argumentos. Como a maioria dos países árabes são monarquias e/ou ditaduras, a maior parte das forças armadas recebe um treinamento voltado para lidar mais com problemas internos, manifestações, tentativas de golpe e revoluções, do que uma operação militar convencional. Alguns analistas argumentam que o treinamento não é só inapropriado, mas inadequado mesmo. Na Guerra do Yom Kipur os egípcios treinaram por anos para fazer a mesma coisa, e fizeram bem feito quando era exatamente como esperava, mas não conseguiram fazer mais nada direito quando saiu dos planos.

2. Outro problema relacionado é que pelo fato da maioria desses países serem monarquias e/ou ditaduras muitos oficiais são apenas indicados, não chegando à posição por competência. Adicionalmente, por medo de um golpe de estado vindo dos militares, muitas indicações são feitas para deliberadamente gerar algum atrito e evitar uma união que levaria a isso. Esse atrito acaba indo para o campo de batalha também e elimina qualquer iniciativa. Soldados e oficiais preferem falhar do que tomar decisões por conta própria. Qualquer assunto militar é considerado segredo e oficiais são transferidos de forma imprevisível antes de poder formar alianças. Essa característica também presente na URSS acabou reforçada pelo envolvimento com os soviéticos pela maioria dos países árabes.


3. Isso gera um outro problema pois leva o conflito de classes que existe na sociedade para o campo de batalha, gerando hostilidades entreos homens . Para os homens de nível social baixo que ingressam nas forças armadas buscando oportunidades de ascenção social, um oficial indicado ao cargo representa uma ofensa. Pelo outro lado, a mesma discriminação social que haveria na sociedade civil acaba havendo entre o oficial indicado e seus homens. Isso é comum no Egito, onde há muitos relatos de oficiais que, sem nenhum laço com seus homens, simplesmente os abandonam no campo de batalha. Liderança não é considerada uma disciplina a ser aprendida, mas apenas assume-se que um oficial vindo de uma classe social superior seja um líder nato. O conflito entre oficiais também é constante por razões semelhantes, existindo uma disputa, e não há o mesmo grau de confiança que existe entre militares ocidentais.


4. A consequência mais óbvia desses três argumentos é a pouca coesão dos árabes em pequenas formações, a incapacidade de permanecer juntos e continuar a combater como grupo no calor da batalha, algo essencial na guerra moderna. Esse é o principal argumento que eu conhecia, porque é geralmente usado pelos militares israelenses. Desde a Campanha do Sinai em 1956, ficou claro para os israelenses como as unidades árabes perdiam sua coesão e deixavam cada homem por si ao sofrer ataques precisos e inesperados, algo que até ajudou a moldar a doutrina militar israelense a combater dessa forma.

5. Como muitos oficiais acabam chegando ao cargo por indicação, sem competência para tal, mesmo que permaneçam com as tropas, uma liderança tática rápida e eficiente é crucial para a eficácia nas guerras modernas, exigindo uma descentralização do comando e sub-oficiais competentes que consigam se adaptar com iniciativa e rapidamente às situações e conduzir tudo com fluidez. Isso é evidente em particular na Guerra do Yom Kippur, em que devido à surpresa adicional vê-se que tanto os Egípcios quanto Sírios lutaram com eficácia enquanto seguiam os planos originais, mas o nível despencou depois do ponto em que a reação israelense começou a ganhar momento e as decisões tinham que ser mais rápidas.


6. Outro ponto é a ineficácia dos árabes em adquirir informações sobre o inimigo e repassá-las eficientemente através da cadeia de comando. Não raro, em várias guerras, informações são deliberadamente distorcidas ou fabricadas para exagerar sucessos e ocultar falhas, principalmente por medo de represálias. Isso foi muito comum na guerra Irã-Iraque e na Guerra dos Seis Dias, chegando até mesmo ao topo da hierarquia. Difícil saber até onde foi fanfarronice e até onde foi falha de inteligência, mas por exemplo, a Jordânia chegou a lançar ataques fadados ao fracasso porque Egito anunciava que seus aviões já estavam bombardeando Tel Aviv quando na verdade foram destruídos no chão.


7. Muitos dos países árabes tem um nível educacional muito abaixo daquele dos países que lhes fornecem equipamento militar, e hoje as guerras dependem muito mais do conhecimento e manuseio eficaz dos equipamentos. Operar um tanque ou avião da segunda guerra mundial parece brincadeira de criança perto de todos os equipamentos computadorizados dos tanques e aviões modernos. Um argumento usado para explicar a ineficácia dos árabes em conflitos que dispõe de grande superioridade tecnológica, é não conhecer e explorar toda a capacidade dos equipamentos que dispõe devido às deficiências educacionais e ao treinamento inadequado. O nível de segredo e a paranóia constante que impera sobre todos os assuntos militares também impede a descentralização de manutenção e reparos de equipamentos, algo essencial nas guerras modernas.

Todos esses fatores, e outros que não foram comentados, culminam em uma esfera de ineficácia em todos os aspectos, desde o alto comando até o último soldado. Governantes impedem interação e treinamentos conjuntos entre as forças por medo de golpes, comandantes tentam microgerenciar qualquer aspecto das suas forças com medo de delegar autoridade, oficiais vêem soldados com desprezo e não se importam com eles e vice-versa.

Essas técnicas podem funcionar para manter uma ditadura, mas não para enfrentar um inimigo externo ou para sustentar uma democracia, daí a dificuldade em implantá-la nesses lugares.

Kidnapped oil rig worker in Nigeria

Kidnapped McKinney Man Gets an Up-Close Look Into Nigeria's Oily Heart of Darkness

By Chris Vogel

published: July 09, 2009

• Allison V. Smith

  

• Courtesy of Larry Plake

  

  Plake (seated far right) talks to A Russian reporter who stumbled upon the hostages while writing a story about the Niger Delta region.

• Courtesy of Larry Plake

  

  Members of the Niger-Delta Freedom Fighters held Plake hostage at their camp for three weeks.

• Courtesy of Larry Plake

  

  These guards working aboard Plake’s oil barge were wounded defending the ship against attackers. The other guards, Plake says, ditched their weapons and hid in the bottom of the boat.

• Courtesy of Larry Plake

  

• Allison V. Smith

  

  Larry Plake and his wife, Collette, are still trying to work through his recovery after he was taken hostage two years ago.

• Courtesy of Larry Plake

  

  Bullets tore holes in the side of the oil barge and Plake’s bedroom door, while gunmen took him hostage in the control tower.

• Courtesy of Larry Plake

  

  Bullets tore holes in the side of the oil barge and Plake’s bedroom door, while gunmen took him hostage in the control tower.

Subject(s):

Oil, Nigeria, kidnapping

Larry Plake was just outside the control tower on his way to bed aboard the Cheyenne, an oil barge anchored six miles off the coast of Nigeria, when he heard the shots. A veteran rig worker for Houston-based oil and gas contractor Global Industries, Plake, a Texan through and through, had just finished his evening shift and was in a bad mood after dining on a subpar version of African-style barbecued spareribs. At first, the "pop pop pop" sounded like someone lighting a blowtorch. But the deafening sound of bullets ricocheting off steel and bursting through the metal sides of the ship was unmistakable. They were under attack. Plake never fit the stereotype of an offshore oilman. At 37, he was slight, with wiry arms and a head of prematurely gray hair. He'd worked offshore much of his adult life and was one of the few men aboard who'd earned a pair of college degrees along the way. But he was a hard-working, cocky son of a bitch with a young face and a dry sense of humor—all of which made him popular and a natural leader with the crew.
Plake entered the control room to find barge foreman Kevin Faller and fellow crewmembers Mike Roussel and Chris Gay crouched below the windows. They seemed paralyzed, so Plake grabbed the CB radio and began calling for help. He had memorized the security protocol checklist and began going through the steps.
"We're taking hits," he radioed a nearby support vessel, there to help Plake and the crew build pipelines for Chevron. "Cut and run! Cut and run!"
Plake couldn't see a thing outside the tower. No one had seen the three speedboats approach in the night or the armed men climb aboard. He could barely make out the sound of footsteps heading toward him over the blare of machine-gun fire and explosions throughout the barge. Plake wanted to send out a flare, but was afraid he'd be shot if he opened a window.
Step two, thought Plake, as he radioed out to the armed security boat. Just as someone answered, a crowd of Nigerians with assault rifles kicked down the door and rushed into the control room.
The gunmen, dressed in red, white and black masks and camouflage pants, with chains of ammo draped across their bare chests, surrounded the four Americans. Someone jammed the point of a gun into the back of Plake's head, forcing his face into the floor. One of the men cracked Faller across the cheek with his fist.
"Stay down, stay down," Plake heard a man say in a deep voice. "We want your captain. Where is your captain?"
Refusing to give anyone up, Plake told the men that the captain should be waiting on the ship's deck. They shoved him and the others down a series of ladders and stairs toward the lifeboats as bullets whizzed by. No other crewmembers were in sight.
Of the Cheyenne's 11 armed guards, three had initially fought back but were wounded. The others, crewmembers later told Plake, tossed their guns overboard, tore off their security uniforms and scrambled to the belly of the ship to join the roughly 240 other crewmembers on board who had barricaded themselves inside their rooms. Only Plake, Roussel, Faller and Gay remained topside.
Minutes ticked by, and the gunmen were getting edgy. "Where is the captain?" they demanded over and over.
"Where is that damned security boat?" thought Plake.
Stalling for time, Plake insisted the captain should be there any moment. They waited as some of the attackers scavenged the ship for whatever they could snatch: cigarettes, ammo and binoculars. Plake didn't know that the security ship was anchored a mile and a half away and wouldn't get there for nearly another two hours.
"We can't find the captain," said a thick voice. "We're taking you."
They pushed the Americans toward the stern and then shoved them off the barge down into their speedboats. Plake and Faller were in one boat, Roussel and Gay in another. The speedboats peeled away from the barge, circling it while the kidnappers pumped more ammo into its sides. Then they raced after the ship that Plake had been able to warn over the radio.
Plake prayed that the guards aboard the support vessel wouldn't open fire on them. The chase, however, didn't last long, and Plake felt a moment of relief when the kidnappers stopped shooting and steered back toward shore.
The boats skimmed along the ocean's surface toward the mouth of a river heading inland. Fifteen Nigerians were piled onto three 18-foot-long fiberglass speedboats with V-shaped hulls. Giant twin 275-horsepower engines hung off the back of each boat.
"Maybe I should jump," thought Plake. But he couldn't bring himself to abandon his companions. Instead, he sat silently, wondering where they were going and what was going to happen once they got there.
The boats wound along the oil-slicked waterways deep into the jungle. The jostling vibration of the motors roaring at top speed through narrow creeks nearly drowned out all other sounds. Plake could barely hear the man holding a flashlight in the bow who barked directions to the driver.
One of the men offered Plake a pack of the stolen cigarettes. Another cleaned his rifle, tossing empty shells into a bucket of diesel. Occasionally they would stop so the driver could replace an empty gas tank. Sometimes the boats broke down, and they'd float in silence as the men made repairs. Then it was full-throttle again until one of the drivers would inevitably ram into a log or run aground, nearly tossing everyone from the boat.
Just before dawn, the boats pulled up to a makeshift dock along the riverbank. For the first time, Plake could hear the sounds of the jungle, all the birds, lizards and insects surrounding him. Then Plake heard drumming. "It's just like a King Kong movie," he thought, as he watched villagers dancing, shouting and shooting their guns in the air.
They marched Plake and the others at gunpoint up a path into the camp. A medicine man splashed water on their faces, a blessing, they were told, allowing them to enter. The kidnappers forced their captives onto a hand-carved wooden bench and began interrogating them. "Name? Rank? Why are you in Nigeria taking all of the jobs?"
From the moment he was captured on May 7, 2007, Plake both hoped and feared that his kidnappers were members of a well-known insurgency group called the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta, or MEND. For years, MEND had been kidnapping foreigners who worked for oil companies to use as leverage against Nigeria's corrupt government officials, who reputedly have been hoarding the billions of dollars the country makes from selling its crude instead of investing the profits in roads, schools or clean drinking water for its people. MEND was known as a ruthless, professional outfit, but most of its hostages eventually made it out alive.
As the interrogation continued, it became clear that Plake's kidnappers did not belong to MEND. These men said they belonged to the Niger-Delta Freedom Fighters, led by a rebel named Egbema One. They didn't necessarily want to make a political statement. They wanted money—more than $1 million per hostage.
Convinced that his company would never pay such a steep price, Plake closed his eyes and breathed deeply, thinking, "This is where I'm probably going to die."

----

Oil's been pumping through Plake's veins since the day he was born.
He grew up in Baytown, home to the largest refinery in the country, owned by ExxonMobil. His grandfather was an offshore legend, and his father rolled up his sleeves on some of the toughest jobs in the business in the North Sea. So it was pretty much expected that after Plake graduated from Ross S. Sterling High School, he would enter the family trade.
He worked offshore from ages 19 to 25, in seas all around the globe, off the coasts of India, South America and Malaysia. He worked for four years in Nigeria. One day in 1995, his back went out, and he had to come ashore.
By that point Plake had married 19-year-old Collette, whom he'd met in a local bar one night while he was home on leave. Collette, who the following year would give birth to their first daughter, Alyssa, was relieved to see her husband sidelined with a bad back. She missed him terribly on those long three-month stints and, much like a policeman's wife, lived in constant fear of that phone call at 3 in the morning.
Unlike many offshore oilmen who get itchy and long for the sea every time they touch land, Plake was OK with finding a new life. He had always been good with all things mechanical, earning him the nickname "MacGyver" among his friends, and enrolled in Baytown's Lee College, where he earned a degree in electronics. Plake next went to a specialty trade school in Watertown, Massachusetts, called the Ritop School for Mobile Electronics, where he learned to wire radios in exotic cars like Ferraris and Bentleys. With all his training, it didn't take Plake long to get a job in Deer Park, Texas, and start a new chapter.
But it wasn't easy. After 9/11, the economy seized up, and no one was spending money on luxury car radios. Plake bounced around for a while, eventually taking a job in Addison. But when the company hired too many radio installers, there wasn't enough work to go around, and Plake's paycheck once again nosedived. To support his family, which now included a second daughter, Jadyn, he delivered pizzas for Domino's, working for tips.
Late in 2006, the idea of again going offshore took hold of Plake. He was one week away from having his new home in McKinney put up for auction because he couldn't pay the mortgage, was working two jobs, never saw his wife and kids, and still couldn't make ends meet. He needed money, and fast.
"He came home one day," Collette says, "and said to me, 'Honey, I have no choice; I don't want to go back, but I have to.' He was crying for the first time in years."
(While giving interviews for this story, Plake and his wife were careful never to mention the name of the company he worked for, as per a legal agreement. The Houston Press, the Observer's sister paper, confirmed through news accounts and public records that Plake was working for Global Industries, which was doing contract work for Chevron. Global Industries did not return phone calls seeking comment.)
When Plake set off in March 2007 for the Cheyenne, both he and Collette went in with open eyes; they knew about the many assaults and kidnappings in the region where Plake was headed. For decades, as they understood it, corrupt Nigerian government officials had been pocketing more than their share of the country's oil revenues instead of investing them in developing the nation and helping their people.
According to University of Houston associate professor of history Kairn Klieman, who teaches classes about Africa including "Africa and the Oil Industry," the Nigerian government took control of the country's oil revenues following a civil war in the late 1960s. The government then purposefully left the Niger Delta region massively underdeveloped—no roads, electricity, clean water or jobs—hoping this would stave off any further attempts at revolution. Instead, people living there have suffered terribly, and vigilantism has become a way of life.
"Because the government was so greedy for oil revenues," Klieman says, "they let the oil companies work without following any kind of environmental regulations. So the land, the water, the air is all devastated, and the people there can't even live in the normal, old-fashioned way, which was to grow food. It's not even possible to live in the 19th-century model there anymore."
Nigeria ranks as the 121st most corrupt country in the world and is ranked No. 22 in Africa, according to the Corruption Perceptions Index published by Transparency International, a global corruption watchdog group. The country's score of 2.7 out of 10 in 2008 was an improvement over its score of 2.2 in 2007, the year Plake was taken hostage. By comparison, Somalia, which has made headlines this year for acts of piracy off its shores, was ranked as the 180th most corrupt country in the world in 2008 and came in at No. 47 in Africa.
According to Oyibos Online, a Web site that tracks security incidents in Nigeria, 62 foreigners have been kidnapped so far this year. In 2008, 81 were taken. In 2007, the year Plake was captured, 172 people were abducted. That's not to mention the hundreds of maritime assaults, hijackings and pipeline bombings over the same time span.
"You've heard of 'blood diamonds'?" Plake says. "In Nigeria they call it 'blood oil' because of all the deaths and kidnappings over it. They'll steal and kill their own brother because they're such a depressed people. Life is cheap."
Tribes and insurgency groups take hostages who work for the very oil companies that the government relies on to extract and move the country's vast reserves. Their stated political goal is to stop the country's ability to export oil and thus end the corruption, as well as to pressure the government to develop the region.
But nothing is ever so cut-and-dried. Motivations range from obtaining basic necessities to pure greed. Much of the environmental devastation is the result of insurgents blowing up pipelines to make their point and then attacking crews sent in to repair the damage. Many times the men will "bunker," or tap into, a pipeline to steal the oil—which they sell on the black market to pay for weapons and provisions—leaving a busted pipe spitting oil into the ground.
A central problem, Klieman says, is that the oil companies simply factor the cost of ransoms and hostage-rescue missions into the price of doing business, making the insurgents' efforts effectively moot.
Moot, that is, to everyone except the men who are taken hostage and their families.

----

Exhausted and in shock after being kidnapped and interrogated for most of the day, Plake, Roussel, Faller and Gay were searched and stripped of their wallets, watches, necklaces and cell phones. One of the militants demanded Plake give up his wedding ring, but Plake refused, insisting that his wife had put it on his finger and he'd be damned if it was coming off while he was still alive. Another villager stepped forward, telling Plake he could keep it because Plake was a Christian. By some miracle, they didn't find Plake's pocketknife, which he hid in his shoe.
That first night, the men were locked in a crudely fashioned thatched-roof hut with screen windows and walls made out of pegboard. Inside there was a table, a bench and a fan connected to a small generator stashed in the corner. A naked light bulb swinging from the ceiling burned brightly all night.
When the men were finally alone, panic set in. They knew the Nigerian military was afraid of venturing this deep into the jungle and that they might as well be trapped on an island. A thousand thoughts raced through Plake's mind, always ending with, "I think we're pretty much fucked."
Plake slept less than an hour that first night, next to Faller on one of two thin foam mattresses in the room.
The next day, on Tuesday, May 8, Plake woke up at 5 a.m. to beating drums and gunfire—a ritual that would continue throughout their captivity. A man unlocked the door and led the hostages to the side of the building, where each was given a plastic lawn chair to sit in all day. This became the daily routine.
That night, in McKinney, Collette was feeling anxious as she rushed through the front door of her suburban home. She had just picked up her daughters from gymnastics and had to get them fed, but all she could think about was that her husband was going to be mad at her. They had a standing appointment every night to talk on Skype, an Internet telephone service, and she was late. She tried to get online, but the connection wasn't working, so Collette walked upstairs to her bedroom to cool off. The phone rang.
Thinking it must be her husband, she headed back downstairs to pick up the main phone in the kitchen, but the answering machine beat her to it.
"I never caught their name," Collette says. "He just said, 'This is so-and-so from Larry's company,' and my heart sank because I knew."
Collette picked up the phone and listened as the man told her that Plake's barge had been attacked. No one knew if he'd been kidnapped, only that he was missing.
"I got so angry right there on the phone," Collette says. "I blamed them and said, 'You better find him and get him back! So help me God, if he dies over there, I'll own your company!'"
When she hung up, she turned and saw her two daughters staring at her. They had heard every word.
"Is Daddy dead?" asked 5-year-old Jadyn.
"No, baby," Collette answered, hugging them tight. "Right now the bad men with guns have Daddy. But we're going to get him back."
Collette is a no-nonsense woman with a sharp voice that could split a diamond. Furious at what had happened, she called everyone she knew—family, neighbors—telling them the news. Yet she was just as angry at herself for letting Plake go. Down deep she knew this would happen. It had only been a matter of time. She and Plake had been talking on Skype for weeks about how an increasing number of hostages were being taken. There had been several recent kidnappings in the same area where Plake was captured.
Collette did not sleep that night. Her sister drove up from Baytown and arrived around 4 a.m.
Amazingly enough, Plake called the house that afternoon, saying he was alive and in the middle of nowhere. He sounded frantic, but said he'd call again and then hung up. Collette felt relieved, but knew the hard part was still to come. She had to get him home.
That night, agents from the FBI showed up at her door. They tapped her phone, put a tracking device on it in case Plake called again and told her that if he did call, to let the FBI know before she told anyone else.
Collette says that when Global Industries found out about the FBI's request, they got upset. She says a company representative told her that if Plake or his captors contacted her again, she should call Global Industries first and the FBI after that. Collette says company officials told her that they didn't want anyone to interfere with their rescue efforts.
"I felt so stressed-out and conflicted," Collette says. "But the FBI explained to me that my husband was now a U.S. hostage because of the company, and there went my loyalty. Every time Larry called, I'd call the FBI first."
Global Industries officials also discouraged Collette from talking to the other three crewmembers' wives, threatened to cut off her home phone line if they thought she was trying to negotiate with the militants and forbade her to talk to the media, Collette says. The only news item she saw was on a CNN ticker that said four Americans had been taken off the Nigerian coast.
All of the additional pressure helped push Collette into a deep depression. Her mother and sister cared for the kids while Collette spent day and night in her living room. She didn't eat, losing 20 pounds. Plake would occasionally call, but as the days rolled by it felt like no one was making any progress. On Mother's Day, she received a bouquet of flowers from Plake that he had ordered online the day before he was kidnapped.

----

From the moment they arose each morning, Plake's kidnappers, wearing nothing but boxer shorts, started drinking, smoking dope, shooting their guns straight up in the air and arguing. They kept their marijuana in 50-pound rice sacks and would put what they didn't smoke into jars of moonshine made out of palm tree sap to ferment. Invariably drunk by noon, they'd gulp down this potent mix until they passed out at night, but not before a couple of the militants would typically get into a fight and go after each other with machetes or clubs.
In the humid afternoons, while Plake sat bored in his chair, many of his captors would play cards or huddle around a small television and watch the same five Rambo and Jean-Claude Van Damme films over and over.
Then it dawned on Plake, This isn't enjoyment for them, it's training. They think it's real. The men asked Plake how many people had died in the movies. He had to explain that it was just Hollywood.
There was bottled water to drink, but not much in the way of food. One morning the villagers tossed a chicken in a pot of water and boiled it all day. When it came time to eat, the meat was so rubbery and overcooked that Plake couldn't pull it off the bone. Another time they dug a trench and slaughtered a sickly goat. There was a cache of potted meat and canned tuna fish, which became Plake's meal, mixed with a sweet blend of rice and corn served daily at 4 p.m. After several weeks, Plake convinced his captives to push dinnertime back so that he could avoid the hordes of flies that would swarm around his plate, preferring to eat amid the mosquitoes that came out at night.
Before bed, Plake stripped off his filthy jeans down to his boxers to stay cool. His fair-skinned body, peppered with swollen red bug bites, became a testament to jungle living.
Some of the villagers bathed in the polluted river; Plake did not. He had a spider bite on his left ankle that was oozing pus and he wasn't about to dip it in the same water that the entire village used as a toilet. Instead, he just rubbed soap under his arms and apologized for his stench. Nor would Plake shave with the razors used by the militants for fear of getting AIDS. At one point, his white moustache flopped down over his bottom lip.
At night, the Americans would stay up late plotting their escape, hatching scenario after scenario. One had Plake taking out a guard with his pocketknife while the other men grabbed his gun. "But what then?" Plake thought. "What if we do take the camp over? We've got to motor out. But what if we run into them on the river? We don't know where to go anyway. Plus they have lookouts along the creek in crow's nests with machine guns. We'd be sitting ducks."
Plake started giving his kidnappers nicknames such as "Mike the Administrator," "Ben the Weapons Expert" and "Bubba the Explosives Guy." Many of them told Plake they dreamed of one day going to the United States to be criminals there. They wanted to rob banks and get rich, and they all seemed to admire Osama bin Laden. When Plake told them that the al-Qaida leader had killed innocent people during 9/11, they didn't seem to care. They felt he was a hero for standing up against America.
Over time, Plake got to know "Sonny the Cook," who was in charge of making sure the hostages had food, bottled water and cigarettes. Sonny told Plake that all he really wanted was to open a restaurant in the United States. Plake began to sympathize with his captors. While taking hostages wasn't the way to go about it, he understood why they were fighting their government for basic rights. All this oil money was pouring into the country, yet their government treated them like animals.
The leader of the Niger-Delta Freedom Fighters was called Egbema One. He told Plake he was a prince and had once worked offshore as a ballast control engineer. He wanted to use the hostages as political leverage, but it soon became clear to Plake that Egbema One was in the minority. Everyone else just wanted cash. And when Egbema One left the camp to get supplies, tensions would rise. The militants would force Plake to use a prepaid cell phone with a bamboo-and-wire antenna to phone Global Industries, his wife or Nigerian politicians, demanding the ransom.
"Tell them to send the money now!" the militants shouted in Plake's face. "We're gonna kill you tomorrow if we don't get the money!"
The men cracked the side of their rifles against the back of Plake's neck and threatened him constantly. One of the larger men repeatedly said he was going to cut off Plake's pinky finger and send it to Plake's employer to prove he wasn't playing around. Then he'd laugh in Plake's face. The bomb-maker told Plake he'd never get out alive, and that he'd made a special explosive for Plake if it ever looked like the Texan was going to be released.
The kidnappers set up a bench about 50 yards into the jungle, hidden from the camp. Every time they heard a noise, be it a voice, a boat or the snap of a twig, they'd grab the hostages and hurriedly beat them like horses toward the clearing, where they'd wait until whatever it was had passed. After just a few times, the men learned to race over to the spot themselves whenever they heard something, day or night. The kidnappers told Plake that if anyone tried to rescue them, they'd execute the hostages before returning to defend the village. This happened as many as 10 times a day.

----

Hostage negotiations seemed to be going nowhere.
One of the phone numbers Plake had to contact Global Industries had been disconnected. When he dialed the company's main switchboard, Plake says, a company operator couldn't hear him, cursed at Plake and refused to patch him through. The kidnappers had Plake call the president of Nigeria, but his secretary would have nothing to do with them. The prepaid phone credits would always run out in the middle of conversations. The militants, just for the hell of it, once set off a bomb behind Plake while he was on the phone, knocking down the bamboo antenna. Disgusted, Plake stormed back toward his plastic chair, knocking over a table of automatic rifles.
"This is like working with children," Plake thought.
At home in McKinney, Collette was just as frustrated.
"I got so that I was losing my mind because it kept dragging on and on," she says. "I kept thinking, 'I can't bear to wake up another day and sit in my house all day long'...I felt so helpless. It was like I was a hostage in my own prison camp."
As the days slogged on, Plake suffered mood swings. There were moments of peacefulness, when Plake would sit in his plastic chair twisting his wedding ring around his finger for hours at a time, picturing taking his wife and daughters bowling. He took comfort knowing he had a will, and they would be taken care of if he died. The hostages relied heavily on each other. When Plake lost it, they'd calm him down. When one of the others cried, prompting the militants to laugh, Plake would stand up and say, "Just because he's crying doesn't mean he's not a man."
There were also days when Plake felt resigned and became aggressive. If the kidnappers didn't kill him, he thought, then someone or something else would. He was sick of the abuse and the false threats to blow him up or slice off his finger.
"There's no way I'm spending six months here," he told his captors. "You'll have to kill me."
He clutched his knife like a security blanket. He knew he'd never get out alive, but thought, "God, give me a sign to let me know it's go time. I'll send a few of these guys to hell before they send me to heaven."
But he never got the chance. "Gunboat Sunday" intervened.
During the weeks of negotiations, members of MEND had discovered that the Niger-Delta Freedom Fighters had kidnapped the Americans and were demanding a huge ransom. This rubbed them the wrong way. MEND believed hostages were to be used to achieve political leverage against the corrupt government, not for individual gain. They decided to teach this small band of extortionists a lesson.
On Sunday, May 27, 2007, MEND staged a rescue mission. As MEND's boats neared the shore, Plake's kidnappers started whooping, shrieking and firing their guns. Someone grabbed the hostages and pushed them toward the river, telling them they were being placed in the middle of the battle. That way, the man said, bullets from MEND would kill them and their deaths would not be the kidnappers' fault.
As Plake ducked and tried to crawl out of the way, the MEND boats retreated. They saw what was happening with the hostages and never fired a shot, disappearing as abruptly as they had arrived.
Plake and the other three hostages ran back to their room and locked the door. A moment later, a muscular, 6-foot-tall man named Jean-Paul kicked it down and pointed a gun at them. Plake thought he was dead for sure, but suddenly a group of villagers tackled Jean-Paul and wrestled the weapon away from him. With MEND closing down on the camp, the hostages were now more of a liability than ever. Many villagers, like Jean-Paul, simply wanted to get rid of them to save their own hides.
After the commotion died down, the insurgents let the hostages use the phone. Plake called his parents and then Collette to say his final goodbyes.
"There are some things going down over here, and it doesn't look good," he calmly told his wife, who was crying on the other end. "The chances of me coming home are pretty slim. Take good care of the kids. I've always loved you."
The next morning, members of MEND and tribal elders from a nearby village visited the camp and met with Egbema One all day. At one point, Sonny said to Plake in pidgin English, "Maybe you go home today. They talking serious." Plake refused to believe it. He didn't trust anyone. But that evening, the hostages were told to pack up; they were heading out.
Egbema One escorted the hostages by boat to the nearby village. There, Plake saw a sack of money change hands. Egbema One then took Plake's wrist and placed it in the hand of an elderly man named Good Luck, who walked with a cane and wore flowing white clothes.
"You belong to me now," Good Luck said. "You'll be leaving soon."
Leaving Egbema One and the Freedom Fighters behind, the hostages and members of MEND piled into another boat and began motoring toward the MEND camp. Plake wasn't convinced he'd be set free, but was hoping the new camp would at least be a little better. They snaked along the river for more than six hours. Occasionally the driver would tell Plake not to smoke because there was so much oil in the water. The members of MEND ridiculed the Freedom Fighters, calling them "little boys" and "dogs."
Finally, the boat pulled up to the MEND village. Just as when he first arrived at the Freedom Fighters' camp 21 days earlier, medicine men splashed water on Plake, blessing him as he entered. He was marched into a concrete building with rocket-propelled grenades and AK-47s stacked against the wall and told that a helicopter would get him in the morning. It was like entering a military barracks after spending weeks at a Boy Scout camp.
Plake didn't sleep much that night. The morning came and went. No chopper. "Maybe at noon," a MEND soldier said. Still no helicopter. Plake just figured this was yet another lie and he was screwed. Then, at about 6 p.m. Plake and the other hostages were loaded onto a boat.
They cruised along the water in silence. The canal was getting wider and wider, spanning more than 100 feet across. In the middle of the river, the driver suddenly cut the engine. Plake looked around, thinking: "This is it. They're going to kill us now and dump the bodies."
Plake watched as the driver's hand slowly disappeared into his coat pocket. Plake reached for his knife. Then he saw the man's hand emerge; he was holding a cell phone.
"We've got them," the man said into the speaker.
Before he knew it, Plake was stepping out of the boat and onto a dock near Warri, a major city in the Niger Delta, where a car whisked him off to the governor's house to meet up with Global executives and FBI agents who were waiting. From there, he flew to Lagos and then to London to see a tropical disease expert.
After 22 days, Plake, Faller, Roussel and Gay were finally free.

----

Collette had just returned home from a rare trip to McDonald's with the kids when the phone rang. It was someone from Global Industries.
"We've got him," said the voice.
The next day she was on a flight to London.
Because of convoluted English insurance laws, Plake and the other men were not allowed into the tropical disease center. Instead, they went to an urgent-care clinic. Other than the nasty spider bite, Plake checked out OK. Two of the other men had intestinal parasites and had to remain there a little longer that day. But not Plake; he was ready to go. For the past 48 hours, he'd been shuttled across two continents, poked and prodded by doctors, forced to do press interviews with the African media and listen to Global Industries officials tell him to keep quiet about everything that had happened. All he wanted to do was to see his wife.
Collette was sleeping when Plake finally made it back to the couple's London hotel room. His electronic key, though, had been accidentally knocked offline when Collette checked in earlier that day. He couldn't unlock the door. He started banging and hollering, but Collette didn't answer. Finally, Collette heard the knocking and ran to the door. When it swung open, she leapt into Plake's arms.
"You couldn't peel me off of him," she says.
That night, the four men and their wives celebrated, getting drunk at a nearby pub. They laughed and kidded each other about which movie stars would play them if their story ever made it to the big screen. Plake claimed fellow East Texan Matthew McConaughey. But the smiles wouldn't last long.
Back in McKinney, Plake was not readjusting well to normal life. For months he didn't want to talk about being kidnapped. He had nightmares. Sometimes he thought he'd heard footsteps and was ready to run over to the clearing in the jungle to hide. Other times he dreamed of being under attack on the barge, but this time he had a gun and fought back. He'd wake up lathered in sweat.
Plake saw a couple psychologists, but they didn't seem to help. He even checked himself into a mental hospital for a week. Time seemed to be the only cure. Plake had surgery on his spine in late 2008 to repair two discs that had been ruptured by repeated blows to the neck with rifles.
He now suffers migraines so bad that his vision is blurred and he throws up. He takes a long list of medications, including pills to fight depression, anxiety and pain.
Plake says he doesn't trust anyone anymore, no longer has a short-term memory and has developed a dangerously short fuse. He's caught himself yelling at his kids over dumb stuff such as eating an ice cream cone that he'd forgotten he himself had given them. He refuses to sit in plastic chairs and doesn't shave. It's taken him two years to start working again. He recently bought a property nearby that he's renovating and hoping to flip for a profit.
"Larry never regretted going back offshore," Collette says, "because he saved our home from being sold out from under us. But it's something he'll never get over. He just has to learn to live with it. It redefines who you are."
Plake still keeps up with Faller, Roussel and Gay. Scattered across Texas, Louisiana and Mississippi, they couldn't get together for a second anniversary at the end of May. When they talk on the phone, they almost never mention what happened. They stick to what's going on now in their lives, their jobs and their kids. Plake says he's never going back offshore. Some of the others are considering it, he says, but no farther away than the Gulf of Mexico. The money is still as good as it's ever been.
For a long time, Plake would search the Internet every morning for news of Egbema One or MEND. Not anymore.
Earlier this year, Nigerian President Umaru Yar'Adua granted amnesty to a host of militants in the Niger Delta. According to Vanguard, a news publication covering the country, Egbema One was on the amnesty list. Yar'Adua has also reportedly directed his government to step up its efforts to rebuild and develop the region. But still, the violence only seems to increase. MEND has recently taken credit for a rash of pipeline bombings against Shell and Chevron, propelling Chevron to evacuate hundreds of employees from the area, according to The Christian Science Monitor. The group continues to wage attacks against the oil companies, claiming that amnesty is not enough to solve the long-standing problems.
The irony of it all is not lost on Plake.
"The group I had heard about and was most afraid of, MEND, were the ones who ended up rescuing us," he says. "I've been told it never happened before or ever since. I understand their plight more now and the reason why they do all this. I'm very appreciative because no one else was coming to get us. But the bottom line is that I got out. I'm here now, and I'm staying put."

Brizola queria revolução sangrenta no Brasil

MEMÓRIA 1964 - O dossiê do braço armado de Brizola

No fim de 1963, em meio à crescente radicalização do ambiente político do governo de João Goulart, Leonel Brizola era a liderança que unificara as esquerdas na Frente de Mobilização Popular. Entrincheirado na Rádio Mayrink Veiga, onde discursava todas as noites, ele pregava a criação dos Grupos de Onze Companheiros, compostos por cidadãos que marchariam unidos quando a esquerda tomasse o poder. A CBN teve acesso a documentos daquela época – que estavam em poder dos militares – que detalham como Brizola idealizou os Grupos de Onze: uma militância que pretendia utilizar mulheres e crianças como escudos civis; realizar ataques a centrais telefônicas, de rádio e TV; e previa a execução de prisioneiros.

Grupos de Onze: o braço armado de Brizola
Por: Mariza Tavares
Edição de arte: Fernanda Osternack

"Este é o documento a que me referi. O Exército não sabe que este dossiê ainda existe, porque foi dada uma ordem para que fosse destruído." Este era o texto do curto bilhete que acompanhava o pacote que recebi pelo correio, enviado por uma ouvinte fiel da CBN. Dentro, um calhamaço de 64 páginas já amareladas, no qual chamava atenção o carimbo no alto, em letras garrafais: SECRETO. A ditadura militar brasileira incinerou regularmente documentos sigilosos. Este dossiê estava em poder de um militar que preferiu desobedecer à ordem e decidiu guardar os papéis em casa. 
Datado de 30 de setembro de 1964 e assinado pelo general-de-brigada Itiberê Gouvêa do Amaral, o documento ostenta a classificação A-1, que até hoje é utilizada pela área militar e que significa que é de total confiança. A classificação varia de A a F para a confiabilidade da fonte; e de 1 a 6 para a confiabilidade do conteúdo.
No tom formal e meticuloso típico dos relatórios dos serviços de inteligência, o texto de abertura, a circular de número 79-E2/64, anunciava que havia sido identificada a criação de diversas células dos chamados "Grupo de onze companheiros" no interior do Paraná e de Santa Catarina.
"Os grupos constituíam a célula de um grande contingente, no qual seriam arregimentados homens das mais variadas categorias e profissões para servirem de instrumento a um pseudolíder, Leonel Brizola, em sua política de subversão do regime e implantação de um Governo de tendências antidemocráticas", explicava o documento.
Os militares já haviam deposto o presidente João Goulart e tomado o poder naquele ano; e a circular festejava a ação ao afirmar, categoricamente, que, "com o advento da revolução de 31 de março, foi cortado o processo ainda na fase inicial". No entanto, o documento assinalava: "Há indícios de que, no futuro, possa ser novamente equacionada a reestruturação dos grupos." Leonel Brizola já se encontrava no exílio no Uruguai desde maio daquele ano, mas a circular assinalava que havia informes de contatos entre "antigos elementos" que integravam esses grupos. Daí a necessidade de mobilização de oficiais para mapear qualquer atividade suspeita.

Jorge Ferreira: "Houve quem se inscrevesse apenas porque gostava de Brizola. Teve gente que pôs até o nome de filhos pequenos nas fichas de inscrição."

Os chamados Grupos de Onze Companheiros – simplificadamente, Grupos de Onze ou Gr-11 – e também conhecidos como Comandos Nacionalistas foram concebidos por Brizola no fim de 1963. Tomando por base a formação de um time de futebol, imagem de fácil assimilação e apelo popular, Brizola pregava a organização de pequenas células – cada uma composta de onze cidadãos, em todo o território nacional – que poderiam ser mobilizadas sob seu comando.
Jorge Ferreira, professor-titular de História da UFF (Universidade Federal Fluminense), doutor em História Social pela USP (Universidade de São Paulo) e autor do livro "O imaginário trabalhista", explica que um dos poucos documentos disponíveis sobre o Grupo de Onze é o modelo de ata de adesão. "Há poucos estudos sobre este movimento e praticamente não há documentação a respeito. As atas, com os dados dos participantes, eram enviadas para a Rádio Mayrink Veiga e depois ficaram em poder da repressão. Como os Grupos de Onze foram criados no fim de 1963, o clima de radicalização já se generalizara. A imprensa também supervalorizava sua capacidade de ação, mas a verdade é que houve quem se inscrevesse apenas porque gostava de Brizola e nunca teve participação efetiva. No Sul, muitos achavam que iam ganhar terra, sementes. Teve gente que pôs até o nome de filhos pequenos nas fichas de inscrição."
O dossiê a que a CBN teve acesso disseca o manual de ação desses militantes e foi criado quando Brizola, eleito deputado federal pelo PTB (Partido Trabalhista Brasileiro) com 300 mil votos – até então, o mais votado da antiga Guanabara – ocupou quase que diariamente o microfone da Rádio Mayrink Veiga entre 1962 e 1963. A tradicional emissora do antigo Distrito Federal, existente desde 1926, funcionava como palanque para Brizola, que ali destilava inflamados discursos pela aprovação das reformas de base – pilar do governo João Goulart e que compreendiam da reforma fiscal à agrária, com a desapropriação de terras de grandes proprietários rurais. E garantia que elas seriam aprovadas, "na lei ou na marra". A Mayrink Veiga estava tão identificada com o projeto político brizolista que uma cópia do documento assinado pelos integrantes de cada recém-criado Gr-11 deveria ser enviada para a emissora. A militância da Mayrink Veiga provocou uma reação dos empresários de comunicação Roberto Marinho (Rádio Globo), Manoel Francisco Nascimento Brito (Rádio Jornal do Brasil) e João Calmon (Rádio Tupi): a criação da Rede da Democracia, uma cadeia radiofônica para combater a política do presidente Jango. Também selou sua sorte: a emissora foi fechada pelo presidente militar Castelo Branco um ano depois da queda de João Goulart.
O documento é composto de anexos que detalham o modus operandi dos Grupos de Onze. O primeiro deles tem cinco páginas dedicadas aos "companheiros nacionalistas", numa espécie de cartilha para a promoção e organização de um comando nacionalista. Na abertura, uma afirmação categórica de vitória:  "A ideia de organização do povo em Comandos Nacionalistas (CN) ou em Grupos de Onze (Gr-11) está amplamente vitoriosa. Milhões e milhões de patriotas integram os Comandos Nacionalistas formados em todo o território pátrio: a palavra de ordem, organizados venceremos, penetrou na consciência de todos os nacionalistas brasileiros."
Para organizar um Gr-11, a primeira providência era a leitura e o estudo das instruções, "quantas vezes forem necessárias até uma segura compreensão dos fins e objetivos da organização." A etapa seguinte era "procurar os companheiros com os quais têm convivência e ligações de confiança". Vizinhos ou colegas de trabalho eram os mais indicados, e sempre em grupos reduzidos, de três ou quatro pessoas. Diante de receptividade para a ideia de organizar um Gr-11, "tal decisão significará um verdadeiro pacto de solidariedade e confiança entre os companheiros."
O objetivo era reunir 11 pessoas, mas as instruções reconhecem que arregimentar este contingente poderia ser um pouco difícil e estabelece que, com sete integrantes, a célula de militantes poderia começar a atuar.  Ao alcançar este quorum mínimo, o grupo é fundado oficialmente e, depois da leitura do manual e do "exame da situação política e da crise econômica e social que estamos atravessando", é escolhido o dirigente do Gr-11; seu assistente – e eventual substituto – e o secretário-tesoureiro. "Tomadas estas decisões", prosseguem as instruções, "proceder à leitura solene, com todos os onze companheiros de pé, do texto da ata e da carta-testamento do presidente Getúlio Vargas." Os integrantes devem assinar seus nomes logo abaixo da assinatura de Vargas e do seguinte texto: "O presidente Vargas sacrificou sua vida por nós. Nosso sacrifício não conhecerá limites para que o nosso povo, de que ele foi escravo, conquiste definitivamente sua libertação econômica e social." Entenda-se que a "libertação" passava por reforma agrária e fim da espoliação internacional.
A primeira reunião formal do grupo tinha objetivo bem burocrático: montar a estrutura do Gr-11. As funções estão bem detalhadas e cada integrante tem um papel específico (esta é a transcrição da descrição das tarefas):
Líder, dirigente ou comandante: representa, orienta e coordena as atividades do grupo, de acordo com as instruções partidárias e os objetivos da organização. Está previsto que seu mandato será a duração de um ano;
Assistente: prestar colaboração direta ao dirigente ou comandante do grupo, substituindo-o em seus impedimentos;
Secretário-tesoureiro: responsável pela gestão dos recursos financeiros e guarda de papéis e documentos (líder, assistente e secretário-tesoureiro formam a comissão executiva do Gr-11);
Comunicações: dois integrantes ficam encarregados das comunicações, que englobam a troca de informações entre os elementos do Gr-11, inclusive no caso de ser preciso avisar aos companheiros sobre a necessidade de esconderijo ou fuga;
Rádio-escuta: acompanhamento pelo rádio dos acontecimentos nacionais e locais;
Transporte: coordenação das possibilidades de transportes para os membros do grupo no caso de atos e concentrações públicas;
Propaganda: responsável por faixas, boletins, pichamentos, notícias para a imprensa;
Mobilização popular: contatos e ligações com o ambiente local, visando a formar um círculo de relações e colaboração em torno do grupo, principalmente para garantir o comparecimento em comícios ou outros atos públicos;
Informações: atribuição de fazer contatos e o levantamento de informações sobre a situação política e social, além de outros problemas que interessem o grupo. Também fica responsável pela organização partidária local;
Assistência médico-social: o companheiro deve ser, se possível, médico, enfermeiro ou assistente social, "ou no mínimo com alguma noção ou treinamento para prestar assistência ou orientação a todas as pessoas necessitadas no ambiente onde atuar o Comando Nacionalista (por exemplo, aplicar injeção, conseguir medicamentos, curativos de emergência)".
A proposta era criar sucessivos grupos de 11 integrantes até atingir 11 células com estas características, quando, como relata o documento, "seus onze líderes formarão um Gr-11-2, isto é, um grupo de onze de 2º. nível, reunindo um total de 121 companheiros."
Esta seria a matriz de multiplicação dos comandos nacionalistas: os 11 líderes escolheriam, entre si, um comandante de segundo nível, cuja responsabilidade seria a coordenação dos onze grupos; e os outros dez companheiros deste Gr-11-2 dariam apoio ao novo chefe. Mas nada de parar por aí, porque cada nova célula deveria perseguir sua clonagem ao infinito: "se num município, numa cidade, área ou bairro, se organizarem onze grupos de onze, portanto um Gr-11-2 e depois onze grupos de 2º. nível, teremos um total de 1.331 companheiros na organização, os quais serão orientados e dirigidos por um Gr-11-3, ou seja, um grupo de onze de 3º. nível, integrado pelos onze líderes dos grupos de 2º. nível."
As "recomendações gerais" sugerem que os Gr-11 deveriam ser integrados inicialmente por companheiros de "maior capacidade de direção e liderança". Os demais grupos seriam compostos por militantes de capacidade "aproximada ou igual". O documento frisa que o movimento recebe, de braços abertos, gente de todas as procedências: "No mesmo Gr-11 poderão estar um trabalhador da mais modesta atividade, ao lado de um médico; um trabalhador ou técnico especializado, um estudante, um agricultor, um intelectual, um motorista, ao lado de um camponês, um militar."
O contato com a liderança nacional era de responsabilidade de um delegado de ligação (DL); enquanto não chegavam novas instruções, cabia ao Gr-11 realizar reuniões para estreitar os laços entre seus militantes e analisar a conjuntura, além de buscar adesões em sua área de atuação. "Os companheiros devem estimular, particularmente, a formação de Gr-11 entre a mocidade e estudantes. É da maior significação esse ponto das presentes instruções. A nossa causa depende fundamentalmente do apoio e da integração dos jovens e das classes trabalhadoras."
Embora não fizesse restrições a analfabetos, a arquitetura dos Gr-11 praticamente ignorava uma militância integral das mulheres: "As companheiras integrantes do Movimento Feminino ou simpatizantes devem formar seus próprios Gr-11. Oportunamente serão enviadas instruções especiais sobre a estrutura desses grupos de companheiras."
O chamado Anexo C é composto de documentos de Leonel Brizola com o sugestivo título de "Subsídios para a Organização dos Comandos de Libertação Nacional".  Tem oito seções, todas subdivididas num minucioso roteiro para a militância. E começa pelo nome a ser dado ao grupo. No capítulo "Denominação", há cinco sugestões, por ordem preferencial: Comandos de Libertação Nacional (Colina); Comando Revolucionário de Libertação Nacional (Corlin); Comando Revolucionário dos Onze (Cron); Comando de Libertação Brasileira (Colb); e Comando dos Onze Revolucionários (Core).
O capítulo seguinte é o da "Justificativa": "A palavra revolucionária, como é sabido, exerce poderosa atração nas pessoas entre 17 e 25 anos – fator que servirá à etapa de arregimentação". O documento aposta na força de atração do termo: "A sigla onde aparece a ideia de revolução pode, com maiores possibilidades, ser difundida com certo mistério e mística de clandestinidade, complementada por instruções secretas, senhas, códigos, símbolos etc...", diz o texto que exibe rudimentos de técnica de marketing e motivação.

Vitor Borges:  "Os militares queriam saber como pretendíamos envenenar o reservatório de água e perguntavam onde estavam os sacos de veneno."

O gaúcho Vitor Borges de Melo, natural de Alegrete, cidade que fica a cerca de 500 quilômetros de Porto Alegre, é um bom exemplo de arregimentação de jovens que queriam um pouco de ação. "Eu e meus companheiros éramos simpatizantes de Brizola desde a Cadeia da Legalidade, em 1961. Eu já tinha me apresentado como voluntário nesta época. Depois passei a acompanhar os discursos na Rádio Mayrink Veiga e decidi entrar para o Grupo de Onze. Todos usavam nomes de guerra e o meu era Tavares." Aos 63 anos, embora seja citado como ex-integrante do Gr-11, Vitor na verdade só se lembra de ter participado de uma reunião. Mesmo assim ficou preso, incomunicável, por 31 dias. "Os militares queriam saber como pretendíamos envenenar o reservatório de água de Alegrete e perguntavam onde estavam os sacos de veneno. Não sei de onde tiraram isso, como é que faríamos uma coisa dessas?", lembra Vitor, hoje aposentado, filiado ao PTB e beneficiado, pela Lei da Anistia, com uma indenização de R$ 12 mil. Provavelmente, por só ter ido a uma reunião, Vitor não foi "iniciado" em todas as propostas de ação do movimento.
No dossiê, a delimitação de áreas de ação é meticulosa e pretende cobrir todo o território nacional. Do contingente inicial de 11 membros, a proposta é multiplicá-los de forma que um distrito  tenha 11 unidades de 11 membros, contabilizando 121 almas. A província terá 22 distritos, ou 2.662 membros; e a região será composta por 11 ou mais províncias, com 29.282 membros. O documento divide o país em sete regiões, mas exclui a Região Norte, provavelmente por problemas de logística:
1ª. Região: Guanabara, Rio de Janeiro e Espírito Santo;
2ª. Região: Bahia e Sergipe;
3ª. Região: Minas Gerais;
4ª. Região: São Paulo e Paraná;
5ª. Região: Santa Catarina e Rio Grande do Sul;
6ª. Região: Pernambuco, Alagoas, Paraíba e Rio Grande do Norte;
7ª. Região: Ceará, Piauí, Maranhão e Fernando de Noronha.
A estrutura administrativa nacional também previa um organograma que contava com um comandante supremo (CS); dois inspetores regionais (IN); e oito conselheiros regionais (CR), uma elite de burocratas encarregados de escolher, nomear ou destituir as camadas inferiores de militantes. Mas, abaixo deles, também havia espaço para muita gente se acomodar. O desenho da burocracia interna do poder é rico em categorias e deixaria qualquer analista de RH impressionado com o número de cargos. Sob a estrutura nacional, há estruturas administrativas regionais, provinciais e distritais, com direito a chefias, secretarias-executivas, assessorias e monitorias. Ao todo, são listados 32 cargos de alguma relevância – uma longa carreira que se descortinava para os aspirantes à militância.
Especialmente suculento é o capítulo sobre instruções gerais aos companheiros que quisessem organizar um Gr-11. Uma das principais preocupações diz respeito à seleção de indivíduos: "Procure conhecer bem as ideias políticas de cada uma das pessoas que você pretende convidar", ensina a cartilha, batendo na tecla da prudência: "Convide a pessoa para uma conversa reservada. Peça sigilo sobre o assunto. Procure certificar-se de que ela manteve sigilo. Mande alguém, seu conhecido, testá-la nesse pormenor."
A paranóia pela segurança se estende aos deveres dos dirigentes. Entre os dez itens listados, cinco dizem respeito ao controle da informação e dos membros do grupo: "manter severa vigilância em sua jurisdição para evitar infiltrações de inimigos entre os seus comandados"; "alternar, sempre, os locais de reuniões de seu grupo, fazendo as convocações sempre em código ou através de senhas"; "manter sob rigoroso controle os arquivos secretos e os dados sigilosos sobre a organização e seus membros"; "não discutir assuntos referentes aos planos dos Comandos de Libertação Nacional exceto com as pessoas autorizadas"; "procurar organizar em sua jurisdição um esquema de rápida mobilização popular para enfrentar golpistas, reacionários e grupos antipovo."
O código de segurança detalha os cuidados a serem adotados e a ordem é clara: desconfiar o tempo todo. Por isso o telefone fica banido na transmissão de mensagens. O militante também deve anotar tudo o que ouvir sobre a organização, especialmente quando partir de um "reacionário": "até as piadas têm sua importância. Não as despreze."

Os comandantes são instruídos a buscar subordinados para os Grupos de Onze que sejam "os autênticos e verdadeiros revolucionários, os destemerosos da própria morte."

Os comandantes regionais, devido à sua importância na estrutura do movimento, recebem instruções secretas que só devem ser compartilhadas com os companheiros do Grupo de Onze "com as devidas cautelas e ressalvas". O filé mignon da pregação revolucionária brizolista se encontra no Anexo D, cuja abertura tem o pomposo título "Preâmbulo Ultra-secreto" e determina que "só os fortes e intemeratos podem intentar a salvação do Brasil das garras do capitalismo internacional e de seus aliados internos. Quem for fraco ainda terá tempo de recuar ante a responsabilidade que terá que assumir com o conhecimento pleno destas instruções."
Os comandantes são instruídos a buscar subordinados para os Grupos de Onze que sejam "os autênticos e verdadeiros revolucionários, os destemerosos da própria morte, os que colocam a Pátria e nossos ideais acima de tudo e de todos." E a recomendação seguinte é evitar arregimentar parentes ou amigos íntimos.
Findo o preâmbulo, as instruções secretas têm dez seções. A primeira, sobre os objetivos, volta a pregar a importância do Gr-11 como a "vanguarda avançada" do movimento e compara esta célula à Guarda Vermelha da Revolução Socialista de 1917. Por ser revolucionária, ela não precisa prestar contas dos seus atos: "Não nos poderemos deter à procura de justificativas acadêmicas para atos que possam vir a ser considerados, pela reação e pelos companheiros sentimentalistas, agressivos demais ou até mesmo injustificados." Sem sombra de dúvida, os fins justificam os meios.
O quesito seguinte, que tem o título genérico de "Observações", descreve o que seria uma espécie de estado de espírito permanente dos participantes: "Os Grupos dos Onze Companheiros, como vanguardeiros da libertação nacional, terão que se preparar devidamente (...) devendo considerar-se, desde já, em REVOLUÇÃO PERMANENTE e OSTENSIVA." A revolução cubana vitoriosa de Fidel Castro é a principal referência: "A condição de militantes dos gloriosos Gr-11 traz consigo enormes responsabilidades e, por isso, embora para formação inicial de nossas unidades não seja condição sine qua o conhecimento da técnica propriamente militar, torna-se absolutamente necessário o da técnica de guerrilhas e a leitura, entre outras importantes publicações, do folheto cubano a respeito daquele mister."
No terceiro capítulo, sobre a ação preliminar, os companheiros são instados a tentar conseguir o quanto antes armamentos para o "Momento Supremo". E a lista contempla desde espingardas a pistolas e metralhadoras. Com um lembrete: "Não esquecer os preciosos coquetéis Molotov e outros tipos de bombas incendiárias, até mesmo estopa e panos embebidos em óleo ou gasolina." A instrução reconhece a escassez de armas no movimento, mas conta com aliados militares (segundo o documento, "que possuímos em toda as Forças Armadas") e garante ter o apoio da população rural. "Os camponeses virão destruindo e queimando as plantações, engenhos, celeiros e armazéns."
O descolamento entre propostas e realidade é flagrante, mas não diminui o grau de virulência da ação que, pelo menos em tese, seria desencadeada pelos Grupos de Onze. Juarez Santos Alves, de 61 anos, é contemporâneo e até hoje amigo de Vitor Borges de Melo. O pai, dono de farmácia, e o tio, militar, eram militantes do PCB (Partido Comunista Brasileiro) e foram sua inspiração. No entanto, no que diz respeito à sua passagem pelo Grupo de Onze, a monotonia imperava. "Considero mais um grupo poético, porque nunca demos um passo além das reuniões. Falava-se em tomar o quartel, mas como é que iríamos resistir se no máximo tínhamos armas pessoais ou de caça?", rememora Juarez, que depois ingressou na Vanguarda Popular Revolucionária. Preso e torturado, foi beneficiado com uma indenização de R$ 100 mil.

A cartilha de ação inclui escudos humanos, saques e incêndios de edifícios públicos e empresas particulares, além da difusão de notícias falsas.

Em centros urbanos, a tática adotada será assumidamente a de guerra suja, com a utilização de escudos civis, principalmente mulheres e crianças. "Nas cidades, os companheiros (...) incitarão a opinião pública com gritos e frases patrióticas, procurando levantar a bandeira das mais sentidas reivindicações populares, devendo, para a vitória desta tática, atrair o maior número de mulheres e crianças para a frente da massa popular." Agitação é a palavra de ordem, com direito a depredação de estabelecimentos comerciais, saques e incêndios de edifícios públicos e de empresas particulares. Também estão incluídos ataques a centrais telefônicas, emissoras de rádio e TV. O objetivo? "Com as autoridades policiais e militares totalmente desorientadas, estaremos, nesse momento, a um passo da tomada efetiva do Poder-Nação."
Sobre a tática geral da guerrilha nacional, tema do item quatro, a ênfase recai na guerra de informação. Depois de a autodenominada ação revolucionária ter provocado o caos, o passo seguinte seria cortar a comunicação entre as cidades e divulgar apenas o que interessasse ao movimento. "Difundindo-se notícias falsas, tendenciosas e inteiramente favoráveis aos nossos Gr-11 e aos nossos planos, com interceptação de comunicações telefônicas isolamento das cidades e de seus meios de comunicação." 
Em "O porquê da revolução nacional libertadora", a explicação de cartilha revolucionária: a exploração do capital monopolista estrangeiro, principalmente americano; e a estrutura agrária baseada na concentração latifundiária.  No capítulo sobre "o aliado comunista", não resta dúvida de que Brizola não via o Partido Comunista Brasileiro (PCB) com a menor simpatia. "Devemos ter sempre presente que o comunista é nosso principal aliado mas, embora alardeie o Partido Comunista ter forças para fazer a Revolução Libertadora, o PCB nada mais é que um movimento dividido em várias frentes internas em luta aberta entre si pelo poder absoluto e pela vitória de uma das facções em que se fragmentou." E continua, aumentando o tom da crítica: "São fracos e aburguesados esses camaradas chefiados pelos que veem, em Moscou, o único sol que poderá guiar o proletariado mundial à libertação internacional. Fogem à luta como fogem à realidade e não perderão nada se a situação nacional perdurar por muitos anos ainda."

"No caso de derrota do nosso movimento, os reféns deverão ser sumária e imediatamente fuzilados."

O trecho mais chocante das instruções secretas aos comandantes diz respeito à guarda e ao julgamento dos prisioneiros.  Para esta tarefa, a orientação é clara: "Deverão ser escolhidos companheiros de condições humildes mas, entretanto, de férreas e arraigadas condições de ódio aos poderosos e aos ricos". Além da prisão, está previsto o julgamento sumário de oponentes ao movimento, onde se incluem autoridades públicas, políticos e personalidades. "No caso de derrota do nosso movimento, o que é improvável, mas não impossível (...) e esta é uma informação para uso somente de alguns companheiros de absoluta e máxima confiança, os reféns deverão ser sumária e imediatamente fuzilados, a fim de que não denunciem seus aprisionadores e não lutem, posteriormente, para sua condenação e destruição."
Para o professor Jorge Ferreira, entre 1961 e 1964 houve uma profunda mudança nos interesses que alimentavam a correlação de forças entre militares, partidos políticos e sociedade. "Em agosto de 1961", diz ele, "quando Jânio Quadros renuncia, os militares deram um golpe que foi rechaçado pelo Congresso, pelos partidos e pelas entidades civis. Os grupos progressistas e legalistas venceram. A sociedade brasileira não queria romper com o processo democrático." O período parlamentarista manteve o equilíbrio, ainda que precário, entre essas correntes. Jango sabia que precisava de maioria no Congresso ou não governaria, mas o plebiscito que lhe devolveu o presidencialismo acabou dando outro rumo aos acontecimentos, como afirma Ferreira: "a Frente de Mobilização Popular, encabeçada por Brizola, havia unificado praticamente todas as esquerdas, englobando o Comando Geral dos Trabalhadores, Ligas Camponesas, UNE, Ação Popular, a esquerda do Partido Socialista Brasileiro, a esquerda mais radical do PCB, os movimentos de sargentos e marinheiros. E a exigência dessas esquerdas era o rompimento com o PSD (Partido Social Democrático), a convocação de Assembléia Nacional Constituinte e o questionamento das instituições liberais vigentes. É quando se estabelece o confronto." Desta vez, o estado de direito não venceu.