by Jack Terral
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HEADQUARTERS, BANDERA 1
0930 HOURS
THE forty men of the bandera were drawn up in four ranks facing the landing strip that ran along the north side of the garrison. Comandante Javier Toledo stood to the direct front, while directly behind him, Capitanes Silber, Argento and Platas were spaced evenly across the formation. Not all the sweat that was soaking the creases out of the uniforms was because of the humidity left behind by the recent rains. All were nervous at this auspicious arrival by the generalisimo in his move into the theater of war.
The distant sound of a jet aircraft was discerned a few moments before a dot appeared in the western sky. It gradually grew larger until 'the Piaggio could be clearly seen. The jet banked gracefully and came in for a landing. As soon as the wheels touched down, the four officers marched smartly over to where it would come to a halt. At that point the subalterns and warrant officers took charge of the formations.
When the aircraft braked to a halt, the engines were immediately cut. The door opened, and a crewman stepped out, lowering the steps that slid out from the fuselage. The first man to exit was the generalisimo, followed by Busch and Perez.
Toledo stepped forward and saluted sharply. "Mi generalisimo! Comandante Toledo of Bandera 1 reporting for inspection and review."
Castillo returned the salute and looked around, obviously disappointed. "You know, Toledo," he said with a frown, "we really must get a proper band out here for these occasions?'
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VILLAGE OF NOVIDA
1100 HOURS LOCAL
THE First Assault Section, with Alpha Fire Team in the lead, walked across the field toward the village. The Odd Couple had already discovered the community and after an hour's observation, had determined it was safe to approach.
The first people to notice them was a small group of women drawing water from the well. They smiled and waved as the SEALS drew closer. Garth Redhawk was on the point, and he grinned and nodded to them, surprised and pleased by their amiable display. A couple of older men appeared on the scene, and they, too, were friendly. As the section walked into the village square, even more people, including some children, came out of their hut chores to join the small group. The women were barefoot, wearing blouses and skirts, while the men wore shirts, trousers and broad-brimmed hats. Several wore boots and carried short whips. It was at that time the SEALs noticed communal stables with horses.
A short, stocky man who seemed to be in his fifties stepped forward and spoke loudly, issuing sincerely happy salutations. Lieutenant Cruiser couldn't understand what he said, so he called for Chad Murchison to come forward. Chad had been a language major before enlisting in the Navy, and spoke French, German, Spanish and Italian fluently. He hurried to the front and offered his hand to the man.
"Buenos dial, senor," Chad said. "Como esta usted?"
The villager smiled and shook his head to indicate he couldn't understand. "Bom dia," the man said. "Muito prazer em conheca-lo."
Chad looked back at Cruiser. "Sir, he's not speaking Spanish. I'm not sure, but I think it's Portuguese:'
"Portuguese?" Cruiser said. "Why the hell would he be speaking in Portuguese? This is Bolivia. They speak Spanish here."
"Maybe he and these people came over here from Brazil," Chad suggested. "They speak Portuguese there."
"Shit!" Cruiser said. He turned to the section. "Do any of you guys speak Portuguese?"
Paulo Cinzento, one of the new men, stepped forward. "I speak Portuguese, sir."
"Oh, yeah?" Cruiser said, pleased. "How the hell did you learn to speak Portuguese?"
"I'm from San Diego, sir," Paulo replied. "My people came from Portugal and worked the tuna boats out of there for about three generations. I grew up with the language."
"Great," Cruiser said. "Go talk to the old guy there. Introduce us but don't mention that we're Americans. Just tell him we're patrolling this area and want to know how these nice folks are getting along."
"Aye, aye, sir!"
Paulo went over to the old man and began speaking. Within a moment they were going at it like they were long-lost brothers. A full ten minutes of conversation went by before the SEAL returned to the section commander. "There's a puzzling situation here, sir."
"What's going on?" Cruiser asked.
"Well, he thanked us for some rice and beans and said they came in handy," Paulo explained. "He asked about some guy by the name of Punzarrao, and I told him he was fine. He also said to give greetings to the other soldiers. Then he said no Bolivian troops have been around since the last time some weeks ago."
"Other soldiers and Bolivians, huh?" Cruiser mused. "Who is the old guy?"
"He's the chefe--the chief--and his name is Joao Cabecinho," Paulo said. "It seems they're illegal squatters from Brazil, and they're raising cattle here. Old Joao said everyone was afraid of getting run out, but evidently the same guys who gave them the food also promised they would protect them from Bolivian police and soldiers."
"Okay," Cruiser said. "I get it. These are some of the people Alfredo was talking about. The Falangists have already gained a strong influence over them. Go tell the old guy that we have to go now. Tell him we hope to be back soon."
Paulo made the good-byes, and all the villagers waved as the SEALs formed up and headed back toward the creek where the boats were hidden. Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson hurried forward along the column to walk with Lieutenant Cruiser. The chief was pessimistic. "What do you think, sir?"
"I think it's pretty obvious the Falangists have won the hearts and minds of those villagers," Cruiser said. "That means they've probably done the same thing to other civilians in the OA."
"That's bad news, sir," Gunnarson commented. "That means we'll be fighting on two fronts. We'll have to watch our backs."
"I'm afraid you're right," Cruiser said bitterly.
The column continued across the grasslands back toward the creek as it began to rain again.
Chapter 4
THE LOZANO GRASSLANDS
2 DECEMBER
0930 HOURS LOCAL
CAPITAN Tomas Platas led his nine-man column across the savannah, moving at a steady pace as they followed their assigned patrol route. He was concerned about the physical conditioning of the men, and glanced back, noting that several walked along with heads bent, obviously struggling as they went through the grim, ancient military practice of putting one foot ahead of the other. These sweating Falangists had abandoned staff positions to join the revolution, and none had the stamina of younger soldiers. Many had not served in line outfits for years.
They were divided into two rifle teams and a machine gun crew, and all were veteran noncommissioned officers from the Chilean, Bolivian and Argentine armies. They were in full field gear, carrying rifles while the automatic weapons crew was further burdened with an Amali light machine gun. The second-in-command of the patrol was a scowling Portuguese who had served in the Spanish Foreign Legion for a decade. Suboficial Adolfo Punzarr name Spanishized from the original Punzarrao of his native country--was in excellent physical condition. This large, muscular man with a shaven head had an enormous mustache that curled out from beneath a nose battered flat in innumerous brawls. Punzarron had fled into the Legion to avoid a murder charge in Portugal.
The suboficial, with the staying power of a bull unable to sense pain, scowled openly at the others in the patrol. He had nothing but contempt for the headquarters types. At least half of them were not truly devoted to the Falange. They had fled into the sanctuary of the revolution because of pending disciplinary actions, serious indebtedness, shrewish wives, or other personal problems. Those were the ones who found it so hard to readapt to field soldiering.
Here on the patrol, any slowing down or even a misstep earned the faltering man a heavy slap across the back of the head from the Portuguese's large hand. It didn't matter if he was a sargento or sargento-mayor, Punzarron treated the weakling like one of the pathetic wretches sent to his regiment fr
om recruiting stations to be brutalized into effectiveness for the ranks of the Foreign Legion.
Capitan Platas didn't like the man, but Comandante Toledo, who had served with the suboficial, gave implicit orders that none of the lieutenants or captains were to interfere with his methods. No one denied that Punzarron was a brute, but he got instant results using his fists and boots.
The forty-year-old sargento carrying the thirteen-kilo machine gun was having a particularly tough time of it. The crew had been passing it among themselves to share the load, but Punzarron quickly put a stop to that. Custom dictated that the gunner was responsible for the weapon, and by God, that meant he and he alone carried it! The sargento-gunner had been supervising an ordnance repair shop before leaving the Argentine armed forces, and it had beeny ears since he had served in a line combat outfit. He finally stumbled and collapsed to the thick grass, near exhaustion as the weapon fell to the ground.
Platas turned at the commotion and saw Punzarron pull the man to his feet, slapping his face hard. After the punch-up, the out-of-shape Argentine was forced to hold the weapon over his head and double-time around the column. Stark fear of the Portuguese ex-legionnaire gave him the strength to perform the punishment. Platas, who was from a crack Bolivian parachute battalion, appreciated the results of the punishment, but he disliked seeing a senior noncommissioned officer treated like a raw recruit.
After three circuits of the patrol, the gunner was allowed to stagger back into ranks to continue the trek.
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THE VILLAGE OF NOVIDA
1330 HOURS LOCAL
CAPITAN Platas and his patrol entered the village to find Joao Cabecinho waiting to greet them. Some of the vaqueiros out with the communal cattle herd had spotted the Falangists and sent a boy riding in to tell the headman about the visitors moving across the savannah toward the community.
Suboficial Punzarron went up with Platas to speak to Cabecinho while the men in the patrol sank to the ground to rest. Several women, noting the men's discomfort, brought them some rum to refresh themselves. As the exhausted men shared the liquor, Cabecinho enthusiastically shook hands with the senior patrol members, speaking through Punzarron's translation since Platas spoke no Portuguese.
"We are surprised to see you so soon," Cabecinho said. "Your other friends were here only a couple of days before."
Platas was puzzled. "What other friends?"
"They were soldiers like you," Cabecinho explained, "but their uniforms were different. I also noticed they had rifles that were not exactly like the ones you carry were sujeitos agraveles--nice guys. One of them spoke Portuguese in a strange way. Not like us and not like Suboficial Punzarrao. I thought it a little strange that none of them spoke Spanish."
"What did the men look like?" Platas asked. He was alarmed by the lack of Spanish speakers in the group and wanted to know more. "What were their -nationalities? What race?"
"One of them looked like an Indio from American western cinema," Cabecinho replied. "And one was a negm. All the others were europeus. A couple were very light-skinned:'
Punzarron looked at Platas and shrugged. "I am confused, mi capitan. The men of whom he speaks are obviously not Bolivian or even Chilean or Argentine if they did not speak Spanish?'
"I think an unexpected situation has arisen here," Platas said. "Tell Senor Cabecinho to keep a lookout for these strangers and any others that may show up. Tell him to notice how many of them there are, and to do his best to find out their nationality. Also instruct him to say nothing of us Falangistas. Impress upon him that there is a possibility of treachery in this situation."
Punzarron turned to the village headman and passed on the message in Portuguese. Cabecinho asked, "Is there some sort of problem?"
"We don't know," Punzarron replied. "Just be careful." "I shall do as requested," the village headman promised. "Com todo o gusto."
Platas ordered the suboficial to get the patrol back on their feet. "We're going straight back to headquarters," he said. "We must report this situation to Comandante Toledo immediately."
Punzarron barked the necessary orders, and the men struggled to their feet. The Portuguese noted the machine gunner would slow down the patrol, and he ordered one of the other members of the crew to take the heavy weapon from him. "You may now take turns with it." Sometimes discipline must come in second to expediency. To even things out, he would give the machine gun crew extra PT that evening.
Cabecinho waved as the Falangists left the village.
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SEAL BASE CAMP
THE detachment worked rapidly to prepare the bivouac to be temporarily abandoned during a long patrol out into the OA. Caches were closed while a minute inspection of the camp was made. All signs of the area having been occupied had to be obliterated, even though the SEALs eventually planned to return to the site. The slightest bit of carelessness could result in passing strangers inadvertently discovering something as small as a burnt match, a piece of an MRE packet or even a slight imprint of a boot in the soft soil. These seemingly insignificant objects would be like a neon light to a clever, vigilant enemy.
When the work was done, Brannigan led them a couple of hundred meters away, then sat everyone down for an oral OPORD of the coming operation. The men instinctively maintained team and section integrity as they settled into a semicircle to listen to the skipper's discourse.
"All right, my friends," Brannigan began, "here's the word. We're going to board the three rigid raider boats with the piraguas tied to the 'stern. We'll head down the Rio Ancho to that creek. By the way, we're now referring it to as Big Creek."
"Not a particularly colorful appellation, but aptly descriptive just the same," Chad Murchison remarked.
"Thank you, Petty Officer Murchison," Brannigan said. "We're so pleased you approve."
"Sorry, sir!" Chad uttered with a red face as the other SEALs grinned.
"To continue," Brannigan went on. "When we get to Big Creek, we'll hold up there. All boats will be camouflaged and hidden, then the First Assault Section plus the Odd Couple will head cross-country to that village of Novida. The Second Assault Section will follow at a discreet distance with the Command Element right behind them. As soon as the First Section reaches the objective, they will halt and inform me. Meanwhile, our intrepid scouts will re-con the area to see if any bad guys are in the vicinity:'
Bruno Puglisi gave his SAW an affectionate pat on the receiver. "And if there are any around, can we kill 'em, sir?"
"From that point on we'll play it by ear, Puglisi," Brannigan said. "I'm sure you'll find some activity that will amuse you before it's all said and done on this operation." He gestured to Lieutenant (J. G.) Jim Cruiser and Senior Chief Buford Dawkins. "Let's move 'em out!"
The First Assault Section led the way to the boats on the river.
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HEADQUARTERS, BANDERA 1
1800 HOURS
CAPITAN Tomas Platas left the patrol hurriedly after their return to the garrison and reported to headquarters. He sought out Generalisimo Jose Maria de Castillo y Plato, teniente-Coronel Jeronimo Busch and Comandante Javier Toledo, to inform them of the strangers who had mysteriously appeared in the theater of war.
Meanwhile Suboficial Adolfo Punzarron kept the other members of the patrol back for a special inspection. The eight men were lined up in a single rank with their rifles slung. Each held his canteen in his right hand. Punzarron went to the first man and pointed to the water carrier, commanding, "Derramelo!"
The man turned the canteen upside down. A few drops spilled out. Punzarron moved to the next rifleman, giving the same order. Once more some drops of water dribbled from the container. However, when the third man obeyed the command, not a bit of water emerged. The suboficial punched him hard in the face, causing him to stumble back and fall to the ground.
Punzarron glared at the men. "I am trying to teach you water discipline! In the Spanish Foreign Legion in the Moroccan desert we learned the value of conserving our wa
ter. And you will learn it here, even if we are in the midst of a savannah that is crisscrossed with streams and creeks. Many of you have spent too many years in the luxury of garrison duty with plenty of water and beer available. You are on active field operations now, where only an idiota would guzzle down every drop in his canteen as if there is no tomorrow."
He went to the next two men, satisfied when they, too, had something left in their canteens. However, the next three NCOs had consumed all the water they had. They were treated to a hard clout each for their lack of self-control.
Meanwhile, as Punzarron administered his brand of discipline to the men of the patrol, Toledo, Castillo and Busch listened with great interest as Platas explained what had transpired in Novida. Castillo was worried. "Undoubtedly outsiders and I mean foreigners--have moved into the Gran Chaco. The most disturbing element of the situation is that they could well be an international group brought in from the UN. Right now the last thing we need is a peacekeeping force traipsing around the future location of the DFF."
Busch snorted a laugh as he lit a cigar. "The UN, mi generalisimo? What is there to worry about from incompetent, badly led Third World soldiers trying to interfere with our plans?"
Toledo wasn't quite so optimistic. "Perhaps it isn't the United Nations, Coronel Busch. We cannot safely assume that is the case. If we are wrong, we will pay a terrible price for our arrogant complacency."
"Good thinking, Comandante," Castillo said. "I want you to send two of your combat sections out for a sweeping reconnaissance of the Grasslands in the vicinity of Novida."
"Inmediatamente, mi generalisimo! " Toledo said. "I shall dispatch Silber and Argento within the hour."
"Excellent," Castillo said. "And I think it is the time to bring in reinforcements:' He looked at Busch. "How many men can we send for, Coronel?"
"Bandera 2 has approximately fifty men," Busch replied. "And it will only be a matter of weeks before we can transfer in enough personnel from Argentina and Chile to activate Bandera 3:'
"Pronto!" Castillo said. "Do it!"
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