by Jack Terral
Chief Matt Gunnarson agreed. "And you can bet your asses they was bringing troops in with 'em."
"You're right about that," Brannigan said. "We're going to have to keep moving and fighting at the same time. If they pin us down even once, we're gone gooses. There's no way in hell we can start up again. It would just be a matter of slugging it out until all the ammo is expended."
Everyone listened over their LASH sets, knowing that a real possibility of sustaining high casualties existed in this predicament. The main objective now was to get to those distant Selva Verde Mountains.
"I'm going to have to pull three guys off the line to pole the piraguas," Brannigan continued. "I want Frank Gomez and Garth Redhawk to get up on the left bank with the First Assault Section. Chad Murchison and Guy Deveraux will go with the Second. James Bradley will stay with me in the piraguas to take care of the wounded." Brannigan waited until the detachment was organized. "That's it! Send me the guys for poling now. We'll trade 'em off when it seems necessary. Let's go, people."
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THE EQUIPO COMMANDO
CORONEL Busch and his men were formed in a skirmish line as they crawled through grass on their hands and knees, keeping as low as possible. Now and then they could hear one of the bandidos say something to a companion, and Busch estimated they were perhaps less than twenty meters away.
It was Sargento Muller who first sighted the enemy at close range. He quickly advised the others over the LASH. "They are no more than fifteen meters away."
"Escuchan!" Busch said. "On my command we will all fire a couple of six-round bursts in their direction. Then drop flat on your bellies and crawl away in the opposite direction." He raised his head and could see what appeared to be at least a half dozen of the enemy. "Tiren!"
The sudden eruptions of fire thundered twice, then the comandos went flat, turning to snake away into the grass.
* * *
CONNIE Concord jerked violently as two slugs slammed into his left arm, and he staggered sideways to tumble off the grassy bank into the water. James Bradley, in the second piragua, immediately dove in after him. He quickly found the wounded man in the muddy river and pulled him to the surface. Brannigan reached over the side of the boat and grabbed Connie under the arms, bodily hauling him aboard. James pulled himself from the river and wasted no time in examining the victim, who had slid into unconsciousness.
"He's hit bad, sir," James said. "The forearm is fractured, and he's got two massive soft tissue injuries."
"Christ!" Brannigan said. "They must've been really close."
"Yes, sir," Bradley said, digging into his medical kit. "Normally this could be handled easily, but I can't give him proper treatment for shock. That could kill him even if the wounds aren't necessarily fatal."
Now heavy firing broke out on the right side of the river, churning up clumps of grassy dirt and sending ricochets zinging off into the air.
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THE BATTLE
CORONEL Busch's familiar voice sounded over Comandante Javier Toledo's RMAM radio. "Toledo, continue to fire, but move in closer! This is an attack not an exercise on the firing range! And use those machine guns for support!"
Toledo wasted no time in advancing his twenty-four men toward the enemy. The leading skirmish line of eight under the command Capitan Francisco Silber made first contact. Their fusillades swept back and forth into the enemy on the riverbank. Within sixty seconds the second rank under Capita Roberto Argento joined them. Now sixteen assault weapons, skillfully employed and well-aimed, poured swarms of bullets at the bandidos. When the CETME Amalfi machine guns joined the assault, their accurate patterns of fire overlapped as timed volleys of the 5.56-millimeter slugs supported the riflemen ahead.
.
THE SEALs slid over the banks of the Rio Ancho to avoid the flying steel whipping around them. They returned fire in the obvious direction of the attack; unaimed but hitting close to the enemy. Joe Miskoski pumped out rounds from his SAW, trying to be as effective as possible as he swept the barrel up and down the line. Although they were unsure of the effects of their efforts, and bullets continued to crack and thud heavily around them, the SEALs suffered no further casualties. Over on the other side of the river, the First Assault Team was not taking fire after the initial attack that hit Connie.
.
"CAPPUZZO!" came Busch's angry voice over the RMAM. "Where the hell are you?"
"I am taking my command toward the sound of the fighting," Co to Gustavo Cappuzzo radioed back. "But the battle seems to be moving eastward."
"Correcto! " Busch replied. "Forget about moving in to make contact until you're past the gunfire. Then make an abrupt move toward the river in skirmish lines. Keep going until you find the enemy. And don't forget your machine gun support!" He slipped the handset back onto his pistol belt, turning to Punzarron, Chaubere and Muller. "We are in a good position on the west of the enemy. We're going to move forward until we can fire at their rear guard. Punzarron, you and Chaubere take the south side of the river while Muller and I take the north."
The Equipo Comando split up, then began moving toward the bandidos as soon as Punzarron and Chaubere had swum across to the other side.
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THE SEALs continued the trek to the east, answering the salvos fired at them with bursts of their own. Neither side was able to deliver accurate fusillades, but the unaimed fire kept both adversaries working in cautionary modes. Any rash attacks by anyone could be handily dealt with by the other side.
The piraguas were now tied together while Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan and Hospital Corpsman James Bradley both performed the poling chores in the front boat. They had piled a good amount of ammunition between them, and when some SEAL on the bank needed another bandoleer, it was a simple thing to reach down and toss him one. At this time they had plenty of the 5.56-millimeter bullets for both the CAR-15s and the SAWs.
Connie Concord was numbed by morphine as he lay in the second piragua. James had arranged him in a comfortable position on his back with blankets over him and his feet elevated. This was all he could do in an attempt to keep Connie from going into shock. The hospital corpsman would have preferred to use an IV drip with epinephrine solution, but the present situation of kill or be killed did not offer the luxury of sophisticated medical treatments.
Brannigan had issued orders to knock off unnecessary chatter over the LASH systems. He had to use the devices to issue battle orders since he could not use the AN/PRC126 handset. Both his hands were busy with the pole as he and James kept the piraguas moving as best they could. However, the Skipper could easily keep his eyes on the SEALs on both sides of the river as they continued to move in the eastward direction under fire. He wanted to keep them traveling the same distance and speed, and he made adjustments with terse comments. "Godamn it! Second Section slow down and First Section step it up."
The incoming fire, while still steady, was no longer so heavy. This was an ominous indication that the Falangists had figured out the situation and were concentrating on keeping pace with the SEALs as much as they were of blasting bullets in their direction.
AN hour had passed while Busch and his comandos trailed after the SEALs, and the equipo had stepped up the pace since they were not receiving fire. They listened carefully as they moved along both sides of the river, noting that the exchange of salvos was getting steadily louder.
Chaubere was the first one to catch sight of the bandidos. "Voila! I can see the enemy, mon colonel," he said, slipping into French. "There is a man on each side of the river."
"Atacen!" Busch ordered.
The four Falangists rushed forward, their submachine guns spitting fiery salvos at the SEALs.
Up ahead, Chad Murchison on the north bank and Andy Malanchenko on the south, turned to meet the attack. They dropped to the ground, pumping the triggers of their CAR-15s. Bruno Puglisi immediately became aware of the situation and rushed back to join them. The squad automatic weapon added to the volleys of steel jackete
d slugs directed at the four attackers.
Busch immediately broke off the attack, and the equipo dropped to the grass as one man. They would bide their time, then once again make a charge on the rear of the bandidos' column.
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1615 HOURS LOCAL
THE fighting went on all through the day. Neither side took casualties because of the nature of the fighting. No one could expose himself long enough to deliver accurate fire, so both sides more or less delivered independent firing in the blind. Many times the combatants simply raised their weapons without aiming, and squeezed off short fire bursts.
Busch's Equipo Comando kept the pressure on the rear of the SEALs with sporadic attacks before pulling back out of harm's way. While they didn't accomplish much in the way of inflicting casualties, they were able to keep an accurate measure of the enemy's rate of advance. Busch continually radioed Comandantes Toledo and Cappuzzo of the distance traveled by the bandidos. The information allowed the Falangist forces on both sides of the river to move along in the fluid battle.
Busch wanted to keep the pressure building until the bandidos could be pinned down in one spot. Then the Falangist force could hit them from two sides and quickly bring a victorious end to the day's fighting.
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1930 H0URS LOCAL
BY now Wild Bill Brannigan and James Bradley poled the piraguas on pure adrenaline. They had passed the point of being able to assess their fatigue; instead they simply went through the process of pushing the boats along while poling like automatons.
"Ammo!" a voice came from the south bank. "Two bandoleers."
Brannigan reached down and grabbed the cloth holders, tossing them over to Gutsy Olson. The Skipper took a deep breath and shook his head to clear his mind. He opened his eyes wide and exhaled before breathing in again. Then he noticed that the incoming firing was lessening noticeably. "Hey, Chiefs!" he said, speaking to both Senior Chief Buford Dawkins and Chief Matt Gunnarson. "Is the enemy fire easing up?"
"Roger, sir," Dawkins replied. "I think them assholes may be needing an ammo resupply by now."
"Yeah," Matt agreed. "If we hear choppers again, you can bet they'll be toting bullets into the combat area." "Okay:' Brannigan said. "I haven't heard any casualty reports from you guys."
"We ain't had any, sir," Dawkins said. "But on the other hand, I'm pretty sure we ain't inflicting any either."
"Then let's keep moving," Brannigan said. "Step up the pace if you can. Every meter closer we get to those mountains is an advantage to us."
"Aye, sir!" came back two simultaneous replies.
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2030 HOURS LOCAL
THE sound of chopper engines eased in from the distance on both sides of the river. They stayed back out of range as they settled in to land with lights beaming down on the grassland beneath their skids.
The incoming fire on the SEALs dropped some more, indicating the Falangists were sending men back to pick up ammo for the line. Brannigan knew this would impede their fighting ability until darkness descended to end the long Southern Hemisphere summer day. He also was aware that the enemy had night vision capabilities, and this would add another problem to deal with. The longer the battle lasted, the more advantage the Falangists had. Brannigan had to come up with some sort of plan to stop the fighting or at least delay it for a few precious hours.
"Everybody," he said over the LASH, "keep moving!" He glanced back at James Bradley. "How's Connie doing?" "He's still with us, sir."
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2230 HOURS LOCAL
SEALs' activities, waiting to see if an opening occurred where a grand slam could be dealt.
Brannigan's mind had been churning for the previous two hours, and he now had a tactical scheme. It was risky, probably could not succeed, and was a disaster waiting to happen, i. E., just the type of situation in which the United States Navy SEALs excelled.
Brannigan got on the LASH. "We're holding up right here. I want good solid defensive perimeters set up. Let the team leaders handle this. Meanwhile I want to see both section commanders along with the Odd Couple and Garth Redhawk. Let's go, people! We don't have a hell of a lot of time."
When the quintet of invited guests reported to the piraguas, they scrambled aboard the first one, settling down in the stern sheets. James Bradley now had time to get into the second boat to check Connie over. He found the injured man resting comfortably and not headed into shock. The wounds were serious, however, and the combination of broken bones and tissue damage was something to take seriously.
Brannigan took a swig of water from his canteen, then turned his full attention to the five men who had joined him. "We can't stay here," he said. "The only chance we have is to get the hell out of here and into the Selva Verde Mountains to set up and wait for whatever the high command has in store for us."
"I don't suppose you know what that might be, do you, sir?" Senior Chief Dawkins asked hopefully.
"I don't have clue," Brannigan admitted bitterly. "So here's what we're going to do. I want the Falangists to think we're camping out here. They'll pull back from the river and put out sentries, then wait for daylight to lower the boom on us. So! The Odd Couple and Redhawk strip down for action. By that, I mean no equipment, just pistols and knives. Get all the noise making crap out of your pockets like keys and coins. You guys are going to pussyfoot it onto the south bank of the river, taking out guards along the way. Just keep in mind that they have night vision goggles. You're going on a risky mission, but there's a good reason for it."
"I get it, sir:' Mike Assad said. "We're going to clear a path to get down the river a ways."
"Exactly!" Brannigan said. "When you've done that, the whole detachment is going to get together on that bank. We'll put four men on each piragua and lift them out of the water. We'll carry them through the cleared area for about three-quarters or so of a kilometer. Then it's back in the river to pole like hell toward the mountains in the east."
Matt Gunnarson nodded his understanding. "So we'll stay up on the riverbanks until you call us in for the big move, right, sir?"
"That's it," Brannigan said.
Redhawk sniffed the air. "I smell rain, sir."
"I'll take your word for it," Brannigan said. "But I'd be surprised if the gods of war would give us a break like that."
The three men who would be operating with pistol and knife through the enemy lines began shedding unessential gear to leave in the piragua.
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8 JANUARY
0200 HOURS LOCAL
THE rain fell heavily, beating an uneven staccato on both river and grass as Garth Redhawk signaled back to the Odd Couple bringing them to a halt. He was ten meters ahead of them as they lay prone in the grass. They had no ponchos, and their BDUs soaked up the water from the deluge and hung heavy on the SEALs' bodies. Three dead sentries were scattered between them and the spot where they had climbed from the river onto the south bank.
Dave Leibowitz looked past Redhawk and could see what had caught his attention. A Falangist guard sat cross-legged on the ground wrapped cozily in his rain gear while dozing with his night vision goggles pushed up on his forehead. They had noticed these were all older men as they moved stealthily through the enemy's picket line at the front of their main defensive perimeter. While these veterans were excellent noncommissioned officers, their age had caught up with them from the long hours of fighting that day. The heavily failing rain added to their fatigue. Most were inattentive and exhausted, with the vigor and alertness of youth badly faded, taking down their energy levels.
Redhawk had his K-Bar knife in his right hand as he got to his feet in a semierect position. He moved toward the sentry, glad the noise of the storm covered any inadvertent sound-he might make. His boots seemed to tread nothingness as he approached his victim without disturbing even the heavily soaked knee-high grass. The SEAL struck suddenly and silently, putting a smothering hand over the guy's mouth and nose while making a deep cut completely across the throat. The wound fr
om the razor-sharp blade went all the way down to the neck bone.
Mike Assad now spoke softly into his LASH. "All enemy sentries are cleared."
The word was passed through Wes Ferguson to Pech Pecheur. Pecheur, the last of the LASH link on the bank, now gave the welcome information to Wild Bill Brannigan, who waited back on the river with the rest of the detachment. When Brannigan spoke, the remaining men is the piraguas all heard him: "Drag 'em out of the river!"
Wes and Pech headed back to give a hand with the wooden boats.
.
THE FALANGIST FORCE
0715 H0URS LOCAL
CORONEL Jeronimo Busch was so furious that spittle flew from his mouth as he railed at all the comandantes and capitanes. He had called all six officers to come in from their units and report to him. "There are four dead pickets scattered up and down the line of battle! And now the bandidos are gone! They dragged their piraguas from the river and pulled them a kilometer! Un kilometro enteral Then reentered the water and have now made good headway toward the Selva Verde Mountains!"
"No one heard anything, mi coronel," Comandante Toledo said, shamefaced. "It was as if the norteamericanos or europeos or whatever they are, had turned to shadows and floated through us."
"Con permiso, mi coronel," Comandante Cappuzzo said, "but our men worked very late loading and carrying ammunition from the helicopters. This was done on both sides of the river. Our lines were not at full strength. Or even half. Two out of every three men were on the ammunition detail."
"We need to bring in younger men, mi coronel," Toledo interjected. "Our older noncommissioned officers run out of steam eventually. It cannot be helped."
Busch knew Toledo was right, but he had to give everyone's fighting spirit another jump start. "That is no excuse! It is imperative that we defeat these bandidos as quickly as possible."
The new officer, Capitan Pablo Gonzales, was impressed by the enemy and didn't bother to hide it. "Those men we fight are not bandidos, mi coronel! Their skills and capabilities show that they are militares profesionales of an elite force. Mercenaries could not fight like that!"
