by T I WADE
The three brothers were at the back of the aircraft, bound and in a tarp-covered steel cage. They looked tired and haggard after their capture, and not very comfortable with their arch-enemy, Ambassador Rodriquez, sitting twenty feet away from them.
The DC-3 and all the other aircraft were on auto-pilot and the open door at the back of Carlos’ aircraft gave them a nice cool breeze which flowed through the aircraft. At 10,000 feet the temperature was only 10 degrees or so cooler than the sea below them, currently at 80 degrees. The captives had been told that if a noise was heard from them, out their cage would go, without a parachute.
“So, Uncle we are going to get the Calderón family once and for all?” asked Carlos taking a sip from a thermos of hot Colombian coffee. “We must have really decreased their forces in Houston. Senator Calderón must have very few soldiers left.”
“He is as slippery as a snake,” replied Uncle Philippe. “I know that the men his sons had fighting with them are not the same men the old man has as protection. I’ve heard that he always has a couple of thousand men in secret locations around Bogotá when he is in the city. I have often thought of accidentally having a fight with his men, but not having much proof that he has ever done anything wrong or illegal, I‘ve always let him be. During the time they are not needed in Bogotá, his men live in the mountains and cannot be easily flushed out by usual methods. Many lives would be lost if our men went in to get them in and around Florencia, where they normally stay when Senator Calderón is out of the country. He only spends a few months every year in Bogotá, and only when the government is in session. I’ve often tried to put a tail on him, or try to follow him to see where he holes up when he’s not in the city, but he always goes through Venezuela, and he becomes invisible in that country.”
“Will he be in Bogotá when we arrive?” asked Carlos checking his aircraft’s panel gauges and looking at the other aircraft a mile or so in front of them in a very loose formation.
“Should be,” Uncle Philippe replied. “I have convened an emergency meeting of Parliament. Parliament is always in session at this time anyway, from the end of May to mid-June, just before the summer break, and an emergency meeting of the government means that every government official should be there, whether they like it or not.”
“Should be an interesting meeting,” added Carlos’ father. “Have you a plan of action yet, Philippe?”
“No, not yet, but I have one good idea forming. I just need to know that the senator is in town and then have our men and our allies who are flying with us, the Marines, position themselves around the governmental buildings, and position our new gunships in the air above; then, when his men attack, we are ready for them. I hope by taking all our U.S. friends into Cali after dark we will deter any radio or road messages getting to the old dog. My brothers have men clearing the buildings around the airport and setting up police roadblocks and army checkpoints on all the roads between Cali and Bogotá. If they try to tell him that we have arrived, I’m hoping we block the move.”
“Do his bodyguards have good weapons?” asked Carlos.
“The very best,” replied his uncle. Money was no problem for this man. At one time he was supposed to be worth over one billion U.S. dollars. We know that he has another army of men on San Andrés, the island he normally calls a stronghold. That is why the admiral and his three frigates are going to visit there tomorrow. We have 3,000 of our own loyal men, Colombian parachutists; ready to go in tomorrow and that should equal his men on the island. Luiz has always wanted that island; it was his wish when we were young boys. I told him not to flatten the Calderón estate or the main town, El Centro, with his frigates’ guns, and he could take it as his own.”
Two hours later, dusk arrived from the east as a black stripe of the coast was seen on the horizon; the pilots had already found the faint airport radio frequency from Cali’s main radio station on their directional finders. It was all they had to direct themselves into the Alfonso Bonilla Aragón International Airport until the usual Colombian Kfirs, their now fully operational fighters, a dozen of them this time, came up to greet the incoming aircraft. They had to use the international airport this trip as all the protection was needed while the 747 transporter would be unloading in about 12 hours’ time. Everything else needed for fire fights was in the cargo holds of the aircraft they were flying in.
With all aircraft engines on full power, and after climbing to 17,000 feet, they swept into Colombian air space with the formation of fighters around them; any higher and everybody would need oxygen. The pilots hoped the people on the ground would not hear the engines of dozens of aircraft above them.
Only on final approach, and with a five-mile line of aircraft, did the civilian airport’s landing lights come on. They were the only lights allowed at the airport.
Carlos brought in his aircraft with the VIPs aboard second, Easy Girl going in thirty seconds before him. He could just see blackened remains of several buildings around the outside perimeter fence as they came in. This was his first visit to this locked down international airport. His last take-off had been at the military airfield several miles away.
“Philippe, it’s so good to see you safe,” General Miguel Rodriquez hugged his brother before hugging Carlos and his father. “Carlos you have been in the wars since we last met, I’ve been told,” the general stated slapping him on the back and hugging him. “I’m going to have to employ you in our armed forces one of these days.”
As the other aircraft came in to the heavily defended airport, the VIPS moved towards the safety of the command center.
Here, bocas and wine were ready for the visitors. The other brothers, apart from the admiral, Luiz Rodriquez, were all here ready for the visit: the always jovial Colonel Alberto Rodriquez, who was in charge of the Colombian Special Forces—Carlos had not been told this on his last visit—and, Commandant Alvarez Rodriquez, who was third-in-command of the country’s police force
“We have two days before we must get you into Bogotá, Philippe, what do you want to do?” his younger brother Miguel Rodriquez asked once the last aircraft was on the ground.
“Unload your gifts from the American people, get all of our aircraft safe, and most importantly, get the 747 transporter out of here tomorrow night once she has been unloaded and reloaded,” replied the ambassador munching on a snack.
“We have ten tons of pineapples and mangoes, ten tons of prime unfrozen Colombian beef, ten tons of fresh vegetables and a ton of coffee ready to be loaded. Can this aircraft take all that?” Police Commissioner Alvarez Rodriquez asked.
“She can handle up to thirty-two tons on this length of runway and such a short flight, Uncle Alvarez, so there also will be room for dancing girls and a rumba band,” joked Carlos. “I have a plan. Can Colombia deliver a 32-ton load of food, meat, and produce once a week in return for new electrical parts and arms from America?”
“It will take a few weeks to set it up, but I think Colombia could manage that pretty easily. Who is going to eat our food?” Alvarez, who seemed to be the brother in the know, replied. “For supplies of aviation fuel, we could do this once a day if you wish, as long as the transporter doesn’t use our valuable jet fuel on this side.”
“The aircraft will fly into North Carolina and then Andrews Air Force Base on this flight and off-load half its load at each stop,” replied Carlos. “The food will go into the main food distribution system. If you could find more coffee, or just make up 32-ton loads, then at least she will fly out full every time. She won’t need refueling when she comes in later tonight. I’m just worried about a rocket or missile going up to meet her while she is in Colombian air space.”
“We have 20,000 of our men within a ten-mile area around this airfield, and they have been in position for a month now. I feel it will be very difficult for our enemy to be in the area. Our plan is to have a fifteen-mile area cordoned off soon and only allow the local inhabitants in. We are even thinking of building a new and secret air forc
e base in a very rural area south of here and actually make it no-man’s land for a twenty-mile area,” added General Miguel Rodriquez. “I’m sure whatever you send us will be valuable enough to build this new Air Force base. What other aircraft do we have incoming tonight? I need to make sure we have enough Kfirs up there as protection, and also enough accommodation for your American Marines.”
Carlos told him about the twenty gunships, three tankers and second flight of C-130s with 2,000 Marines aboard, and the general’s eyebrows rose at the mention of 20 Chinese incoming attack helicopters. Carlos could see his mind working.
“Don’t get any ideas about the Zhi-10s,” he stated smiling. “I had to get on my knees and beg to borrow them for this operation and if any are shot down, I’d better take you up on that job offer, Uncle.”
“Sounds good to me,” the general smiled back. “We win both ways.”
“By the way, I would like to introduce you to a few friends of mine,” Carlos continued. “General Rodriquez, may I introduce you to some men who have been here often, mostly to Medellin and Bogotá helping you with your undercover battles,” and Carlos introduced his uncle to the Seal Team members who had captured the Calderón brothers.
“Lieutenant Charlie Meyers at you service, General.” Charlie stated saluting. “These are my buddies, Lieutenants Joe Paul and Sean Murphy, and Sergeants Mendez, Chavez, Santana and Miguel Rodriquez, a family member of yours, I believe?” he stated in perfect Spanish.
“Ah! Miguel Junior, I was wondering when we would meet again,” replied the general.
“Yes, Papa, I was looking forward to coming back home again,” replied the sergeant, hugging his father. Sergeant Rodriquez was usually very quiet. The others, including Carlos, his father, and Uncle Philippe looked on, total surprise written all over their faces.
“I sent Miguel Junior to the States fifteen years ago at eighteen to get his citizenship and to see if he was good enough for the US Navy Seals,” stated the Colombian Air Force Commander to the still-shocked group around him. Philippe, you never met Miguel, my second born son. My first born, Alfonso, was murdered by the cartels a couple of years after Miguel left for America; he returned for the funeral, after just completing his selection course for the navy Seals. He was young, fit, and handsome when he left and he is still that today. And I am very proud of him.”
“Why the Seals?” asked Charlie Meyers, thinking for a few seconds. “Now it all fits together. When we were completing the Coffee-Cartel sweep and termination mission in Medellin, what…five or so years ago, Miguel seemed to know the area like the back of his hand. For us that was a real plus, and we never normally ask questions.”
“He went to high school in that area of Medellin, only a mile or so away from the coffee selling houses, the same houses you guys cleaned out for us,” replied the general. “Once he became a U.S. citizen, it was important to wipe his past Colombian history clean, so that there were no connections from the cartels to him. There are millions of Latin Americans with the same family name throughout Central and South America, so it wasn’t difficult. It was necessary to get my son into a good group of military men, who General Pete Allen and Admiral Martin Rogers, both friends of the family, could send over to help us doing our weeding and cleaning up every now and again. How did you know he was family, Lieutenant Meyers?”
“Just a hunch, General,” Lieutenant Meyers replied. “First we meet Carlos here who is a Rodriquez with fancy connections, then we are met at the airport by a whole bunch of the same Rodriquez family, then I took a guess from his past; Miguel’s knowledge of Colombia every time we entered this country over the last decade. General, I just put two and two together. That’s what keeps us Seals alive, hey Miguel?” Sergeant Rodriquez nodded without saying a word.
General Rodriquez, Sir, the second wave of aircraft is asking for finals, and the 747 is exactly an hour behind them,” stated a soldier walking up to the group several minutes later while they still stood around the snacks table and chatted.
Thirty minutes later a long line of helicopters came in to land, swooping in from high altitude above the airfield as the general had ordered, once he was told they were in the airport area.
The last aircraft came in an hour later, minutes before midnight. The 747 transporter came in dark, her external lights off, and only the shape outlined by the runway landing lights showed her massive structure and her oval forward area. Other than that, anybody in the nearby area would have needed night glasses to see her black silhouette against the lighter night sky.
An aircraft of her size couldn’t be stealthy and quiet, and the ground vibrated slightly as her engines were put into full reverse thrust; Carlos was sure that the noise could be heard as far as Bogotá, hundreds of miles away. She swept past the terminals several hundred yards away and, ten minutes later and still blacked out; her shape could be seen entering the terminal apron in front of the main building.
Carlos guessed who was flying her—only the best—and once the ladders were up, and her engines quiet, the nose opened for unloading. Majors Wong and Chong came down the stairs to be welcomed.
General Rodriquez was more interested in the two lines of ten Chinese attack helicopters to greet the incoming pilots. Carlos went with him. “Don’t get any ideas, Uncle!” stated Carlos. “America will not give you a nut or a bolt from one of these. General Patterson knows, and so do all of us who are stateside, that these Zhi-10s are the most powerful force of aircraft in the world, and you have no chance, not even a little bit of no chance.”
“Not even one, for everything we can produce?” asked General Rodriquez, already knowing that he was barking up the wrong tree. “How about a lifetime supply of our best coffees?”
Carlos smiled and looked at his uncle, silently telling him, “No!” They returned to the larger aircraft to inspect the gifts from America.
With a heavy guard, the airfield rested for the remainder of the night; the only activity was the unloading of the transporter.
Early the next morning, trucks began to arrive with produce already packed in boxes on pallets ready to be loaded, bound for the U.S.
For most of the day truck after truck had its cargo fork-lifted off and transported onto the special flat-loaders the aircraft had brought to raise the cargo up to the nose for self-loading. The transporter didn’t fly anywhere without this well-designed system.
By midnight that evening, she took off on her return flight, first to RDU and then further north to Andrews. Majors Wong and Chong bid farewell to their friends and headed back with an aircraft full of valuable food.
The second morning was also the day before the group was to fly up to Bogotá for the government meeting. Plans were made using maps of the area around the government buildings and the best locations to attack or defend the buildings, whatever came first. Being a rest day, both countries’ military rested, cleaned their weapons, refueled and armed all aircraft, and made ready for combat.
The C-130s with the Marines aboard took off first, an hour before midnight, for the short one-hour flight into Bogotá’s El Dorado International Airport. Thousands of Colombian troops were ready for their arrival in Bogotá at the Catam Air Force Base inside the international airport. The Rodriquez brothers weren’t taking any chances. The helicopters left an hour later and, at 3:00 a.m., the second wave of C 130 troop transporters took off for their short flight.
No problems were encountered, and once he had closed his aircraft down, Carlos decided to head back to bed in a new room. This was to be the final day of rest and he was going to make full use of it.
Early the next morning, the ground transportation arrived to take the officials into the city, three separate convoys of dark limousines. Carlos was asked to get into the second of the first convoy’s limousines, with Charlie Meyers and several of the Seal Team members, now dressed in Colombian military fatigues, to be driven to the Nariño Palace. They chatted, as did his father and Uncle Philippe in the car ahead of them, protecte
d by their four guards.
Colombian police, army soldiers, and the same tank were there protecting the entrance to the Palace’s main entrance when they swept through. Several miles behind them the Marines, with Colombian support, were being driven into the areas where they would be ready to attack the buildings. The attack helicopters were ready to lift off if needed.
Everybody in Carlos’ vehicle was now quiet and all eyes scanned the open areas and buildings for angles and opportunities. Carlos noted that there were far fewer soldiers encamped around the area than on his first visit and he mentioned that to the men with him.
“Weird”, he stated to the others. “Last time there were hundreds of men with everything from heavy machine-gun placements to mortars, today it looks like a picnic in the park. I’ve only counted thirty soldiers, the tank, and one machine gun over there backing up the tank,” he stated pointed to the only visible machine gun post.
“Better for us!” replied Lieutenant Paul. “Fewer soldiers to get in our way if trouble is brewing.”
“Maybe they don’t expect any trouble today. How many days is this government get-together?” asked Charlie Meyers.
“Three days,” replied Carlos. “If Senator Calderón wanted his men in here, he certainly doesn’t want to show them to us,” Carlos thought to himself.
“There are many places to hide many soldiers,” added Lieutenant Murphy, sitting with them. Sergeant Miguel Rodriquez was the fourth bodyguard in Carlos’ car. There was a third and fourth limousine behind them full of navy Seals. The same was true of the other two convoys. One had General Rodriquez and the third would be twenty minutes behind as Admiral Luiz Rodriquez had just flown in from the coast in a navy helicopter.
