by John Muir
CHAPTER 33
FIREPOWER
WHITE BEACH, BORACAY
The guerillas sat comfortably high on the hill where they had established themselves in the early hours of the morning. The Group Leader joined them about an hour after the first helicopter visit. He looked at the panorama of the glistening white sands to his front.
Midday had barely past. From here he could see the whole beach. Even with a slightly sun-hazy seaward view to the horizon he estimated he had clear visibility of about twenty kilometres. Over the slight ridge at his back he had a similar view. Whichever way any attack came from, he would have plenty of notice. The binoculars were good with the yellow filters attached. Even the darker areas of the island forests were clearer.
The hilltop group had set up two .50 calibre machine guns and three stinger missile launchers were loaded and ready in case any helicopters came over or towards the ridge from either direction. Other launchers were spread around the island.
From here they could bring down any escaping helicopters. Their line of sight was better than anywhere else. The stinger would fly better if guided right to its target with a longer line of sight lock-on.
They did not have long to wait. In the distance he could see the low fast south-easterly approach of six helicopters. The group leader pressed his walkie-talkie button once, paused, pressed it six times, paused and pressed it three times more in the prearranged code to indicate the type, number and direction of the incoming aircraft.
On hearing the six buzzes, the guerillas in the bancas immediately jumped off the land-facing bows into the knee-deep waters. They ran up the slight incline of the beach and took cover in the many huts at the edge of the sand. The pre-arranged order was to change their positions if more than one helicopter was sighted. The Group Leader did not know if the previous helicopter had transmitted any message through to his base warning of the guerillas in the bancas.
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The helicopters approached at close to their maximum speed of 100 knots toward the mid-point of the beach and just south of the group of bancas. A quick course correction saw the group split into three sections of two helicopters. Each pair had one rocket armed helicopter and one armed only with the side machine gunners.
The first salvo of rockets from the leading helicopter at the bancas was wide and short of its target. They exploded harmlessly on and around the nearby shallow reef and water. The accompanying partner had swung wider and opened up on the bancas with .50 calibre fire as it swept past.
The second pair followed a similar path. The aim of the rockets from the second pilot was better than that of the first. His salvo exploded directly among the group of bancas. Other bancas further up the beach were now being successfully hit by the first helicopter and its accompanying partner's machine guns. The tandem operations were going just as the pilots had practised many times. This though was not practice and these targets might start shooting back.
The third pair had swept southward doing the same damage to the bancas in their path.
Rockets expended, the pairs now turned from each end of the beach and headed back toward the centre at top speed intending to cross about halfway.
The Group Leader on the hilltop waited until the groups were about five hundred metres apart in their rapid closing movement. He pressed his walkie-talkie button and held it down.
In response to the signal, automatic weapon fire from over 150 weapons' sites within range erupted. Bullets interspersed with tracer rounds streaked toward the helicopters from nipa huts, from the tree lined middle area of the beach and from higher ground on the sides of the hills. This time the deep and heavier sound of the M60's joined in with the lighter M16's. The .50 calibre bullets easily ripping into and through heavy engine parts and tearing the fragile tail rotor blades.
Within seconds, and before the helicopters had even begun return fire, the third helicopter in the northern group lost its tail rotor. It plunged into the sea hitting one of the bancas it had fired on minutes before. One of the two southern helicopters engine had burst into flame. It began to veer rapidly out of control toward the beach, losing height. It hit the white sand, flinging its soldier passengers out at crash speed to be killed on impact on a beach they had always wanted to touch as a tourist.
The four helicopters still flying had suffered varying degrees of damage. Smoke wisped from the engine of the number two in the northern group. The pilot and co-pilot of the number four helicopter were both dead, but the helicopter managed to keep a straight and level course along the beach. Once the four remaining helicopters crossed paths, three veered out to sea away from the island. The one with the dead men at its control continued to fly south attracting more southerly fire as it came into the range of the gunners not part of the first eruption of fire.
The Guerilla Group Leader worried that the helicopters heading seaward might escape, pressed one long buzz and two short buzzes on his walkie-talkie. Within seconds, trails of eight stinger missiles were streaking after the seaward retreating helicopters from several different directions.
Three balls of fire erupted about two kilometres out to sea. The trails of five wasted missiles continued through the smoke past the now scrap metal targets and exploded in the sea one or two kilometres further on.
The sole surviving helicopter, with its dead pilots at the controls, continued its southward course until hitting the hills at the southern end of the beach. It exploded in a ball of flames.
Feeling pleased with the action, but managing to withhold an outward display of his emotions, the Group Leader looked at his joyfully shouting comrades. After they had calmed down he remembered that it must be getting close to his "call in" time. He checked his watch; they would have time to eat a quick meal before his 1:00P.M. report to "Tour Organiser". He felt his part of the mission was achieved. The Armed Forces of the Philippines would definitely know they were here now. He would make his report; then begin the escape routine.
Some of the group would merely go to the local barrios to be taken in and hidden as arranged. Others would remain hidden for a while in the ample rain forest. The bulk of them, including the Libyans that arrived during the night on the bancas, would need to salvage what were left of the serviceable bancas and skip on the short seaward trip to the jungles of Panay with the unused ordinance. From Panay, the Libyans would make their own way to pre-arranged embarkation points.
After the 1:00P.M. call, the radio equipment would be superfluous. A small amount of semtex explosive from the box supplied would suffice. He would also have to get rid of the remaining semtex explosive. He could not leave that in the forest. He would solve that problem by using it all with a 30-minute detonator to destroy the radio. He grinned at the thought of clearing a 20-metre wide area of jungle in the explosion with barely a cigarette packet-size lump of explosive.
Before the others departed he would arrange for all the hostages to be either tied up, or securely locked away.
For him and most of the other Group and Section leaders, escape was easy. They merely had to dispose of their masks, change back into civilian tourist clothes, and rejoin the other guests. They would only delay their re-entry into the world as tourists sufficiently long enough to enable their colleagues time to escape. Then, playing the role of resort guests that had not been gathered up by the guerillas, they could free the hostages.
Possibly they would even be treated as liberating heroes, advising that the insurgents had gone. They could chat freely with the former hostages about their luck in escaping the original round-up. Maybe even boast a little about their ability to remain at large ever since. The masks and conformity of all the guerillas' clothing made no one person stand out. Their anonymity had been totally protected. He might even stay around during the aftermath and enjoy a real holiday. After all, he and the other mercenaries were all paying guests.
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KALIBO, PANAY.
"Base Commander to Looker Flight Group, respond please."
The
Base Commander turned to his Radio Operator.
"You can't just lose them like that," he snapped at the unfortunate R.O. "Hell, I was just talking to them. Nobody goes off air like that. What the hell did you do?"
"Nothing sir. Maybe there is a black spot because of the mountains around there," the R.O. offered apologetically.
"Black spot my arse. The only black spot around here is the one that'll be up your arse. I’ll kick it in if you don't get them back now."
"Yes sir."
The Base Commander turned to his second in command.
"Jesus. Bloody useless equipment. We get a call from Looker Leader that they had destroyed all the bancas. He said there was no return fire. Then they stop talking to me. What are they playing at?"
"Maybe the R.O.'s right sir," offered the Second In Command. "Maybe there is a black spot. All the radios can't have failed."
"And where is that bloody anonymous phone caller? Black spot my arse. I'll have those pilots grounded or suspended when they get back."
Sitting near the Base Commander a corporal was studying a map of the area where the helicopters had flown. The Base Commander grabbed the corporal by the tunic front, pulled him out of his chair and pushed him away, then collapsed into the chair, leaned back and cupped his hands over the back of his head locking his fingers together. Suddenly he swung forward and thumped both his fists on the desk.
"Black spot my arse."
