"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.
.
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."
.
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.
.
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 from 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 bandido
s, mi coronel! Their skills and capabilities show that they are militares profesionales of an elite force. Mercenaries could not fight like that!"
"But we have two helicopters now," Toledo pointed out, "surely we can pursue them and catch them someplace on the river."
"Tonto--fool!" Busch bellowed. "There is every real possibility they were going to meet another group coming in from the east. That was why it was so important to pin them down here! If we go after them now, we could find ourselves drawn into a trap where we would be surrounded by an overwhelming force!"
Cappuzzo was in the mood for a fight. "I say we take a chance and go after them, mi coronel!"
Busch, liking the officer's fighting spirit, calmed down. "The Ejercito Falangista is not yet at full strength, Comandante Cappuzzo. At this time in our struggle we cannot afford to take undue risks." He paused and gripped his hands into fists. "This battle is over. But the war is not lost. As soon as we ascertain the exact situation of those perros, we will attack again!"
Chapter 15
FUERTO FRANCO
1 JANUARY
THE Falangist headquarters bunker, Centro de Administracion, had suddenly improved after the previous day's surprise delivery of up-to-date office machines. The misappropriated shipment came in via a rerouted Chilean Air Force CH-149 Cormorant transport helicopter. Two Honda generators, a Dell computer, a Lexmark Optra E312 printer, and a Spanish Duplicador-Extra copying machine were included in the cargo that arrived unexpectedly at the site.
All this was now being used by Suboficial Ignacio Perez in his job as adjutant and quartermaster. He worked feverishly inputting the old records into the new system so that everything was on the computer's hard drive. After printing hard copies of some of the more interesting documents as samples, everything was transferred to floppy disks.
In addition, the pallets the equipment arrived on had been broken apart and rebuilt into floorboards for the headquarters bunkers by three of the convicts detailed to the task. Ignacio's desk, filing cabinets and office machinery no longer sat on dirt.
These improvements came about from complicated arrangements that included three separate bribes and the blackmailing of an officer in the Chilean Air Force Intendance Department. Comandante Adolfo Tippelskirch arranged everything at the behest of Generalisimo Castillo. The Falangist leader wanted a detailed record kept of all activities and field operations during this founding period of the Dictadura Fascista de Falangia. This included the minutes of staff meetings, and he looked upon all this as good reference material for future historians. Castillo pictured a multivolume publication that would be a definitive and flattering history of the founding of the movement while concentrating particularly on the genius of its leader.
Castillo was also following in his idol Adolf Hitler's footsteps by writing a combination autobiography and manifesto he had titled Mi Lucha. This was based on Hitler's well-known publication, Mein Kampf. The Spanish and German names of these books translated into English as My Struggle, and Castillo thought the name of the book appropriate. Ignacio was expected to put the handwritten manuscript into the computer's Word 97 processing system as the work progressed.
The little man also received extra work from the intelligence officer, Comandante Tippelskirch. The Chilean's activities seemed to grow more complex with each passing week. Additional informants, operatives, reports and activities had begun to flood Tippelskirch's office in an unexpected abundance. He decided to take advantage of the word processing and copying capabilities now available in Ignacio's bailiwick. The diminutive accountant dutifully made all the necessary copies plus extras. These additional documents, of which Tippelskirch was unaware, went into a rucksack Ignacio kept concealed under his desk.
THE SEAL DEFENSIVE POSITION
SELVA VERDE MOUNTAINS
10 JANUARY
LIEUTENANT Wild Bill Brannigan had taken great care in the selection of the SEALs' mountaintop defensive perimeter. He had studied both maps and satellite photographs before leaving the base camp, determining that the best area to defend was at the apex of a small but steep mountain that rose nine hundred feet above the Lozano Grasslands. Thick jungle growth stretched from the top in a heavily treed forest that ran all the way into the lush savannah. After they hid the piraguas in the thick brush along the banks of the Rio Ancho, he led the detachment in a difficult forced march up the slopes to the chosen spot. No time was allowed for a breather to recover from the climb, as the SEALs immediately went to work setting up a compact defensive circle. The concealment and defensive capabilities of the site were superlative. This was the most important reasoning behind Brannigan's choice, since he realistically expected to come under attack by a numerically superior enemy.
When the perimeter was laid out properly, the Skipper reconfigured the detachment for the deadly task ahead. He decided to keep only James Bradley and Frank Gomez with him in the Command Element. All the riflemen would be needed on the defensive line.
James was tasked with organizing a central place to treat casualties as well as to take care of the patient he already had. Connie Concord's wound was bad enough that he was considered hors de combat, and needed to be monitored closely and often. Frank was close by where he could tend the AN/PSC-5 Shadowfire radio that kept them in touch with Special Operations Command through the CIA relay station in Colombia. However, in the event a sector of the perimeter became particularly har during an attack, Frank would be sent to help out in that area.
All the fire teams were dissolved, and each Assault Section was reinstituted as one compact unit under the direct leadership of its commander. Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson maintained control of the First, while the Second would continue operation under the leadership of Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins. Garth Redhawk and Chad Murchison were sent to join Matt's outfit. The reorganization gave each section commander a SAW gunner and six riflemen. The First Section took the north and west sides of the perimeter, while the Second took the south and east. As soon as all this was announced, the men were personally assigned by Brannigan to their particular places in the line. The importance of excellent camouflage was prioritized in the defensive scheme.
The SAW gunners would stick close to the commanders to go to any part of the position where additional automatic fire was needed. Brannigan also picked out a couple of OP sites, giving each section the responsibility for manning one. These had to be placed in locations that allowed the occupants the ability to make a quick withdrawal back to the perimeter in the case of attack.
When all the shifting and settling in was finished, the detachment hunkered down. Bruno Puglisi and Joe Miskoski took the time to evenly divide the squad automatic weapon magazines between themselves. Puglisi slipped the bandoleers over his beefy shoulders and walked back through the thick brush and trees to join Chief Matt Gunnarson. As he sat down beside his section commander, the Italian-American from Philadelphia quipped, "Why do I keep thinking that we're fucked, forgotten and forsaken?"
Matt smiled wryly. "Don't forget dumped, deserted and desperate."
.
ABOVE THE SELVA VERDE MOUNTAINS
12 JANUARY
0115 HOURS LOCAL
SUBALTERNO Ernesto Pizzaro manned the controls of the EC-635 helicopter during the flight through the darkness over the mountain range. His copilot, Suboficial Manuel Obregon, monitored the newly acquired FLIR scope that had been installed during the last maintenance flight back to Argentina. The two aviators had been pals back in their old squadron of the Fuerza Aerea Argentina, and in spite of their wildly diverse family and social backgrounds, had developed a deep comradeship. Both were young and craved action, and this was their main motivation for joining the Falangist Revolution. The reconnaissance duty they performed that night was categorically not to their liking. There would be no strafing or rocketing involved.
The senior officers back at Fuerte Franco had concluded that the bandidos had escaped into the thick jungle that covered the Selva Verde Mount
ains and could hide there indefinitely without being found. The enemy needed to be accurately located to ascertain their location as well as to find out if they had linked up with any other forces. Now, with this newly acquired FLIR, a pattern search could be mounted at night to give the entire range a careful search. This was the second night of the monotonous activity, and the mission had worked a few kilometers farther south from the point of its beginning. Neither pilot talked as they continued the flight of going back and forth above the trees.
"Hay estdn!" Obregon suddenly cried out. "There they are!"
Pizzaro leaned over slightly to take a quick look at the scope. He could make out what appeared to be close to two dozen warm images arranged in a circular pattern. If this was not a defensive perimeter, then putas did not fuck. To make the situation even better, there was no sign of a larger force in the vicinity.
Guerilla Warfare (2006) Page 21
