The young officer swung the chopper toward the northwest to head back to Fuerte Franco.
.
THE RIO ANCHO
0600 HOURS LOCAL
SARGENTO Antonio Muller leaped from the fuselage of the SA-330 helicopter to be quickly followed by the half-dozen men he had brought with him. Everyone wore basic webbing with ammo pouches and canteens. They carried Star 9-millimeter submachine guns. The morning's mission had come about from the previous night's FLIR reconnaissance in which the exact location of the bandidos had been determined. Muller and his men were charged with locating the enemy's boats and destroying them. That way, if the bandidos made another run for safety, they would go cross-country. No more boating on the river.
Logic dictated the piraguas had to be hidden somewhere in a direct line from the bandidos' defensive position down to the river. They obviously would have been unable to lug them all the way to the top of the mountain.
When they reached the river, two previously selected men from the Argentine Infanteria de Marina quickly stripped down, then dove into the water to begin a search within the vegetation that grew thickly along the banks. The coolness felt good to the marines as they swam slowly in the Rio Ancho. They searched the far side, since that would be the most convenient place to conceal the small craft before ascending the jungle mountain. Muller and his men stood in the shadeless area, baked hard by the sun as the searchers swam from place to place, going into the brush hanging over in the water.
A half hour passed before a shout came from the Argentines. "Tres piraguas! Three!"
Muller was glad the task hadn't taken long. One of the generators back at Fuerte Franco was running the new ice machine. Cans of beer had already been set aside to cool down even before the detail left on the mission. By the time they got back, there would be plenty of cold beer.
"Push them out away from the bank," the sargento instructed, "then swim out of the way."
The order was quickly obeyed. The three piraguas were shoved into the middle of the slow-moving river, then the pair of marines paddled a few meters away. The rest of the detail joined Muller with their submachine guns. As soon as the sargento began firing, they joined in. Large splashes and chunks of wood flew upward as the slugs were sprayed at the boats. Within moments the craft were shot to pieces, the chunks floating on the water.
"Ya bastante! " Muller yelled. "That's enough!"
The swimmers came ashore to dress. As soon as they were ready to leave, the patrol headed to the helicopter for the quick flight back to Fuerte Franco for the cold beer. Back on the river, the pieces and splinters of the boats were already moving eastward on the sluggish current.
.
FUERTE FRANCO
1300 HOURS LOCAL
THE guard at the gate to the convicts' camp opened up the barbed wire portal to admit Gordo Pullini. He stepped inside and walked toward his gang, who stood in a group looking expectantly at him. An hour before he had been called to report directly to Coronel Jeronimo Busch. The fact that Pullini had been gone that much time was strong indication that something special was in the offing.
A tub of iced beer had been sent in earlier, and Pullini went directly to it and got a can. As the gang leader, he could expect that a lion's share would have been left for him. He popped it open, took a couple of deep swallows, then gestured to the others. "Agruparsen alrededor de mi, tipos," he said. "Gather around me, guys:'
The men moved closer, arranging themselves in their pecking order that had been established years before through fistfights, stabbings and bluffing. Those closest in sat down, while those less skilled in fighting and defending themselves in brawls had to stand in the rear.
"Compel Busch has told me that they have the bandidos trapped on a mountaintop in the Selva Verde range," Pullini said. He glanced over at a man named Cortador Marconi. "You know that area well, verdad, Cortador?"
"Right, jefe," the convict answered. "I was born and raised just south of there. Me and my compinches used to go there to lay low when things got too hot for us in Argentina:'
Pullini smiled happily. "Then when we get there, we'll know exactly where we are."
Another convict, Cicatriz Bagni, raised his hand. "Why are we going there, jefe? Do they want us to fight the bandidos?"
"The guys they're calling bandidos are actually norteamericanos," Pullini explained. "And, yes! They want us to fight them. Busch told me this is a chance for us to prove ourselves and become full-fledged citizens of a country these Falangists are going to establish here after they win their revolution:'
Navajaso Coletti laughed. "We'll just eventually end up in another prison system."
"You are right," Pullini said. "So what we are going to do is go along with the game, see? Then, when the time is right, we'll make a run for it. Cortador can lead us out of there, and we can reach Colombia with all our money to buy into a drug cartel."
"Hold it!" a pessimistic gang member named Pancho DiPietro called out. "Do they expect us to fight those guys with our bare hands?"
"They are going to give us weapons," Pullini said, noting the instant expressions of happy surprise on his men's faces. "We will have Spanish Mauser rifles that hold five bullets."
"No es bueno!" Coletti said. "That isn't good! I am familiar with those Mausers. Those are real old rifles that are seven-millimeter. They are bolt action, and that means you got to work the bolt for each shot you make. And five bullets are not very many."
"Beggars can't be choosers," Pullini pronounced. "And they'll be good for providing food and protection on our way out of this cursed place."
A shrill warning whistle came from one of the lookouts. Everyone shut up and glanced toward the gate. A group of Falangists pushing a cart had just arrived. They had a crate with a small cardboard box sitting on top of it. The sargento yelled for six men to come forward. Pullini instantly picked out a half-dozen men who trotted over to see what was wanted. It took only a moment for the crate and box to be transferred from the cart to their hands. They carried them back, placing the load down in front of the gang leader.
One of the men, who had a stolen claw hammer, went to his tent to get it. Pullini opened the cardboard box on top, noting it had canvas bundles in it. When he unwrapped one of them, he found a rifle-cleaning kit complete with solvent, patches, oil and a ramrod. By that time the owner of the hammer was back. He immediately began taking off the top of the wooden container. Pullini looked inside and saw two dozen old rifles covered with a thick coating of Cosmoline.
"Are there any bullets in there, jefe?" Bagni asked. Pullini shook his head. "No. But we're going to have a hell of a job cleaning up those rifles for use."
Coletti looked toward the gate. "I notice we're still locked down."
under his desk and retrieved the rucksack he kept hidden there. He opened the main flap and pulled out the carefully arranged manila folders holding the documents he had sorted so precisely. He even had them neatly titled in his precise handwriting. All the floppy disks were stored in side pockets, concealed within socks and underwear.
He looked at each folder, counting them to make sure nothing was missing: "Roster of the Ejercito Falangista," "Operations Orders," "Radio Call Signs," "List of Operatives and Locations" "Intelligence Reports," "Minutes of Staff Meetings," and finally "Lists of Properties Stolen from the Armed Forces of Argentina, Bolivia and Chile." After carefully arranging them to avoid smudging or bending any, he placed a pair of uniform trousers and jacket on top to hide them from casual viewing. Next he checked his web gear that was hanging on the wall. He had never worn it because of his overwhelming staff duties, but it was ready for field work.
Ignacio stepped from his area and walked through the connecting tunnel to the office of Generalisimo Castillo. He rapped on the frame, waited for permission to enter, then walked in. "Mi generalisimo, I wish to respectfully request permission to go on the attack against the bandidos."
Castillo suppressed a laugh. "No me digas--really, Ign
acio. Do you crave action?"
"Yes, mi generalisimo," Ignacio said.
"I am surprised by this unusual show of bravado," Castillo said. "But why do you suddenly wish to put yourself in harm's way?"
"I have heard some of the men speaking of me, mi generalisimo," Ignacio said. "They laugh at me, saying I am a coward. I am humiliated by this. I thought perhaps if I just went out on an operation they would think more of me. I promise I would stay out of the way, mi generalisimo!"
Castillo was thoughtful for a moment. "I tell you what I will do, Ignacio. I will allow you to go, but I want you to stay with the fire support line. They will be the mortars and machine guns. I will place them on the south side of the mountain, and they will advance just far enough to bring the bandidos within range. Their mission will be to contain the enemy while the other lines make the actual attack."
"Yes, mi generalisimo!" Ignacio replied with apparent enthusiasm. "That will be fine. Then when we come back, everyone will say how I was in the fight."
"That's right, Ignacio," Castillo said in a condescending tone. "I think I will give you a medal. Would you like that?"
"Oh, yes, mi generalisimo!"
"Very well," Castillo said. "You report to Capitan Platas tomorrow morning. Tell him I have given you permission to accompany him during tomorrow's fighting."
"Muchas gracias, mi generalisimo!" Ignacio exclaimed. He affected a salute, then made a passable about-face movement, marching out of the office and back into the tunnel.
.
THE FOOTHILLS OF THE SELVA VERDE MOUNTAINS
14 JANUARY
0530 HOURS
THE EC-635 and SA-330 helicopters brought in the last lift of twenty-four men from Fuerte Franco. Now the entire attack force of seventy men and twenty-four convicts were assembled and ready to begin the assault on the mountain where the bandidos had holed up. Only twenty Falangists had been left behind in Fuerte Franco. These were men who were sick or recovering from injuries.
Every man in the operation--with the exception of the convicts--was fully briefed and knew what role he and his unit would play in the coming battle. These veterans did not have the bravado and optimism of young, unbloodied rookies. They fully realized the dangers and difficulties of attacking uphill in thick vegetation and were prepa conduct themselves as efficiently and bravely as possible under those conditions.
Generalisimo Castillo was in overall field command for what he hoped would be the last assault against the bandidos. Coronel Jeronimo Busch would take his equipo comando of Punzarron, Chaubere and Muller with him. This was what the Chilean paratrooper liked best. He was the type of soldiering officer who preferred the close-in, dirty and dangerous work in a small team to having overall command of a large force while standing back and directing the battle via radio and occasional helicopter flights. His three handpicked men were dedicated and fearless, perfectly matching their commander's qualities and mannerisms. He had been given carte blanche to do what he wanted during the battle.
Castillo planned on the first line of attack being the twenty-four convicts who would go into action on the east side. A special detachment of submachine gunners under the command of Capitan Pablo Gonzales would follow after them, ready to shoot down any of the criminals who hesitated or tried to run away. The convicts' equipment was basic, consisting of only canteens and ammo bandoleers while the rest of the Falangists carried full combat loads including Spanish M-5 hand grenades.
The second line of attack was under the overall command of Comandante Javier Toledo with Capita,' Francisco Silber. The third line of attack would be led by Comandante Gustavo Cappuzzo and Capital' Roberto Argento. They would move out with the fire support line as a group. When they reached the south side of the bandido position, the machine guns and mortars would drop out to set up their weapons, while the third line of attack moved around to the east side to launch their assault from that direction. Everyone's eyes opened wide at the sight of Ignacio Perez wearing his rucksack and web gear as he joined Capitan Tomas Platas at the fire support line.
The generalisimo sent the larger SA-330 chopper back, keeping the smaller EC-635 for observation flights during the battle. He made a commo check with his line commanders via the RMAM radios. All reported they were ready and in position, and Castillo gave the official order to begin the operation.
"Lanzen el ataque!"
Chapter 16
THE SELVA VERDE MOUNTAINS
FALANGIST FORCE
14 JANUARY
0545 HOURS
THE Argentine convicts were formed into two tight skirmish lines as they began their advance up the mountain toward the enemy on the west side of the battlefield. Each man had been given the opportunity to fire five rounds of his bolt-action Mauser rifle for familiarization. No instruction in proper aiming or the tactical employment of small arms in combat had been provided the amateur and reluctant soldiers.
Now, holding their old weapons at the ready with five rounds in the receiver and one in the chamber, they struggled up the steep terrain, already sweating heavily under the discomfort of the heat and humidity.
Gordo Pullini, in the middle of the front rank, glanced around at his gang, noting their expressions of uncertainty as they continued toward the objective. Some now carried the rifles in a way to push the clinging jungle plants aside that grasped at their clothing with nettles and vines.
Navajaso Coletti looked over at the gang chief. Nava was not a happy man. "This is some bad shit we've gotten into, jefe," he growled under his breath.
Capitan Pablo Gonzales, with a half-dozen men, followed the prisoners, keeping a close eye on them. Strict orders had been issued that any hesitancy or refusal to move would result in warning shots being fired over their heads. If that failed, offending men would be shot down without further comment. No more warnings, urgings or cursing; shoot to kill without mercy.
The higher the convicts climbed, the thicker the vegetation became until the two skirmish lines broke up as they labored through the briars and thorny jungle plants. Gonzales and his men were also having it tough, and the convicts disappeared and reappeared from sight as the assault continued through the trees and brush.
U P on the north side, the Second Echelon under Comandante Javier Toledo and Capitan Francisco Silber were also ascending the mountain toward the norteamericanos. The Falangists had stopped referring to their foe as bandidos. After the fight on the Rio Ancho, these Latin Americans recognized the enemy were also professional soldiers, and they were well equipped and armed. In spite of what the generalisimo said, this coming battle was going to be a tough fight with plenty of risk. There was no youthful arrogance among the noncommissioned officers.
The equipo comando, made up of Coronel Jeronimo Busch, Punzarron, Chaubere and Muller, was between the convicts and the Second Echelon, working their way into position from where they could launch independent raids on the enemy.
the mountain, heading for their attack position over on the west side. They were trailed by the Fire Support Echelon of mortars and machine guns commanded by Capitan. Tomas Platas. Platas and his men would drop out of the column at the midpoint of the march to set up the three mortars to shell the norteamericanos on the apex of the hill. The machine guns would be placed higher up to employ regulated grazing salvos into the enemy positions when the fighting started.
Back at the rear of the march, Suboficial Ignacio Perez worked hard to keep up with the column. His feet were already sore from so much unaccustomed walking in his boots, and the rucksack with its extra load of documents and floppy disks, pulled down on his shoulders with such weight that his arms had begun to fall asleep. He had to double-time for a few meters every few minutes, and the out-of-shape little headquarters weenie breathed hard as heavy rivulets of sweat seeped out from his cap and ran down his face.
.
0600 HOURS LOCAL
THE Fire Support Element reached its step-off point and split from the Third Echelon. The latter continued on its w
ay to the eastern side of the mountains to launch its assault up that side.
Capitan Platas showed his men some mercy by allowing them a short break. After lugging machine guns, tripods, mortar tubes, base plates and ammunition, they were in bad need of a breather. Fifteen minutes later, at the time that Ignacio Perez finally caught up with them, the mortar crews began fixing up their firing position prior to hauling out the aiming stakes to get the heavy weapons all on the same azimuth for shelling the enemy.
Ignacio, his uniform soaked in sweat and his face beet red from exertion, let his rucksack fall to the ground before he sank to his knees. Platas gazed at him with amusement.
"You should have stayed back at Fuerte Franco with the sick, lame and lazy, Ignacio. You'd be a lot better off."
Before Ignacio replied, he took a mouthful of water from his canteen, held it, then swallowed the refreshing liquid, "I wish to see some action, mi capitan."
Guerilla Warfare (2006) Page 22
