by Dave Edlund
The two cabins were the primary objective. Boss Man reasoned that one was the personal quarters for Ramirez. But which one? There was no way to be sure.
“Bull, when you’re in position, let me know. If we can take out all four guards simultaneously, we should be able to enter the camp without resistance. You’ll take the cabin that is lit from within. I’ll take the other one. Questions?”
Bull understood well enough, and left with the three men of his squad.
Boss Man, closely followed by Peter, Ghost, and Homer, spread out and crawled onto the open grounds of the camp, passing carefully through the coils of wire rather than cutting it. They edged their way forward, freezing whenever one of the roving guards was about to look in their direction. Fortunately, the team had been able to take advantage of the darkness. With no moonlight and only dim kerosene lamps, the camp grounds were very black. Except, that is, if you had NVGs. They didn’t have to wait long before Boss Man heard Bull’s voice through his ear piece.
“Boss Man—Bull; we are through the wire and in position.”
“Roger. Tell me your location.” Boss Man was speaking in a very low whisper, almost inaudible, but the sound was easily picked up by the throat mic.
“We’re on the far side of the two cabins from you. There is still a dim light in the one; the other one is dark inside.”
“What’s your count on the guards?”
“Bad news. We count two more guards in addition to the four we counted initially.”
“Can you take them out without waking the camp?”
“The two new guards seem to be staying put near the cabin that is lit. We can take them out with the MI pistols. I can’t do anything about the other four guards.”
Boss Man thought through the options. If he waited for all four of the roving guards to appear within his field of vision, his squad could kill them at the same time Bull took out the other two guards. That would have to work; he couldn’t come up with a better plan.
“Okay, here’s the plan. On my mark, take out your two guards—and be sure you don’t miss. If this is to work, we will only have one opportunity.”
“Roger.” Bull removed his Mk-9 MI gun and Magnum followed suit.
Bull spoke softly, “Magnum, I’m counting on you to take out the target with his back toward us, by the table. I’ll get the target on the far right. Okay?”
“Roger,” said Magnum as he took aim with his pistol.
Jim whispered softly, “Ghost, Homer, I won’t be able to take all four of the guards. Ghost, on my mark you take the one on the far left. Homer, your target is the guard to the far right. I’ll take the two in the middle.”
Ghost and Homer drew their MI pistols. All three men were kneeling, and they used both hands to get a stable hold on their weapons.
The four roving guards were moving about slowly, never walking far before stopping and looking around. Two were smoking cigarettes—careless, thought Homer. Boss Man had the prototype revolver in his hand and he activated the power source.
Jim didn’t like what he saw… or rather what he didn’t see. He squeezed his eyes—no change. The red LED failed to illuminate. Quickly, he cycled the power switch as Peter had instructed… no change.
Damn it! Jim discreetly motioned with his hand and Peter crawled forward. Using hand signals only, Jim conveyed the problem. Immediately, Peter reached into a breast pocket and retrieved a new power supply.
Peter took the gun from Jim and set to work while Jim issued new orders to his team. “Hold your positions. Repeat, hold positions.”
Sweat began to bead up on his forehead, and Peter mumbled a litany of curses as he pulled out a screw driver and frantically began removing the two screws holding the power pack in place. I warned him this would happen!
The screws backed out and fell to the ground… lost. Damn it! Telling himself to calm down, he chanted a familiar mantra: Slow is fast, fast is slow. Good, the old supply is out. Now to get the replacement installed. Just connect these two wires, black to black, red to red… there… double check… yes. No time for new screws, tape will do. And Peter wrapped several layers of black electrical tape around the power supply and grip to hold it in place. There. Done.
Peter immediately slid the power switch forward. Good, red light. He handed the gun to Jim.
The four roaming guards were milling about, and it looked like one or two might soon disappear again from view. Jim steadied his weapon. “Ready… on my mark.”
The distance to the four guards was not too far, from 30 to 50 yards. Nevertheless, with open sights on a pistol at night during combat, it would not be an easy shot.
Boss Man took aim, glanced to his left and right, and saw that Ghost and Homer were also at the ready. Fearing he would lose the opportunity, he said “Mark.” Every man on the team heard the message clearly and fired his weapon. Bull and Magnum each dropped their guards with a single shot to the head.
Ghost and Homer also connected with their marks, and Boss man dropped first one guard and then the second. Luckily, the prototype MI revolver cycled flawlessly through the quick succession of two fired rounds. The entire action took less than three seconds. But it was not totally silent.
There was the sound of the six guards crashing to the earth. But the real problem was the guard shot by Magnum. When the man collapsed, he fell against a table next to the cabin and knocked over a glass that had been sitting on the table. The glass crashed to the ground and broke into a dozen pieces. Very shortly a tent flap opened, and a man stepped out with a flashlight. He called out in Spanish, “Gomez, is that you? Are you still drinking?”
There was no reply. And then the light beam came across one of the bodies. The man yelled, and that’s when the well-planned mission came apart at the seams; it was about to get ugly.
With the alarm sounded, the element of surprise was lost. But the SGIT soldiers still had the advantage of night vision, and the terrorists pouring out of the tents with AK-47 rifles were only half awake; many were hung over or still drunk. Several men were stumbling as they tried to get into their boots.
“Stay down! They don’t know where we are!” ordered Boss Man.
Then it went from bad to worse. Someone fired a magnesium flare. The brilliant white light illuminated the camp as if it were daylight. The intense light overloaded the sensitive electronic circuitry of the NVGs, so the goggles were now useless.
“Damn it!” exclaimed Boss Man to no one in particular. Everyone was yanking off the NVGs and trying to get their eyes adjusted to the ambient light. Just then, Bull’s squad was spotted, and AK-47s began shooting in their direction. A moment later, someone spotted Boss Man’s squad. But Homer had his AA12 automatic shotgun at the ready and fired, killing the man with a single shot. Then Boss Man, Peter, Ghost and Homer all jumped to their feet and dashed for the cover of some log benches. The benches were arranged in an open V-shape for class instruction.
Homer fired off a volley of buckshot as Boss Man, Peter, and Ghost ducked behind the logs just before a burst from an AK-47 sent bullets slamming into the logs. “Bull, report!” demanded Boss Man.
“We’re taking fire! No casualties! We’re pinned down behind the latrine… at least, I think it’s the latrine from the smell!”
“Has anyone come out of either cabin?” asked Boss Man.
“I don’t think so. But to tell you the truth, we’ve been kinda busy!”
“Roger. Lay down cover fire and split your squad. Send half your men back toward the front of the camp in a flanking maneuver. I’ll take Ghost and Peter and try to get to the cabins.”
“You guys ready?”
They nodded affirmative.
“Homer, load up some fragmentation shells and clear a path for us.”
Homer replaced the drum magazine on his weapon with one loaded with fragmentation rounds as ordered and began firing. Boss Man was immediately up and running toward the two huts. Ghost had his H&K 416 rifle ready, holding the butt against his shoul
der and sweeping back and forth. Whenever a target appeared, he fired. He ran forward, following his team leader. Peter stuck close behind Jim, keeping his head down and running fast, not finding any target yet, even though he too was armed with an automatic rifle.
The three men moved fast, zigging and zagging as they ran. Thousands of bullets were zipping through the air in all directions. Boss Man and Ghost were firing from the hip now, not hitting any target but effectively keeping heads down to prevent return fire. Homer was firing fragmentation grenades at anything that moved. But there were a lot of terrorists and terrorists-in-training. This fight was not going to end quickly. A lot more blood would be spilled to get Ramirez—assuming he was still here.
Bull and Manuel were not having an easier time at it. Bull was also armed with the AA12, and he had emptied one 32-round drum magazine and was well into his second one. Manuel, shooting an older American-made M16, was into his third magazine, having emptied the previous one in mere seconds on full automatic.
Using the latrine as cover, Bull and Manuel had sent a blistering fusillade of shot and bullets at their adversaries. The entire camp had joined in the battle by now. Bull was sure that the intel estimates of up to 50 trainees was on the low side. And judging by how well they fought, he wondered how many were trainees and how many were experienced revolutionary soldiers. The wood planks and plywood exterior of the latrine offered no protection at all, but the ground behind the latrine sloped away and gave them effective, albeit minimal, cover from the return fire.
Coyote and Magnum had split off and were repositioning around the flank of the enemy. The cover fire from Bull and Manuel had afforded them time to drop back and circle around the main group of soldiers in the center of the camp, many of whom had already fallen to fire from the SGIT team. Coyote and Magnum remained in a low crouch and ran about twenty yards for cover behind a pile of rocks that had been cleared from the camp’s grounds.
No sooner had they dived behind the pile of rocks than a burst of automatic rifle fire ricocheted off the stones. Magnum peaked around the edge, his head on the ground. He could see two men behind a barricade of tables and benches under the mess tarp. They had spotted their position behind the rock pile. No way could he and Coyote move in any direction without getting drilled by these guys.
But if Coyote believed in anything, it was that his team should never be outgunned. “It’s just not American,” he was fond of saying.
Magnum quickly pulled his head back behind their protective cover, and more bullets splintered the rock and gouged holes in the ground where he was moments before. “Coyote, about 70 yards to the front is the mess tent. There’s a cluster of tables and chairs there. Two bad guys are behind that, and they have us pinned down. Can you drop a couple rounds on them?”
Coyote smiled. “Just what my little darling had in mind.” He was carrying a M32 40mm grenade launcher affectionately called the six-pack attack, since it had a six-shot cylinder like a gargantuan revolver. Right now it was loaded with high-explosive rounds. He said, “On three. One, two, three!”
Coyote swung to the side at the same time Magnum went to the opposite side, firing his rifle on full auto. Fire was being returned from behind the barricade, but it was not well aimed. Coyote got off one, then two, then three shots. BOOOOM!
The barricade was no longer there—only torn bodies and splinters of wood. The men didn’t hang around to see what would happen next. They were up and running again.
The SGIT team drew its strength from each and every member performing his role. Coyote and Magnum were needed close to the entrance to the camp, so they could direct their fire at the flank of the enemy, which was caught between Homer on one side and Manuel and Bull on the other. Boss Man, Peter, and Ghost were effectively out of the firefight, since they had peeled off to the cabins to snatch Ramirez.
The camp had been designed well as a defensive fortification. The grounds were clear of trees and the land was relatively flat, so there was very little cover to be had. As Coyote and Magnum dashed forward, they spotted a fire pit and dove behind it for protection.
The fire had died out earlier in the evening, but they could still feel heat radiating from the rocks ringing the warm embers. The rock pit was too low to offer much protection, and Coyote and Magnum were prone, taking aim at the soldiers to their front.
Homer was the most vulnerable because he was alone. When he had to load a new magazine into his shotgun, the terrorists would take advantage of the cessation in fire and reposition. Magnum could see that they were trying to flank Homer; they knew this was the weakest point of the attack.
Homer had stopped shooting, and the enemy initiated a charge on his position. Magnum and Coyote couldn’t see if Homer was alive or dead, but at the moment it didn’t matter. In unison they opened fire on the charging ranks, Coyote with the six-pack attack and Magnum with his automatic rifle. The charging terrorists were completely exposed to the new onslaught and like a scythe slicing wheat, their fire cut down the terrorists, every one of them. The charge was over in seconds, the closest terrorist falling only three yards from Homer.
When the gunfire ended, Homer popped up, looking over the log benches and expecting to empty his shotgun into the enemy at close range. Instead, he saw maybe a dozen dead men lying on the ground in front of him. “Homer,” Coyote said. “We’re to your right, by the fire pit.”
“Thanks, guys,” answered Homer.
Ghost, Peter, and Boss Man had reached the closest cabin, the one not lit inside. They stayed close against the wall, avoiding passing directly in front of windows. Inching their way along the wall, Boss Man in the lead and Peter mimicking his moves, they reached the front door. Carefully, Boss Man tested the doorknob while keeping his back flat against the wall. This is how he was trained to approach a door, but he knew the thin structural wall would not offer any protection against a bullet. Still, it seemed to be human nature to instinctively shoot at the door opening rather than the wall at either side of the door.
The knob turned—it wasn’t locked. He pushed the door open. Nothing. No gun fire, no sounds, nothing. The three men put their NVGs back on—it was dark inside the cabin. He rushed the open door with Ghost and Peter immediately behind him. As they entered, they were sweeping their guns from side to side.
They entered a large room. There were three desks thickly covered with papers. Two computers were in the room, and there was one four-drawer filing cabinet. Ghost tried to open a drawer—locked. On the far wall was another door, also closed. They approached, moving to the left and right sides in case someone decided to shoot through the door. This time it was Ghost’s turn to test the doorknob. It turned freely, again. He pushed the door open, waited two seconds, and then darted inside.
There was no one in the room. The small space was furnished with a single bed placed next to a wall with a window, which was open, and a mirror above the dresser near the foot of the bed. There was a wooden chair in one corner of the room, and an officer’s military jacket was hanging over the back of the chair. The blankets on the bed were tossed to one side, suggesting it had been slept in recently. A ceiling fan was turning slowly, stirring the air.
Boss Man and Ghost wheeled and left the room, quickly followed by Peter. They still needed to check the other cabin, but Boss Man was not feeling optimistic. If Ramirez was still in the camp—and he doubted that was the case—why would he be hanging around in the cabin?
They ran to the next structure and this time didn’t waste any time with the approach. Boss Man ran up to the door and swiftly kicked it in and then jumped through the open doorway. He was standing in one large room; there was no back room like in the other one. Two kerosene lamps were burning. The room was furnished with a bank of wooden bunks, three high, along two walls, and there was a round table covered with a green cloth in the middle of the room, surrounded by eight chairs. Cards were on the table, and there was a modest pile of money in the center. A glass was at each seat; one had been knocked
over, leaving a wet spot on the table. Clearly the game had been interrupted by the assault.
“Okay, either Ramirez is out there in the fight, or he’s fled. Let’s mop this up, gather whatever documents and hard drives there are, and get back to the LZ.”
“Roger,” was all Ghost said.
“Bull, there’s no one in either cabin. We’re coming out. Close in, and let’s bring this fight to an end.”
Ghost and Boss Man walked out of the cabin and were quickly joined by Manuel and Bull, but Peter hung back. Something was wrong, but what? He went through the room again, this time more slowly, taking it all in.
With the terrorists between the two squads, Boss Man ordered his team to close in. They were now firing and moving forward, a classic leap-frog maneuver. One man would move forward while the rest provided cover fire. This was done from two opposite directions, and the result was that the enemy was caught with nowhere to go and nowhere to hide.
The SGIT team was better trained and far better equipped than the terrorist residents of the training camp. It was soon apparent to the enemy combatants that they could not win. They were down to eight men from a starting strength of 67. They dropped their weapons and placed their hands in the air.
Boss Man ordered his team to cease fire, although all had already stopped shooting as soon as they saw the terrorists surrender.
“Manuel, have the prisoners line up. Let’s see who we have, shall we?” Peter walked up as Jim issued the order.
Manuel spoke in Spanish, and the prisoners fell into line, shoulder to shoulder, hands on their heads. Boss Man removed a small pen light from his shoulder pocket and a photo of Vasquez Ramirez. Holding the photo in one hand and the pen light in the other, he went down the line of soldiers, first looking at the photo, then at the face of the man standing before him.
One by one, he scrutinized the details of each face. None was Ramirez.
