Guerilla Warfare (2006) (34 page)

"Drop!" Mike said. He and Dave hit the dirt in instincts developed over periods of intense training and combat.

"What the hell did you see?"

"There's a guy out there waving at us," Mike said. "Hey! Maybe you're wrong. Could it be a girl? Hopefully good-looking."

"What are you? Crazy?" Mike said. He raised his eyes and looked. "He's obviously trying to get our attention:'

Dave spoke into the LASH, informing Brannigan of the situation. Within moments, Frank Gomez showed up. "The Skipper wants me to speak to him in Spanish. It could be a trap or a Falangist straggler who wants to surrender. The guy could end up being a valuable EPW with plenty of information?'

"We'll cover you," Mike said. "Do your thing, Frank:' Frank crawled forward a dozen meters, then stopped. "Who are you?" he yelled in Spanish.

"Estuvimos prisioneros de los Falangistas," came back the shouted answer. "Estamos trece."

"Shit," Frank said under his breath, then turned to the LASH. "Sir. The guy says they were prisoners of the Falangists and that there are thirteen of 'em."

"Youguys stay where you are," Brannigan said, then addressed the rest of the detachment. "All right, now hear this!

We're forming as skirmishers. Command Element in the middle, First Section to the left and Second Section to the right. Let's go!"

The SEALs quickly got into formation, then moved slowly forward. The SAW gunners were especially watchful, keeping a lookout for any sudden attack. But nothing happened as they continued toward Frank and the Odd Couple. When they reached them, Brannigan ordered Frank to tell the man to have all his people stand up with their hands in the air. Frank complied.

Immediately thirteen men stood to the front with their hands raised. At Frank's direction they came forward slowly, well spread out until they were within fifteen meters of the Brigands. At that point the SEALs moved forward and surrounded the group.

Gordo Pullini immediately identified himself as the leader. Frank brought him over to Brannigan, who questioned him, learning that he and his twelve men were virtual slaves of the Falangists. Pullini insisted on surrendering, and Brannigan had no choice but to take them in as EPWs.

"This fucking situation is just getting stranger and stranger," the Skipper complained.

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PUERTO ALEGRE BOLIVIA

2350 HOURS LOCAL

ALL good things come to an end, and this was the case for Coronel Francisco "El Garron" Martinez of the Bolivian Policia Fronteriza, who was now in the last hours of a fourteen-day furlough in this city on the Paragua River in eastern Bolivia.

He had already seen to having his luggage sent aboard the riverboat that would carry him back to his duty station. But before he left for the trip up to the police barracks on the Brazilian border, he had wanted to have one final rendezvous with his favorite whore in the Bordello el Baron. It had been a satisfying session, since she was the only puta in the place who could stand his rough brand of sex. He left her bruised but soothed her feelings with a large tip of 200 bolivianos.

Now, completely satiated, El Garron headed for the dock to get aboard the boat. He had a bottle of rum to help him slip into sleep to get through the rest of the night. He caught up with a drunken riverboat crewman who was preceding him down the narrow walk between warehouses. The guy was weaving and singing under his breath, and Martinez grabbed the fellow and shoved him aside with a curse, then continued on his way.

The drunkard eased a .38 Colt revolver with a silencer from his waistband and pumped five shots into the police officer's back. Martinez hit the concrete to begin the double process of going into shock and bleeding to death as his assassin rushed down an alley where a car waited for him.

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SEAL BASE CAMP

21 JANUARY

1140 H0URS LOCAL

BRANNIGAN had radioed a full disclosure on Gordo Pullini and his motley group to Matrix in Colombia. Because of the intelligence provided by Ignacio Perez, Brannigan was informed the thirteen were convicts and not slave laborers as Pullini had claimed. Under some rough interrogation; the head prisoner finally came clean about being a prison gang from Patagonia known as the Cofradia, who had volunteered to go to the Gran Chaco. He also pointed out that they had built the fortified area known as Fuerte Franco and knew every single bunker and emplacement in the place. Pullini wanted to make a deal; in exchange for the inside intelligence on the defenses, he wanted permission to bring his gang to America. And he wanted all the money back the SEALs had discovered in their packs. He explained this was hard-earned currency necessary to finance their future enterprises.

Now the Skipper had his instructions from higher headquarters through Matrix, and he had the Odd Couple bring Pullini over to him. Following the established procedures, Brannigan had Pullini pushed down to a kneeling position while he stood to his direct front. This put the professional criminal at a psychological disadvantage. Frank Gomez was behind the gang leader to act as the interpreter.

"All right," Brannigan began, "your story has been verified, and we know you were taken from a penitentiary in Argentina and performed construction work for the Falangists. An investigation of the battlefield in the Selva Verde Mountains has also revealed you were poorly armed with old rifles and forced to attack our positions."

"You see, jefe," Pullini said. "I have been most truthful with you."

"And I have been authorized to tell you that for providing me with inside information on the layout of Fort Franco, you will not only be allowed to keep the money you had in your packs, but will be given an additional twenty-five thousand American dollars."

"Oh, thank you, jefer Pullini cried happily. "Such generosity reflects what great people you norteamericanos are."

"And," Brannigan continued, "you and your men will be taken to an undisclosed place where you will be able to live any lifestyle that suits you; whether it be criminal or law-abiding."

"We wish to go to America, jefe!" Pullini said hopefully.

"ForgetBrannigan barked.

"Then to Colombia," Pullini said. "That would please us very much."

"I was told you would go to an undisclosed location that will suit you fine," Brannigan said. "That's all you're being offered."

Pullini frowned. "In that case, we will tell you nothing of Fuerte Franco."

"Now hear this," Brannigan said coldly. "I am going to make this offer to you one more time. One more fucking time, understand? Not twice more. Once more."

Pullini took the hint, realizing that the alternative was a summary execution out there in the wilds of the Gran Chaco. "Jefe, if you have some paper and a pencil, I will draw you a sketch map of the place and describe every bunker."

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FUERTE FRANCO

2000 HOURS LOCAL

MORALE was high in the now depleted but unbowed Ejercito Falangista. The units gathered in their individual bunkers to discuss not if reinforcements and supplies would arrive, but when. They had been rationing the beer but now began freely passing the valued brew out with no limits. Even if they ran out, it would only be a matter of days before a hundred or so replacement cases would come in via helicopter.

At this time in the evening it had become a custom to turn on their radios to listen to the powerful Voc de las Americas radio station that broadcast news, sports and lots of music. The men in the fortress guzzled their beer while tapping their toes and singing to the old tango and conga music that most preferred over the modern rock y mll. A break came in the entertainment for a news bulletin. The announcer's voice was tense with excitement.

"El noticario mas reciente--breaking news! The governments of Argentina, Bolivia and Chile have announced dozens of arrests of rebel officers of their armed forces. More apprehensions are scheduled and will continue for the next day or two. These dissidents were members of the Falangist movement who had been conducting armed insurrection in the Gran Chaco of Bolivia. The officers who remained back in their home countries organized a grand scheme to funnel personnel, ammunition, supplies and other necessities for the waging of war to the field headquarters of a colonel of the Spanish Foreign Legion. This man, Coronel Jose Maria de Castillo y Plato, proclaimed himself a self-styled generalissimo who advanced a mad scheme to conquer all of South America and put the entire continent under his fascist dictatorship."

Mouths opened in stunned surprise in all the bunkers, and the Falangists looked at each other in alarm. Their revolution was coming unraveled.

The broadcast continued with even more disturbing news. "Some of those officers arrested include Comandante Manuel Valdez of the Bolivian Air Force Intelligence Service, Coronel Guillermo Kraus of the Chilean Air Force, Capitan de Fragata Carlos Maggiore of Argentine Naval Intelligence .

The list went on, and the Falangists recognized comrades in the movement who would now be in military prisons going through intense interrogation to give up all they knew. Now stark fear swept through the bunkers with the realization there was no place they could go. But an additional message following the reading of names brought relief and hope to them.

"The affected governments have announced that an amnesty will be offered to those rebels who turn themselves in within the next seventy-two hours. They will be expected to reveal all names and information demanded of them. In return, though they will be summarily dismissed from their country's armed forces, they will face no prison time or other judicial punishment."

22 JANUARY

0400 HOURS LOCAL

SARGENTO-MAYOR Gustavo Kreiling was the chief of the night guard. Just before the sentries were posted that evening, another special formation was announced by the generalisimo. Castillo loudly and angrily attacked the news broadcast as nothing but lies. He described it as a poor attempt to lower the morale and determination of the Falangist fighters. "But we are made of sterner stuff!" he bellowed. "Now our anger and thirst for revenge is tripled! When our new men and arms arrive, this continent will be knee deep in the blood of communists and socialists!" The men seemed heartened and encouraged all over again, and the event was closed with wild cheering.

But secretly, each man was wondering how the hell the three nations obtained the names of men they knew were actual agents and operatives for the movement. Castillo had made no mention of that.

Now Kreiling checked his watch. He walked over to where the chief of the relief on duty sat drinking a cup of coffee. The sargento-mayoi touched his shoulder. "It is time."

The man got up and went out to bring in his sentries from their posts. Kreiling went to the sleeping guards, shaking each awake. He picked out a half dozen. "You men go to the bunkers and wake the others. Remember! No chingaderds officers, eh? Tell the guys it is time."

As the chosen men filed out, another special detail came in with the two helicopter pilots, Subalterno Ernesto Pizzaro and Suboficial Manuel Obregon. The two airmen were sleepy and confused. "Que pasa--what's going on?" Pizzaro asked.

"There is a special mission laid on," Kreiling explained. "Both helicopters will be involved."

"I don't know anything about a special mission," Pizzaro insisted. "We haven't been briefed about it."

"Look, kid," Kreiling said. "You do exactly as you are told--exactamente--and you won't get hurt! Understood?"

Both pilots nodded their heads in affirmative manners.

Over at the officers' bunker a half-dozen men rushed down the entrances and began grabbing weapons while, at that same moment, a quartet invaded the quarters of Suboficial Punzarron, Sargento-Mayor Chaubere and Sargento Muller. In both places the inhabitants were told to say quiet and remain inside. If any of them so much as showed their heads in a firing slit, they would be blasted by submachine gun fire.

"Oigan!" came a call from among the officers. "I am Comandante Tippelskirch. I wish to go with you. I know you are seeking amnesty."

"I will see," a sargento said.

When Kreiling heard of Tippelskirch's request, he gave in. It might be a good idea if all the sargento-mayores and sargentos had at least one officer with them when they surrendered to the authorities.

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0500 HOURS

THE choppers were warmed up and ready to go. Sargento-Mayor Kreiling blew several sharp blasts on his thunder whistle. The men watching the officers' bunker turned and sprinted across the fortress garrison to the helipads. They joined the others cramming aboard the two helicopters. The aircraft were so overloaded they had to fight to get airborne as their rotors bit air in the struggle to climb into the sky.

It took a quarter of an hour, then the noses of the choppers dropped, and the pair headed toward the western horizon.

THE officers and comandos emerged from their bunkers. The sound of the departing aircraft was evidence enough that all the men were now gone. At least the weapons and ammunition taken from their quarters had been left in a neat stack.

"Muller!" Busch barked. "Check the command bunkers to see if they've been damaged:'

The sargento rushed off to make the inspection. Punzarron and Chaubere kept quiet as the generalisimo conferred with Busch, the comandantes and the capitaines. When Muller returned, he had good news. "The command bunker system is undamaged, mi generalisimo," he reported. "None of the ammunition or rations have been taken away. It is fully stocked."