Guerilla Warfare (2006) (14 page)

Bellingham frowned. "You know we can't do that! An agreement has already been made. It would be embarrassing if we pulled out. Hell! You were the one that worked out the deal."

"The SEALs stand a good chance of being wiped out, Ben!" Joplin snapped.

"I don't think so," Bellingham said. "Get back to me if there are any meaningful updates that radically change the situation."

"If that happens it will happen fast," Joplin warned him. "And it will be too late for our people involved in the mission?'

"I appreciate your concern, really," Bellingham said. "But--"

"Thanks for your time, Ben," Carl said, standing up. "Just remember, this is a situation that could blow apart on us. Big time!" He walked to the door, his shoulders slumped.

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VILLAGE OF CARIDAD

1100 HOURS LOCAL

ALFREDO the CIA operative and Charlie Fire Team, along with the reverend Walter Borden, stood beside the Dauphin helicopter as the bundles of goods for the villagers were unloaded and set in neat stacks on the ground. The cargo contained bags of rice, beans, dried fruit and vegetable seeds. Three small crates were included that had been packed with clothing, tools and basic medical supplies.

The relief organization supplying the items was a clandestine group tied closely to certain intelligence elements. The parcels they sent were generic in appearance, no indication of their origin. Any necessary instructions printed on the packages inside were in French, Spanish, Italian, English, German, Portuguese, Chinese Mandarin, Chinese Cantonese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Arabic, Hebrew and Filipino. No brand names or logos were in evidence, thus even the most determined investigator would not be able to trace them back to any particular country or source.

At a signal from Reverend Borden, several men came forward and began picking up the bundles, carrying them to the large meeting hail where the rest of the villagers happily waited. The people were ecstatic. After months of deprivation and the failed crops of the large vegetable gardens, they could now eat and replant. The clothing would replace their torn and worn garments, the tools would be used for the new planting, and the medical supplies, while rudimentary, would help with the treatment of minor injuries. The insect repellent was most welcome, as Borden's followers had been plagued mercilessly by mosquitoes since their first day in the Gran Chaco.

When all the cargo was neatly stacked under the thatched roof, Alfredo waited as the villagers gathered around them. When he had their undivided attention, he spoke to them in his fluent Spanish.

"Buena gente del pueblo de Caridad," he began. "We are happy to bring you these items to relieve your suffering and discomfort. We do this gladly but ask some favors of you in exchange for the gifts. You must never--nuncareveal where these packages and boxes came from. Comprenden? You must not tell anyone of the presence of Americans in this area. They have come here to destroy a band of very bad men who wish to enslave not only you but a great part of South America under a very cruel leader they call el generalisimo. The Americans do not want you to have to fight these bad men. They do not want you to be in any sort of danger. What they ask is that you simply observe what is going on around here. If you see the bad men, make note of the date, time and what they were doing. The Americans will come here now and then to gather this information as well as bring you more things that you need to make your village and farms grow. Also, if it is necessary, the Americans may ask you to temporarily take care of their wounded and sick. Or perhaps to offer them a hiding place under certain circumstances. They might even ask you to run errands for them in places were they cannot go."

Alfredo paused to light a cigarette, glancing at the crowd to judge their reception of his words. They seemed delighted to cooperate, and he felt the SEALs now had some good friends in the Gran Chaco.

"Ya!" he said, exhaling smoke. "Let us pass out these gifts to the people. El reverendo Borden will supervise the distribution."

Borden and a trio of his senior assistants formed the people by family groups into a long line to issue the food. Milly Mills stood beside Alfredo, watching as the rice and other staples were doled out. After a few minutes, a woman carrying a child in her arms came to Alfredo and spoke to him softly in a pleading voice. The CIA operative turned to Milly.

"This woman's child is sick with a bad fever," Alfredo explained. "She wants to know if there's anything you can do."

"There sure as hell is," Milly said. "The Navy's best hospital corpsman is back with our Command Element." He pulled out the handset of his AN/PRC-126 and pressed the transmit button. "Brigand, this is Charlie. Over."

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HEADQUARTERS, GRUPO DE BATALLA

CAMPAMENTO ASTRAY

1400 HOURS LOCAL

SUBOFICIAL Adolfo Punzarron stood by the door of the EC-635 light utility chopper as his patrol of six riflemen climbed aboard. The rotors of the aircraft were spinning, and when Punzarron pulled himself into the troop compartment, the pilot kicked up the engine to take off. As soon as he was at 300 meters' altitude, he turned toward the southwest.

Intelligence gathered from the cattlemen of Novida indicated that this was the area where the mysterious invaders had been appearing from time to time. These antagonists, who seemed phantomlike, had the uncanny ability to appear and disappear at will. The command and staff of the Ejercito Falangista had decided it was time for violent contact with the elusive foe. Thus, Punzarron was now on his way to accomplish that goal.

As the helicopter sped over the Gran Chaco, the suboficial studied his map, matching it with the features on the ground. The chart, like others of that area, was inaccurate with misjudged distances, missed topographical features, and out-of-date references in the legends on the map's outer edge. Punzarron angrily shoved it back into the side pocket of his uniform trousers.

The flight continued for twenty minutes before reaching its destination. The nose of the aircraft was raised, and it went into a hover for a moment before lowering until its skids touched the grassy terrain. Punzarron leaped out and sprinted a dozen meters away from the door with his men following. He waited until the chopper took off for the return flight to Campamento Astray before forming up his troops in a single rank facing him. These were some of the men he had whipped into shape using his methods of the Spanish Foreign Legion. Consequently, they were tough, confident and able to endure almost any situation they might encounter while campaigning in the field.

"Oigan!" he barked. "Listen up! I want you to remember that we are out here for one reason and one reason only. Buscamos conflictos--we're looking for trouble. If we run across any of those outsiders we are to engage them in combat at the first opportunity. The primary mission is to kill all of them. The secondary mission is to get some prisoners. I prefer the primary. I will take the point, and you will form into a single file behind me. Even-numbered men will maintain watch on the right, odd numbers take the left. The last man will watch our rear. Any questions? Good. Siguenme'

Punzarron turned and set up a fast pace across the savannah, his patrol eagerly falling in behind him.

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VILLAGE OF CARIDAD

1000 HOURS LOCAL

WHEN the Petroleo Colmo helicopter dropped off Hospital Corpsman James Bradley, he was met by a concerned duo. Milly Mills, leader of Charlie Fire Team, and the Reverend Walter Borden greeted the African-American SEAL, wasting no time in escorting him toward a but on the far side of the village. Milly introduced James and the minister as they hurried through the people who had gathered to see the appearance of the medical technician who would tend to the sick boy.

"Tell me about my patient:' James said.

"He's a three-year-old boy," Milly explained. "I took a look at him myself, and even I could tell the kid is in real serious shape, James. Personally, I don't think the little guy is gonna make it."

"We don't know what's wrong with him," Reverend Borden said. "For the past three days he has had a high temperature that we have been unable to lower."

"What sort of medication have you given him?" James asked.

"We have no medicines," Reverend Borden said. "The mother has been bathing him with cool water."

James was shocked that anyone would bring a group of people out into the wilds without a good medicine chest but kept his thoughts to himself. He would have to take the time to give some rudimentary medical, sanitation and first aid instruction to the villagers as soon as possible.

When they reached the hut, they found the baby's father waiting for them. He took the three visitors inside where the little boy lay on a cot. The mother, a small, thin, dark woman, looked up hopefully as James set his medical kit down. He gave the child a cursory examination.

"Has the boy been urinating regularly?" James asked, reaching into his kit for an ear thermometer.

"No," Reverend Borden answered since the parents did not speak English. "Only a little, and it's been dark in color."

"Right," James said. He noted the dry skin and sunken eyeballs as he looked the boy over. "He's badly dehydrated." He pulled the thermometer from the ear, noting a temperature of 101 degrees. The first thing he had to do was to bring the fever under control as fast as possible. Since the boy was semiconscious and unable to take aspirin, the only alternative was alcohol baths. He pulled a bottle of alcohol from his kit along with some sterile cloths in sealed packets. As he opened up a couple, he gave instructions that the mother should dampen the cloths and gently bathe her son. The Reverend Borden translated the directions, and the woman eagerly began the treatment.

Since the little patient could not take fluids by mouth to treat the dehydration, James set up an IV to administer a saline solution. In order not to over rehydrate the boy and send him into shock, the SEAL decided to give him no more than 1.5 cubic centimeters of the solution over the next twenty-four hours.

Reverend Borden watched the proceedings. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

James inserted the needle into the boy's arm. "I could use a hand from the Lord, Reverend."

"I'll organize a prayer vigil right now," Borden said. He went outside to gather his flock.

Milly Mills looked down at the sick youngster, not liking what he saw. "What's his chances, James?"

James spoke in a low tone of voice. "Slim to none, Milly."

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OA, SOUTHWEST

2300 HOURS LOCAL

SENIOR Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins had taken his SAW gunner Joe Miskoski along with Gutsy 01-son's Delta Fire Team out to scour the savannah in that part of the OA. The mission was to search out any targets of opportunity. They left base camp early that morning just as the first light of dawn had glimmered over the eastern horizon. Each member of the patrol carried a couple of days' rations and plenty of ammunition.

Now, after hours of steady humping, they had settled down for the night. It was a cold camp with no fire or flashlights. If anyone really needed to look for something, he had to turn to his night vision goggles. All heating of MREs would be done via the FRHs. Gutsy organized the night's watch, setting up a two-hour-on and four-hour-off guard rotation that would take them to 0500 hours the next morning.

Senior Chief Dawkins hated to admit it, but there were times when he felt his advanced age of thirty-seven. Twinges from long-ago parachute jumps, muscles that had been pulled in training, and an old shrapnel wound in his left side bothered him with increasing frequency. It all made him wonder how much longer he would be able to go until the ability to lead men in the field faded away in a combination of age and growing physical disability. The thought of such a thing happening troubled him deeply. There were times in the middle of the night when he was in that twilight between wakefulness and slumber that the possibility of becoming a staff weenie brought him to full consciousness. The worst part of it was having to part company from the greatest guys in the world.

As he sat in the darkness, leaning against his rucksack, he studied the men around him there in the Gran Chaco. He knew Joe Miskoski and Gutsy Olson well from previous missions. Petty Officer Second Class Andy Malachenko and Petty Officer Guy Deveraux, while new acquaintances, were becoming more familiar to him.

Andy had been born in the Soviet Union, coming to America with his parents in 1994. The family settled into the Russian emigre community in Brighton Beach, New York, where he quickly learned English and adapted to his new country. The naturally rugged kid joined the Navy for adventure and travel and was attracted to the machismo of the SEALs. Guy Deveraux's French-Canadian great-grandparents came to the U. S. in the 1920s. He was born and raised in rural Maine, spending his boyhood fishing and hunting in the woods of the Pine Tree State. He always had a fascination for the sea from the rare glimpses he got of it when his family visited the coast. He enlisted in the Navy but found out he wasn't fond of shipboard life. The SEALs offered a rather challenging alternative, and he opted to take a chance.

Dawkins was more than just a little proud and approving of his Second Assault Section. The men in both fire teams had meshed into a damned fine outfit, and if the group were destined to be his last combat command, he would go out in a flash of glory.

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VILLAGE OF CARIDAD

14 DECEMBER