Surprised by the sudden appearance of armed soldiers out of the darkness, the mercenary stopped and threw down his rifle as he prepared to surrender. Kozak’s forward momentum, however, carried her through.
As soon as she felt her bayonet enter the mercenary just above his groin, she began to pull the front of her rifle up with all of her might while pushing the mercenary over to her left. Screaming, the mercenary grabbed for Kozak’s rifle as he toppled over.
From “behind, Maupin saw that his platoon leader was in trouble.
Picking up his pace, he rushed forward, yelling, first to the right, then to the left, so that everyone could hear: “Mark your targets and fire at will.
Mark your targets and fire at will.” Although it was terminology better suited for a rifle range, the soldiers of 2nd Platoon understood what he meant and began to go to work.
Reaching the corner of the cantina, Sergeant Strange and 3rd Squad were greeted by a large-caliber machine gun firing down into the compound from a position on the hill to their right. Going to ground, it took them several seconds to figure out that whoever was manning the machine gun I had not
observed them yet. Instead, the machine gun’s fire was wild and unaimed. Directing the crew of his M-60 to set up in the lee of the cantina, Strange ordered them to engage the enemy machine gun with a plunging fire. Though he doubted that his gun crew would actually be able, to put the machine gun on the hill out of action, at least his crew would be able to suppress it while the rest of 3rd Squad cleared the tool shed and garage.
Happy to have the chance finally to use the large machine gun and boxes of ammo that they had been hauling around all night, Strange’s gun crew was ready to fire in a matter of seconds. When they were set, they waited a few more seconds, watching for the enemy gun’s muzzle flash.
When they were sure they had it pinpointed, they began to fire bursts of fifteen to twenty rounds, adjusting their aim by walking their gun’s tracer rounds into the enemy position. Once the gunner was satisfied, he began to fire longer bursts.
Satisfied with the effectiveness of his own gun’s fire on the enemy position, Strange pushed himself off the ground, yelling to his squad to follow as he headed for the tool shed.
Though they knew that someone was close when the machine guns began to exchange fire, the sudden banging on the east side of the tool shed, followed by a booming voice, still caused Jan to jump and Joe Bob to turn the M-16 he had picked up off the floor at the source of the noise. “Captain Cerro, Eddie, you in there? It’s Sergeant Strange!”
Recovered from her shock, Jan answered first. “Captain Cerro’s in here, but he’s hit bad.”
The voice on the other side responded, “Okay, lady, hang on, we’re comin’ through.”
Looking at each other, Jan asked Joe Bob what they meant. “Are they going to use explosives to blow a hole in the wall?’’
Joe Bob shrugged, looking about the small confines of the tool shed.
“Shit, I hope not.”
Instead of C-4, however, Strange had two of his men take the bayonets off their rifles and pry a loose sheet of metal off the shed. When it was off, Strange sent a rifleman, followed by a medic, through the hole. Before Strange left, he yelled to Jan through the hole, “Stay put, lady. I’m goin’
over to the garage.”
When Strange was gone, and while Jan held a flashlight for the medic working on Cerro, Joe Bob looked over at the rifleman who had joined him at the door facing into the compound. “Exactly where in the hell does your sergeant think me and the little lady are going to go, especially at this time of night?”
Rolling into a tight turn, Blasio aimed the nose of his helicopter due west at the eastern mercenary camp. Once the camp was in sight, Blasio straightened out his aircraft, bringing it down as low as he comfortably could while increasing his speed. Though he had no idea what had gone wrong with the plan, he knew that his colonel, as well as the prisoner he was after, were down there somewhere, in the middle of the firefight, waiting to be picked up. When his co-pilot asked how he knew that, Blasio, in a rather offhand manner, responded that Colonel Guajardo wouldn’t have it any other way. Though the co-pilot really didn’t understand, he did as Blasio instructed.
To the right, from the hills, Blasio could see tracers streaking down into the compound from the .50-caliber machine-gun positions that the American colonel had mentioned in his briefing. Though his speed and altitude would give those guns little opportunity to hit his aircraft with more than one or two aimed bursts of fire, Blasio didn’t want to take the chance. After all, he was on the right side and it took only one .50caliber round to kill a man, aimed or not. Easing his joystick over to the left and down slightly, Blasio decided to fly to the south of the camp, using the buildings to shield his helicopter from the enemy guns to the north.
They had no sooner made that correction than the commander of the American Apaches came on the air, announcing that his four gunships were in position south of Bandito Base East and ready to engage. If that was true, and they began engaging, Blasio’s present course, while pro tecting
him from the mercenaries to the north, would place him, his crew, and his aircraft right in the American gunships’ line of fire.
Realizing the danger, the co-pilot began to yell over to Blasio that they had to break off and go around, looking for another approach. Blasio, however, did not respond to his co-pilot’s warning. Instead, he took a deep breath, twisted the throttle on the collective a little more to increase their speed, and fixed his attention straight ahead. “Keep your eyes open for the colonel. He will be waiting for us.”
From across the open area of the compound, Kozak heard Strange call.
“Lieutenant Kozak. We got the hostages. The garage and tool shed are 2
secured.”
Sticking her head around the corner of the cantina, near the ground, she replied to Strange’s report. “Okay. Hold there, Sergeant Strange.”
Pulling her head back, she looked over to the storage building. From where she sat, leaning against the south wall of the cantina, Kozak could hear gunfire and the explosion of grenades inside the storage building. As she was staring at that building, a head came thrusting out of the window
§of the cantina behind her. This caused Billy Bell, Kozak’s radioman, to pull back a few feet and aim his rifle at the head protruding from the window. Sergeant Kaszynski ignored Bell, however, when he saw Kozak. “Hey, LT. The cantina’s secured.”
Without looking back, she ordered Kaszynski to stand fast with his squad in the cantina. While the machine gun next to her was firing, raking the administrative building with a long burst, Kozak reached out with her left hand and yelled, “Bell!”
From behind, Bell handed her the radio mike. “Sky King, this is Alpha two six. Over.”
The warbling voice of the Apache attack helicopter company com mander came back over Kozak’s radio. “Alpha two six, this is Sky King.
What’s going on down there? Do you have contact with Grunt six?
Over.”
“Sky King, this is two six. Grunt six is down. Break. We have secured the garage, the tool shed, the cantina and are clearing the storage building.
Break. Bad guys in machine shop, admin building, and hills to the north. Request you hit them and anyone in Bandito Base West. Over.”
There was a pause before the Apache company commander replied.
“Understand we are cleared to attack machine shop, admin building, and Bandito Base West from the south. Over.”
“This is two six. Affirmative. Start your attack when ready. Over.”
“Two six. This is Sky King. Wilco, out.”
Reaching back, Kozak returned the hand mike to Bell. She was about to get up and go over to the storage building when Sergeant Maupin came up behind her and told her that 2nd Squad had cleared the storage building.
After telling him to pass the word that the attack helicopters were coming in, Maupin saluted, responded with a “Yes, ma’am,” and headed out to spread the word.
Maupin had no sooner disappeared into the darkness than a huge apparition, screaming in from the east, went streaking past Kozak’s eyes like a runaway locomotive. The high-pitched whine of engines, along with a sudden blast of wind and sand that lashed at both Kozak and Bell, caused Bell to flatten out on the ground and scream, “Jesus Christ, what the fuck was that?”
Looking over to the storage building, behind which the blur had disappeared, Kozak brushed the dirt off her uniform as if this were an everyday occurrence, and grunted, “Oh, I’d say it was a UH-i helicopter.”
Bell,
still shaken, picked up his weapons. “Well, what in the hell was he doing?”
Kozak laughed. “Oh, I’d say about one hundred miles an hour at an altitude of one foot.”
The same high-pitched whine of engines that shook Bell caused Guajardo’s ears to perk up. Orienting on the approaching sound, Guajardo took a red-filtered flashlight from his pocket and flicked it on. Though he knew there was the remote possibility that doing so would draw fire, he also realized that if he didn’t do so, Blasio would never find him. As an American friend had once told him, half jokingly, everything you do in combat, including doing nothing, draws fire.
“Over there, Lieutenant. To the left, a red flashlight.”
Blasio hadn’t even waited for his co-pilot to finish that simple statement before he had begun to reduce speed and carefully turned slightly to the left. Once he had the flashlight in sight, Blasio eased the helicopter over, ignoring the firing to his right and rear. He didn’t even pay attention to the instruments to his front. Instead, with his eyes fixed on the red light, he felt his way forward until he was satisfied that he was where he needed to be. When he was ready, it took only a slight lowering of the collective and a twist of the throttle to bring the helicopter to rest on the ground.
Noting that only two men boarded the helicopter, Blasio felt a moment of panic. Had the colonel lost the man he was after?
Guajardo’s greeting, however, told him that he had not been disappointed.
“You are, Lieutenant Blasio, right on time. My new friend here was getting quite bored watching the Americans.”
Picking up on the colonel’s good mood, and relieved that all was well, Blasio shot back, “Well, sir, is there somewhere I can take you that will be more to his liking?”
Guajardo turned to watch as the crew chief secured Delapos across from him. “Well, perhaps he might not enjoy it, but, yes, indeed, there is one more trip we need to make. But not tonight.” Then, turning to Blasio: “Whenever you are ready, Lieutenant.”
Easing back in the nylon seat, Guajardo allowed himself to relax.
There was nothing more to do. The crew chief and the soldiers he had brought along would watch Delapos. By the time Blasio had cleared the compound and reached an altitude of two hundred feet, Guajardo was sound asleep.
With nothing better to do, Kozak sat and watched the machine gun next to her continue to hammer away at the administrative building even though there was no longer any return fire coming from it. Bell, crawling up next to her, watched for a minute, then looked at his platoon leader.
“Now what do we do, LT?”
Watching the machine-gun crew at work, Kozak said nothing at first.
Then she sighed. “That,” she said, “is a good question.” With the 3rd Squad in control of the garage and hostages, 1st Squad secure in the cantina, and 2nd Squad mopping up the storage building, there really wasn’t much to do. As she rested against the wall of the cantina, the only thing that came to Kozak’s mind was the fact that she was thirsty. Reaching around, she unsnapped her canteen cover and pulled her two-quart canteen out. After taking a long swallow of water, she looked back at the machine gun.
Watching the machine-gun crew do their thing, and listening to the shouts of her NCOs going about their tasks, Kozak finally understood what Cerro had been driving at back at Fort Hood. Though she could have gone over to any of the squads and watched them, it would have served no purpose other than to occupy her time and give her the false impression that she was really doing something, when in fact she would only be hindering progress. No, Kozak knew that Cerro had been right. The NCOs knew what they were doing and they were doing it well.
Although things had not gone as planned or as she had expected, she felt good about what her platoon had done, and about her conduct. Even the little incident with the mercenary she had encountered when entering the compound, when she had forgotten to take the safety off before trying to fire her rifle, didn’t bother her. She had reacted well and in an appropriate manner. Though she couldn’t put her finger on what the difference was between this night’s operations and her previous experiences, she felt good about herself.
Looking at her watch, then over to Bell, she offered him a drink from her canteen. “It’s about time for us to go home, Bell. All we need to do now is wait for the fat lady to sing.”
As if on cue, a volley of 2.75-inch high-explosive rockets, fired by the Apaches hovering off to the south somewhere, slammed into the machine shop and the administrative building. The glare of the rocket motors, and their detonation against the sides of the targeted buildings, lit up the predawn darkness, bringing the battle for Bandito Base East to a close.
Epilogue.
Veni, vidi, vici. (I came, I saw, I conquered.) --Julius Caesar.
Palacio Nacional, Mexico City, Mexico
105 hours, 1 October
The pace at which Molina led the American delegation through the corridors of the presidential palace was slow and deliberate. He hoped to allow them an opportunity to think about what he had just said, and also to view some of the murals that adorned the walls. Perhaps, Molina thought, the Americans will begin to appreciate that we are a proud people with a proud past.
Though Ed Lewis did not understand Molina’s intent, he nevertheless was struck by the beauty of the murals. While the secretary of state and his assistants moved briskly behind Molina, holding hushed conversations amongst themselves, Lewis followed at a leisurely pace, looking at the colorful and vibrant murals as he passed them. As beautiful as they were, Lewis thought, they were trying to tell him a story, a story that he didn’t know. When he came across a mural showing a number of men, Lewis finally recognized one of the faces. It was Pancho Villa. Pausing, he looked at the face for a moment, then at the others around it. He noticed that Villa’s face, the only one he knew, was only one of many and, more importantly, did not occupy a central or important position.