by Eric Meyer
Talley popped his head through the hatch. “That’ll have to wait, Carl. We’ve put together the makings of a plan to get these hostages out, but we can’t show this vehicle until it’s in motion. It’s our ace in the hole. I want both of you out here, and we’ll go through the way we’re going to play this.”
Outside in the courtyard, the men were lounging in a circle, gulping down iced water brought out in pitchers by a very pretty Latino girl. She struck a chord with Nolan that puzzled him for a few moments. Then he realized why it was. She reminded him of Detective Carol Summers, and therefore of his deceased wife, Grace. Slim and pretty, dark hair, dark skin, perhaps a little darker than the San Diego detective, but she was built just the same, short; what most folks would describe as petite. And she had that same demeanor, serious, yet he could see she was the kind of person who had a boundless appetite for life, for having fun; for doing things and going places. Like Carol Summers, and Grace. She came over to him and fixed him with a pretty smile.
“Iced water, Senor?”
Raoul Castro came up to them. “This is Gracia Montez. She is one of my relations. Gracia, this is Chief Nolan.”
He nodded a greeting. “The name is Kyle, Ma’am.”
She grinned. “And I’m Gracia, not Ma’am. It makes me sound so old. Gracia, is like Grace in English, yes?”
He worked hard to keep his emotions under control. “Yes, it is the same.”
She gave him a tumbler of iced water. It was flavored with a slice of fresh lemon and tasted delicious. He mumbled his thanks, and she smiled again.
“Anytime, Chief Nolan.”
“It’s Kyle.”
“Yes, I know. But I prefer Chief, especially as we are to work together. It makes me feel more like one of your men.”
“Say that again?”
But she smiled and went away to dispense more cool drinks. He heard Talley calling him over and walked to the group of Seals and Colombian Special Forces.
“We’re planning to make the assault and hostage rescue tonight, undercover of dark, men. The first part of the plan is that no one leaves this compound for any reason until we pull out. There are too many prying eyes in this area. Clear?”
They all nodded. A couple of Colombians looked unhappy. Did they want to find a bar, maybe a hooker, or something else, perhaps? The traffickers had too many friends in the military and the police as a result of their massive profits.
“For the same reason, operational security, no one is to use their cell phones.”
Now there was a very audible groan.
“No, it is essential for our security. We have no way of knowing whether the cartels can listen in to our cell phone conversations. We will spend the day preparing our weapons and equipment. During the evening, we’ll drift into Copacabana. The Colombians are already in civilian clothes, so Jorge will arrange for us Seals to have some civilian clothes to change into. We will infiltrate the town in small groups, twos, fours, and several men on the local bus service. Weapons and equipment will be carried in bags, suitcases, or hidden inside your clothes. The building where the hostages are being held is here, on the outside of the town.”
Castro rapidly drew a map in the dirt of the courtyard. He looked up at the men.
“The main road into town is here. Bello is here. And on the outskirts of the town, this is the house they are being held in.”
Talley nodded. “We’ll go over it in more detail later, but that’s the rough outline. Chief, you won’t be going in with the main assault. Nor will you, Carl. The operation should go well, up until we assault the building. At that point, the shit will hit the fan. Almost every inhabitant in Copacabana can be considered sympathetic to the traffickers, either willingly or by force. The second they know something is up; they’ll flood the place with their people. And they’re well armed, as we know. That’s where you two come in. You are to wait here with the BTR-70 and come a-running when we call. It’ll be your job to get us out of there, that’s the hard part. We reckon that an armored vehicle mounting a heavy machine gun will make all the difference. Any questions?”
Carl stepped forward. “That BTR, Lt. It’s designed for a crew of three. Have you got anyone in mind to come with me and the Chief?”
“Yes, good point, Carl. Gracia has volunteered to go with you in the APC. She knows the country well, and she’s no stranger to action.”
The Seals swiveled to look at the girl.
“What kinda action, Boss?”
“She was an officer in the military, Carl.”
“Which military?”
“The FARC.”
Chapter Seven
It was early evening, and the light was fading. Nolan, Carl and Gracia had spent the past hours checking and rechecking the mechanical workings of the Soviet APC. They came to the gun, the big, heavy 14.5-millimeter KPV. It was mounted in a narrow turret, which allowed the gunner enough room to poke his head inside and use a variety of day and night vision devices to locate targets and shoot the gun. Aligned to the same firing mechanisms was the 7.62-millimeter PK machine gun, with the ammunition fed through a belt into the breach.
“If you wish, I will handle the machine guns,” Gracia said quietly. “I have had experience with both weapons. If there is a problem, it will be best for me to deal with it.”
“You used both these types in the FARC?” Nolan asked, interested. “The KPV seems heavy for a guerrilla unit.”
“We were equipped with a wide range of weaponry, including heavy machine guns. We used them mainly for anti-aircraft operations. The Colombian Air Force made frequent raids on our camps. Our KPVs were linked in a quadruple mount, and they were very effective.”
Carl winced. “I’ll bet the fuck they were.”
“But we also had missiles, Strela 3 man-portable systems. I brought down three aircraft with those.”
“Yeah, I’ll remember to stay on your good side,” Carl grimaced. “Hold tight, I’m going to run up the engines and just try running her around the courtyard. We don’t want to wait until they need us to find it doesn’t steer properly.”
He sat in the cramped driver’s position and fired up both the V8 engines. Gracia wormed inside the turret. There was a small seat that she could perch on and peer through the gunsights that surrounded the firing position. Nolan took the commander’s seat next to the driver. The deafening roar of the V8s quieted as they warmed up, and Carl reduced them to idling. Then he used the complicated gearing and clutch mechanisms to get the vehicle rolling. They maneuvered around the courtyard until Carl pronounced himself satisfied.
“She’ll get us to Copacabana and back, but Jesus this is one helluva pig to drive.”
“It’s a pig to ride in,” Nolan agreed. “I’d imagine the troops would be permanently sick riding in this thing over a battlefield.” He looked around as Gracia descended from the turret. “How did you get on with the firing position? Any problems?”
She shook her head. “Nothing I can’t handle. I was able to check the night vision devices. It is just about dark enough. They all work as they should. If we get into a battle, I will need you to help me with loading the belts onto the machine guns.”
“Yeah, I can do that. You’d better show me how it all works.”
“Here, climb up next to the breach of the main gun.”
He climbed up and was aware of the closeness of her, the earthy, raw scent of a fit, athletic young woman. A spicy tang, mixed with herbs, perspiration, and God alone knew what else. The end result was he found himself becoming aroused, and he had to control his breathing and his emotions to concentrate. Gracia showed him the ammunition lockers, the way the belts fitted into both guns, and how to join them together and clear a jam if one occurred. Finally, he couldn’t take any more.
“I think I’ve got it, but I need to go outside. The air is stuffy inside this thing.”
“Sure, I’ll come too,” she said cheerily. He groaned inside. It was the very distraction he could have done without.
Yet he was male enough that he couldn’t argue.
“I’ll get something cold to drink. That’ll make you feel cooler,” she grinned. There was a sparkle in her eyes, and he realized this incredible girl knew exactly what kind of powerful effect she was having on him. The last thing he needed.
“You want a beer, Chief Nolan?”
“That’d be fine.”
She came back with three bottles of beer, and chill condensation had formed droplets on the glass. They called for Carl to come out, and the three of them sat enjoying the coolness of the beer and the night chill that was beginning to set in. They looked up as Talley came over to them.
“The men are all ready. Jorge found enough civilian kit for them to change into.”
“What about us?” Nolan asked. “You want us to change?”
Talley grinned. “They see you coming in that thing, and it’ll take more than a flowery shirt to convince them you’re not military. No, you may as well keep your kit on. Besides, the flak vest may be useful if a firefight develops, and that’s likely to happen. Stay inside of here until you hear us call on the commo net. Then come like a bat out of hell. You’re designated Bravo Four. Vince is Bravo Two.” The unit sniper, of course, and he’d be busy this night. “And we patched the Colombians through to the same net, designated Bravo Three.”
“I’ve got it. We’ll be there.”
He nodded to Gracia and walked back to the men. The Colombians had already started slipping out in small groups through a narrow side gate.
They sat around waiting. Jorge joined them and fiddled with an adjustment on the idling of one of the V8 engines so that they were perfect, or so he said. Nolan couldn’t hear any difference and supposed it was just nerves. From time to time, he heard his comrades on the commo, whispered orders, and reports.
“Bravo Two, this is Bravo One, watch that building on your right. We just saw a possible sniper looking out the window.”
“Roger that, One, I’ll take him out now.” It was Vince Merano’s voice.
“Copy that, Two. Keep it quiet. They don’t know we’re here yet.”
A patch of silence, and they looked at each other and then around the courtyard. They were sat on top of the hull, ready to go into action at a moment’s notice, but at least it was cooler. Inside the BTR it was like a furnace. Another burst of static.
“Bravo three, this is One. Is your perimeter ready? Make sure no one comes in or out, Raoul.”
“This is Three. Perimeter is ready, and we have the place buttoned up tight.”
“Copy that.”
“All units, this is One. We’re going in.”
Then all they could do was wait. The Seals, with their night vision and sound suppressed weapons, had a chance of killing the guards and spiriting away Castro’s family before the Salazar soldiers even knew they were there. Nolan fervently hoped it would go down that way. If not, well, a pitched battle with well-armed narco traffickers with nothing to lose could be very, very bloody, and there were a lot of civilians in this equation. It wasn’t to be. Even at a distance of several miles, sound carries a long way at night. They heard the distinctive sound of an assault rifle puncturing the still night with its staccato sound. Someone had emptied a full clip, one of the Salazars. So the battle had started.
“Bravo Four, this is One.”
Nolan keyed the mic. “This is Four.”
“Come and get us, Chief. We’re inside a factory compound in the street behind the market. Raoul's men are defending the gate. It’s the only place of its type, and we have gunfire all around us, so you shouldn’t have any problems finding us.”
“Copy that, One. We’re on our way.”
He was about to shout, ‘go!’ to Carl Winters, but Carl had listened to the call, and the two big V8s were already revving hard. Then he slammed down on the gas and Nolan and Gracia had to stop themselves from being thrown against the steel hull. The APC arrowed straight for the gates, but Jorge was ready, and they were already opening. The armored behemoth surged out onto the streets of Bello, and Gracia started shouting directions, picking up her bearings from the sights inside the turret.
“Left, next left. No, not that one, I meant right.”
The eight-wheeler heeled over hard and took out part of a storefront as it lifted up on the suspension, Carl grimly steering it in the new direction. He flicked a glance over at Nolan, who grinned.
Women! Did any of them know their right from their left?
“Keep along this road. It’s about four miles, then take the right fork.”
“You sure this time, Ma’am,” Carl shouted up at her over the roaring of the motors.
“Yes I am fucking sure, soldier. I made a slight mistake back there, that’s all.”
“Yeah, let’s hope that store owner sees it like that. Right fork it is.”
They hammered along through the night. Twice they met oncoming vehicles in the road; big, old American trucks, with the local lowlifes high on Tequila and cocaine, returning with their dates for a fumble on the back seat. Both Colombian drivers saw their lights and tried to play chicken, until they saw what was bearing down on them. Both times, the trucks wound up pushed into the long ditch that ran along the side of the tarmac.
“It’s a local game,” Gracia explained. “They like to show how macho they are to their girlfriends.”
“Not this time they didn’t,” Carl said happily.
Talley’s voice came over the commo. “Bravo One for Four, how close are you, Chief?”
He shouted so the girl could hear. “What’s our ETA, Gracia?”
“Five minutes, no more.”
He relayed it on to Talley.
“We can hold out for that long, Chief, but we’re in a heavy firefight here. We grabbed the woman and the boy, and then the Salazars’ soldiers came pouring out of the woodwork. We’re facing upwards of two hundred of them here, and they’re heavily armed.”
“What about a Reaper strike, Boss? That’d do the trick.”
“It would, yes. But we’re in the middle of a civilian area, lots of private housing and apartment blocks. The bastards are very clever, and they’ve set the place up to be almost impregnable, without killing a pile of civilians. The last thing they want back in Washington is an international incident. Besides, killing civilians is not on my agenda. You’ll need to take them down strongpoint by strongpoint. When you get here, you can lead us out and we’ll follow. I reckon that heavy machine gun will keep their heads down for a time.”
“Copy that, we’re making full speed.”
“Acknowledged, they’ll open the gates when they see you coming. And keep it buttoned up, the place is like a hornets’ nest since they found out we were here, and they started shooting.”
“Copy that.”
They were driving into the main street of Copacabana now, and already shots were ‘pinging’ off the hull. Gracia’s voice came down from the turret.
“I see snipers’ positions, Chief Nolan. What do you want me to do?”
“Take ’em out, Gracia.”
Scarcely had he shouted the reply than the inside of the BTR-70 echoed to the cacophony of the two machine guns, the 14.5 mm main gun and the co-axial 7.62. He peered through the commander’s periscope and adjusted it to see the area they’d just past. Their gunfire was devastating, taking great chips and lumps of brick and rock out of the front of the houses that were sniper positions on the street. The fire on their steel hull slackened as they raced along. Gracia alternated between shouting orders and firing the turret mounted machine guns.
“Left, yes, here, Carl. It’s a tight turn, yes. Oh, you just knocked down half the front of their house. The guy that lives there is a Salazar soldier, so I wouldn’t worry.”
“I won’t,” was Carl’s laconic reply as he wrestled with the controls.
“The street you need is a third of a mile along this road. Wait!”
The din of the machine guns assaulted their eardrums as the hull became like
the inside of a boiler being hammered by a score of blacksmiths. This time they heard screams as the hail of lead smashed into the defenders.
“As I was saying, about a third of a mile, take a right turn just before the used car lot. It’s coming up now. That’s it, yes, right here. Oh, Paco will be unhappy. You just took away the front of his special offer of the month.”
“He’ll find another.”
Carl swerved to the right, and in front of them, they could plainly see the factory compound where Talley and the rest of the troops were holed up with Castro’s family. The place was under siege, and gun flashes could be plainly seen coming from firing positions all around the high brick wall guarding the building.
“Take it slow,” Nolan ordered. “We need to weaken their forces as much as possible, so the more we kill now, the easier it’ll be to get out. Gracia, take out as many of the attackers as you see.”
“Chief Nolan, I need you to load. The last belt just went through the gun.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there. Carl, stop here. We need to knock out a few of these gunners before we drive the last few yards.”
He ripped of his night vision goggles and climbed out of his seat, conscious that the guns had ceased firing, and the incoming fire had intensified. Up in the turret, there was barely room for one, let alone two. They were close to each other, very close, and kept bumping heads as Nolan worked rapidly to change the belts, linking the new one to the empty belts so that the guns would fire again. Bullets kept clanging against the turret, only inches from his head, and he thanked his stars for the Soviet built armor, almost half an inch thick, that protected them. In the dim light of the turret, he could see the warlike gleam in her eyes, and the brilliant white of her teeth as she pulled her lips back in a half snarl. And the smell of her now, it was so overpowering. She’d been sweating in the enclosed heat of the BTR-70 and the fierce battle she’d been waging against the Salazar soldiers. The thick, deep scent of musk, combined with a spicy, floral odor, perhaps her perfume, to make a heady mixture. He was almost done when both their heads turned at the same time to face each other. It had never occurred to him that his male scent might be having the same effect on her, yet she was clearly as aroused as he was. They leaned slightly forward, their lips just about touched, the faintest brush.