by Jack Terral
Astray backed up his military philosophy and aims by risking his own life, insisting on personally leading his troops in battle. Consequently, he suffered three serious wounds in the process: the first in the leg; the second in the left arm, which had to be amputated; and the third in the face, which cost him his right eye.
He eventually was promoted to general de brigades, participating in the Spanish Civil War with his former subordinate Francisco Franco, who would rule Spain from 1939 to 1975. General Milian Astray, an extremist of right-wing causes, supported Nazi Germany during World War II.
He died of a heart attack in 1954, but his spirit lived on through successive generations of the Legion Extranjero. Now Generalisimo Jose Maria de Castillo y Plato saw to it that same elan had become the driving force in the modern Falange seeking to conquer the Gran Chaco.
.
1400 HOURS LOCAL
IT took the Piaggio turbojet four trips to transport Bandera 2 and all unit gear from their garrison in the north down to Campamento Astray. When the final ammo box and ration carton was off-loaded and carried to the new unit's recently constructed barracks, the commander, Comandante Gustavo Cappuzzo, formerly of the Argentine Marines, formed up his men and marched them to join Bandera 1 in a special formation on the small parade ground.
The generalisimo marched to the front of the two units and took the salutes of Comandantes Toledo and Cappuzzo. After giving the men permission to assume the more comfortable position of at ease, Castillo spoke to them in a loud voice.
"You have been brought together to meet a challenge thrown at us by an unidentified enemy who is skulking throughout the Gran Chaco. Their origins, numbers and exact weaponry are unknown, but that does not make them phantoms. They are foreigners, perhaps wretched mercenaries, sent in a desperate attempt to stop the Falangist Revolution. Thus, the Dictadura Fascista de Falangia faces its first serious threat from persons who wish to crush this new world order. Many officers and noncommissioned officers of the armed forces of Argentina, Bolivia and Chile have grown disgusted with the leftist softness of their countries. Consequently, these professional commanders and their subordinates stand with us, giving us support in personnel and materiel that allows us to grow stronger almost daily. There will also be volunteers from the civilian populations of South America as well as Spain, France, Portugal and Germany joining us soon. All these are good men who have recognized the growing threat within the insidious incursions of socialism and other fanatical philosophies of radical left politics."
Castillo began pacing back and forth, gazing at the banderas. They were not as large a force as an infantry company--totaling only ninety-two troops--but they were dedicated, professional soldiers ready to fight for the Falangist cause. He liked what he saw. This collective ferocity made up for the lack of numbers.
"You are being formed into a Grupo de Batalla--a battle group--of almost a hundred men," the generalisimo continued. "This grupo will be organized as current missions dictate. You will be broken down into rifle squads and machine gun crews along with special commando raiding teams. Additionally, a pair of Spanish Model L 60-millimeter mortars have been added to our arsenal."
A murmur of approval rumbled through the ranks.
Castillo smiled. "And, for the icing on the ca also receiving an EC-635 light utility helicopter that has been lately liberated from the Argentine Army. It will be invaluable for reconnaissance and the transport of troops and equipment. We expect much more growth in our capabilities of transport and support fire for infantry units." He turned, looking out at the side of the formation. "TenienteComnel Busch! Front and center, marche!"
Jeronimo Busch paraded onto the scene,going to the direct front of the generalisimo. After performing a faultless, snappy salute, he barked, "I report for duty, mi generalisimo." Busch made an about-face movement to face the two banderas.
"Teniente-Coronel Busch is hereby promoted to the rank of coronel," Castillo announced. "He will assume the direct field command of the Grupo de Batalla."
Busch marched two steps forward, as Castillo moved back to give him center stage. The Chilean paratrooper's voice boomed even louder than that of the supreme leader's.
"Buenas tardes, soldados de fascismo! I am honored to have been chosen to serve as your commanding officer during active campaigning. We shall fight together to firmly establish the nation of Falangia in a great first step toward establishing the global dominance of fascism. The glory will be great and the fight difficult. I do not promise you an easy time. What I do promise you is sweat, tears, blood and unending combat. You will know hunger and exhaustion as demands are placed upon you that will stretch your spiritual and physical strengths to the ultimate limits of human endurance. I expect each and every one of you to live by the creed of the soldado Falangista! You must be brave! You must have the spirit of camaraderie! You must always go toward the sound of firing and seek out combat! You must make instant obedience a religion as you use the archangel Michael as your spiritual guide and mentor! Be brave and ferocious; fast and nimble; as tough as steel; and as alert as a hunting eagle! Our common destiny will be to have the generalisimo lead us to the magnificence and splendor of vanquishing the enemies of the way of life to which we are all dedicated."
Even as Busch made another about-face to turn toward Castillo, the two banderas broke into spontaneous cheers, ready for a fight.
.
THE CENTRAL PORTION OF THE OA
8 DECEMBER
0945 HOURS LOCAL
THE SEAL detachment moved twenty kilometers to the east along the Rio Ancho before coming to a halt. It had taken almost twenty-four hours of slow travel while they poled the piraguas as silently as possible with the raider craft tied on the sterns. Two men per boat labored at the task, changing off every . Hour on the hour. The new scout team of Garth Redhawk and Chad Murchison each took a side of the river, moving a kilometer ahead of the main group in the dual role of security and reconnaissance.
Now the detachment was set up on both banks of the waterway while Frank Gomez monitored the Shadowfire radio. As soon as the transmission they waited for came over the headphones, he called over to Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan.
"Sir! The chopper is on the way in."
"All right," Brannigan said. He took up his binoculars and scanned the western horizon. Within minutes the bright red of the Petroleo Colmo Dauphin helicopter came into view, flying directly toward the site. It approached rapidly, then slowed as it began to descend. When it was directly over the detachment, Senior Chief Buford Dawkins signaled it in for a landing. It came down to gentle contact with the grass.
The cargo door slid open, and Alfredo jumped out. "Goodies!"
The SEALS went to the aircraft, and Paul Cinzento and Wes Ferguson jumped in and immediately began passing out the bundles of supplies to the others. Ammunition and rations made up the bulk of the cargo, but one unidentified bundle tightly wrapped was also included. Alfredo noticed everyone looking at it. "Camouflage coverings," he said, identifying it. "I figured you guys would need extra if you were going to be hiding stuff all over the OA. There're also some individual capes you can throw over yourselves to hide in the grass. They're just the right motley color to allow you to blend in with your surroundings. I brought enough for everyone:'
Brannigan unbuckled the straps and opened it up. He pulled one of the coverings out and checked it over. "Lightweight and compact," he remarked approvingly as he rolled it into a tight bundle to see how it would fit into a rucksack.
"I figured you would need 'ern," Alfredo said. "The concealment on this savannah is as scarce as tenderness in a sergeant major's heart:'
Brannigan laughed. "I've been wondering about you, Alfredo. I don't want to stick my nose where it doesn't belong, but you've had military service, haven't you?"
"I'm ex--Army Special Forces," Alfredo said, relenting. "Actually I was one of those mean sergeant majors before I retired."
"My confidence in you has blossomed, ex--
Sergeant Major," Brannigan said.
"I have faith in you guys too," Alfredo said, moving toward the chopper. "Well! If you need anything else, let me know. You call. I haul. That's all." He waved as he got aboard the aircraft. The rotors kicked up, then the helicopter lifted skyward, turning back in the direction it came from.
Brannigan gestured to the section commanders. "Let's break this stuff out and distribute it. Put the leftovers in the boats. We'll cache it later."
Each man's load was increased by three days of MREs and four thirty-round magazines of 5.56-millimeter ammo. The SAW gunners' burdens were enlarged by a dozen magazines each, but some of these were distributed among the riflemen for portage purposes. Within ten minutes the job was done. Brannigan sent the men out to check the local area while he had a confab with the section and team leaders.
The senior members of the detachment settled down, lit cigarettes, chewed gum or bit into energy bars, while Brannigan strode to their front with his hands in his pockets, looking like a man about to take a peaceful walk through his neighborhood back home. He gazed at his men for a moment, then announced. "I'm ready to start a war."
"Aw, hell!" Connie Concord said, grinning. "I was fixing to put in for a thirty-day leave."
Chief Matt Gunnarson picked up a rock and lobbed it at him. "You'll get a leave all right, but it'll be restricted to the OA. Have fun. Don't forget your old buddies if you find any good-looking women:'
"Okay, guys," Brannigan said. "The Second Assault Section is going to run a combo reconnaissance and combat patrol due north from here. Redhawk and Murchison will act as scouts. I want the area scoped out, but if an opportunity presents itself to make contact with the enemy, do so." He looked at Senior Chief Dawkins, the section commander. "But only if you have a distinct advantage in the situation. I'm talking about a win-win scenario, understood? This is not the time to take chances."
"Aye, sir," Dawkins said. "Understood. What time do we depart?"
"I was kind of hoping you were already gone," Brannigan said with a wink.
The senior chief got to his feet, tapping Milly Mills and Gutsy Olson. "You heard the Skipper." He gestured to Red-hawk and Chad. "C' mon! Let's went!"
.
1315 HOURS LOCAL
GARTH Redhawk and Chad Murchison had set up an OP a hundred meters ahead of the section. The newly acquired camouflage capes allowed them to blend in perfectly with the surroundings. They used their binoculars to maintain a sharp lookout over the grassy plain that spread out all around them. They and the section were feeling the effects of the heavy, wet heat after long hours of hiking through the grass, and Dawkins had wisely called a break in their movement.
"Psst!" Chad said. "Take look out at two o'clock." Redhawk swung his gaze in that direction. "Patrol. Four-man. I can't see any more."
"Neither can I," Chad said. He observed them for a few additional moments. "Look! They're displaying that Falangist insignia on their sleeves. We definitely have the enemy in sight."
Redhawk pulled out the AN/PRC-126 radio handset. "Brigand Two, this is scout. We've got a four-man enemy patrol about a hundred and fifty meters ahead, moving west to east. Over."
"Are they alone or part of a larger group?" replied Dawkins. "Over?'
"They're definitely alone," Redhawk reported. "Over."
"We need an EPW," Dawkins said. "It'll be up to you guys. I can't get a fire team out there quick enough. What do you think about going after them? Can do? Over."
"Can do," Redhawk replied. "We're on our way. Out." He put away the handset, looking at Chad. "The senior chief wants an EPW."
"In my opinion, that is not an insurmountable undertaking," Chad said. "They're moving on a direct azimuth of two hundred and seventy degrees. If we stay low, we can hurry in a half-circuitous route and get ahead of them."
"They call that an end around in Oklahoma football," Redhawk said. "Let's do it!"
The scouts moved slightly south, then turned straight west, keeping as low on the horizon as possible. After ten minutes, they moved toward the target patrol, noting that the group continued in the same direction.
"Y' know," Redhawk remarked, "I think that patrol leader was told to follow a westward course. And that's exactly what he's doing. Two hundred and seventy degrees by the compass and straight as an arrow."
Chad grinned. "He isn't allowing for declension. Thus, it would appear that our antagonist is a young officer. Possibly the equivalent of an ensign."
For the next half hour the two SEALs dogged the enemy patrol, gradually moving ahead of them as the trek continued due west. When they had gone twenty meters ahead of the Falangists, the scouts turned inward until they reached a point where the bad guys would be well within rifle range when they moved across their front. Redhawk and Chad went to the ground, their camouflage capes over them with CAR-15s ready.
"There they are!" Chad exclaimed.
"It looks like the second guy is the one in charge," Red-hawk said. As the senior ranking man of the pair, he would literally call the shots. "I'll take the point man while you hit the rear guy. Then we'll both go for the man right behind the leader. On my command?'
He waited as the four Falangists pressed onward. They moved steadily, each one watching his field of fire, but unable to spot the hidden SEALs waiting in ambush.
Redhawk's voice was matter-of-fact when he spoke. "Fire."
The first round hit the lead man, who staggered sideways under the impact of the bullet before crumpling to the ground. At the same instant the last guy spun and dropped to the grass. A quick salvo got the third Falangist, and he buckled when two slugs jolted him. The patrol leader was on the ground by then, firing blindly in the direction of the incoming shots.
"Oiga!" Chad called out loudly in Spanish. "Nosotros le mandamos a entregar!"
"What'd you say?" Redhawk asked.
"I told him that we order him to surrender," Chad said. "Well, tell him there's a hundred of us, and he's alone," Redhawk said. "Tell him to surrender or die."
Chad yelled, "Estamos cien y usted esta solo. Entrege o muere!"
The Falangist stayed down without replying. Redhawk and Chad cut loose with some fire bursts that were low to the ground, obviously cracking the air just over the man's head.
"Esta es su ultima oportunidad para entregar!" Chad hollered. He spoke out of the side of his mouth to his companion. "I just told him this is his last chance to surrender."
"Tell the son of a bitch to stand up. Now!"
"Levantarse! Ahora!"
A moment later a figure emerged into sight from the grass. He raised his hands and waited. The two SEALs cautiously got to their feet and approached him. The Falangist appeared to be in his early twenties; he was slim and good-looking, with an aristocratic air about him.
"Keep an eye on him," Redhawk said. "I'll check out the casualties to make sure they're dead:' He went from man to man, rolling them over before going through their pockets to search for identification or documents. He found nothing and went back to join Chad and their prisoner. "Tell him not to try any funny stuff."
"I speak English," the Falangist said. He was trying to put on a show of bravado, but the violent, unexpected deaths of his companions had obviously shaken him. "Who are you?"
"Hey!" Redhawk snapped. "We're the capturers and you're the capturee, understand? We ask the questions." He grabbed the man by the sleeve and pushed him toward the south. "Any smart-ass shit on your part, and you're as dead as your buddies. Got it? Let's go!"
.
SEAL BIVOUAC
RIO ANCHO
1715 HOURS LOCAL
THE EPW sat on the ground with his hands held behind his back in a plastic retainer. All the SEALs had been able to learn from him was that his name was Enrico Melendez and that his rank was subalterno. He refused to give his nationality, but Chad Murchison quickly cleared that up for Lieutenant Bill Brannigan.
"He's a Bolivian, sir."
"How can you tell, Murchison?"
&n
bsp; "Those cloth wings sewn above his pocket are Bolivian:' Chad said. "I collect parachutist badges for a hobby and have an extensive assortment. He is definitely a Bolivian paratrooper."
"Brannigan looked down at the prisoner. "All right, so you're a Bolivian. What is your position in this Falangist Revolution?"
"Under the rules of the Geneva Convention I am not required to answer any questions other than name, rank and service number," Melendez said defiantly.
"Don't give me that shit, kid:' Brannigan said. "I think maybe you're a bandit. A goddamn felon. I'll just shoot you as a criminal."
"Bah!" Melendez said. "And you are American mercenaries! You will be the ones who are put against a wall and shot."
Frank Gomez came up on the bank from the boat where he kept the Shadowfire radio. "I transmitted the information on the EPW, sir. Alfredo is coming out personal to have a look at the guy."
"Well," Brannigan said, "then he can sort this shit out with his own interrogation methods?'
Melendez winced and took a deep breath of resignation.
.
1830 HOURS LOCAL
SEAL security was particularly tight when the Petroleo Colmo chopper came in for a landing. Brannigan was worried about the bright red aircraft attracting unwanted attention if a bunch of pissed-off Falangists were out looking for whoever had shot up their patrol and captured its leader.
Alfredo stepped out of the passenger door and shook hands with Brannigan. He nodded to Frank Gomez, Chad Murchison and Garth Redhawk, who were the only SEALs in the immediate vicinity. He and the Skipper walked to where Melendez still sat with his hands behind his back.
Alfredo studied the young EPW for a few moments before speaking. "Your name is Enrico Melendez, eh?"
"I have already answered all the questions I intend to," Melendez said. "And I demand to have my hands released from these bonds."