by Jack Terral
Gordo Pullini recognized the fatalistic attitude that was fast developing among his gang. It was now time for him to take over and get them back under his personal control. The one thing that Capitan Gonzales didn't know about convicts was that after long years behind walls, they had developed efficient albeit simple ways of communication. These could be codes tapped on cell walls, passing notes via twine and paper clip hooks, or speaking in secret ways to convey special meanings or instructions.
As the gang leader sat in the clearing, his leading lieutenants gathered around him, looking as if they had settled down in the locale casually, without any special purpose. Cortador Marconi, Cicatriz Bagni, Pancho DiPietro and Navajaso Coletti seemed to be daydreaming as Pullini spoke softly in a patois of prison slang. Although gthgir gazes and attention seemed to be directed elsewhere, each man received and completely understood the instructions. When Pullini stopped speaking, the subchiefs casually got to their feet and stretched, then walked around the group, stopping to get a light for a cigarette or exchange a word or two. The guards with the submachine guns did not notice anything unusual, unaware that each of the wandering convicts had passed on orders to two men each.
The guards, now wanting to eat and grab siestas, moved away to organize themselves into three shifts to watch over their charges. Capital? Gonzales was lying on his back, fast asleep.
Each convict slowly worked the bolt of his rifle, chambering one round. Pullini watched, then stood up and walked over to the side like he had to urinate. His men watched him carefully for a few moments. He suddenly turned, and his gang leaped to their feet and aimed at the individual submachine gunners they had been assigned to kill.
Thirteen Mauser rifles barked and spat death.
Now the convicts looked back to Pullini. "Get the submachine guns and bullets," he said. "Take all the rations they carry."
As soon as the task was completed, the convicts hurried from the clearing, entering the jungle to begin a trek upward into the mountains, leaving the corpses of Gonzales and his men to rot in the high jungle terrain.
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CAMPO DE AVIAGAO CABRAL
ARREDORES, BRAZIL
17 JANUARY
THE preliminary examinations of the intelligence turned over by Ignacio Perez proved to be absolutely accurate. The problem was having to wade through all the names in the documents to eliminate trusted officers who had not joined the Falangists. Because of that, it was still too risky to call in the armed forces of Argentina, Bolivia or Chile to fight against the generalisimo's men. This left Wild Bill Brannigan and his SEALs twisting in the wind.
It was the time for dirty tricks to be played, and nobody knew that game better that a United States undersecretary of state by the name of Dr. Carl Joplin.
He made contact with his counterpart Bernardo Spinola from the Brazilian embassy in Washington, and the pair met in an upscale restaurant in Silver Springs, Maryland. The two statesmen spoke low over the wine and dinners with Joplin doing most of the talking. He glibly informed Spinola that there was irrefutable proof that the massacre of the Brazilian settlers in the Gran Chaco had been done by the Falangists. Spinola listened intently as Joplin explained why the armed forces of Argentina, Bolivia and Chile could not be brought in to deal a death blow to the murderers, even though they were now contained in the Selva Verde Mountains. It would be helpful if Brazil could furnish gun helicopters to make an aerial assault to back up the Americans who even now were locked in battle with the fascists. This, of course, was top secret and not for public consumption, but it would be sweet revenge for the Brazilians.
Now, in that airfield in Brazil, four Defender 500 Scout multi-mission helicopters of the Forca Airea do Brasil were warming up for a combat mission. These small aircraft were armed with 40-millimeter grenade launchers that spewed out the little explosive devices in deadly salvos. Although they would have been at a disadvantage against heavily armed troops with anti-aircraft capabilities, they would do fine against the Falangists.
At a signal from the operations officer, the choppers' rotors were engaged, and they took off, turning in a westward direction for the fifty-kilometer flight to the Selva Verde Mountains of Bolivia.
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THE SEAL POSITION
SELVA VERDE MOUNTAINS
BRANNIGAN had received specific orders via the CIA communications station Matrix. He pulled in his perimeter so tight that all sides were in visible contact with each other. They were to hunker down and keep low because of a helicopter assault that would be coming in from the east. Although the nationality of the aircraft were not identified over the net, the SEALs were told they were on his side and would not be fired on under any circumstances. If friendly fire had to be inadvertently endured, then endure it. When the aerial attack was over, Brannigan would then contact Matrix for further instructions.
The Skipper used the pause in operations to take stock of his casualties; sadly, he had two KIA and four WIA on that godamned mountaintop. He hoped like hell the attacking choppers wouldn't add to that count.
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FALANGIST FORCE
EASTERN SIDE
0520 HOURS LOCAL
COMANDANTE Gustavo Cappuzzo knelt down just behind the third skirmish line of his attack force. He had turned them out early to be ready when the order came from the generalisimo to once again storm the enemy positions above them.
Capitan Roberto Argent() walked up after relieving himself behind a stand of razor palms. He joined the comandante, standing beside him to wait for the orders to renew combat. The battle had drained everyone's energy, badly sapping their morale and determination to carry on the fight. The norteamericanos showed no signs of crumbling under the numerous attacks.
"Que es eso--what is that?" Argento asked. "Listen, mi comandante."
Cappuzzo stood up, then heard the sound of several aircraft engines gradually approaching. "Ah!" he exclaimed happily. "Reinforcements!"
Argento looked around. "Too bad they can't land near here. There are no suitable spots to set down."
"They will land down by the generalisimo's field headquarters," Cappuzzo said. "The new men will be sent up; don't worry. Perhaps the generalisimo will delay the battle to reorganize our lines."
Now a quartet of helicopters suddenly appeared, coming in low and fast. Immediately small, deadly detonations sprang up in rows along the ground to their front, working their way through the ranks of the Falangist troops. A half dozen were ripped apart in the explosives, while shrapnel slapped through the trees, cutting down vegetation and blowing holes into more men who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
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SOUTHERN SIDE
0525 HOURS LOCAL
THE Falangist machine gun crews had heard what sounded like an aerial attack, rejoicing that they now had support from helicopter gunships. This would make their job of providing covering fire much easier. But when the aircraft appeared, they were not headed toward the enemy positions up on the hill. Instead they came straight down on them.
Knee-high explosions swept through the area, blowing the machine guns over while pummeling the gunners and ammo bearers into hunks of meat.
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FALANGIST FIELD HEADQUARTERS
0530 HOURS LOCAL
GENERALISIMO Castillo responded to the call from Comandante Cappuzzo. Cappuzzo's voice was wild with fear and shock. "We are under aerial attack, mi generalisimo! Helicopters have strafed us with small air-toground missiles! I have sixty-five percent casualties. We have been rendered incapable of continuing the attack!"
Castillo flipped to another frequency and raised Comandante Diego Tippelskirch, who was in the Centro de Inteligencia bunker back at Fuerte Franco. "Tippelskirch!" Castillo yelled. "We are under helicopter attack! Who the hell is it?"
"I know nothing of about enemy aerial potential," Tippelskirch replied, the panic in his voice evident over the handset. "I have received no warning of such a possibility from my contacts."
"This is not a possibility!" Castillo bellowed in rage. "It is a reality that is inflicting heavy casualties on us. Check this out immediately." He switched back to the tactical frequency in time to receive a call from Co me Javier Toledo on the north side. He reported 50 percent casualties. Castillo had to calm himself as the truth of the catastrophe swept over him. There was nothing left to do but request their own helicopters to come to the Selva Verde Mountains and evacuate them back to Fuerte Franco. But first he would give the word to his combat elements to make their way back to field headquarters as best they could.
.
WESTERN SIDE
0550 HOURS LOCAL
GORDO Pullini and his convict gang had drawn off deep into the jungle to remain out of sight of any Falangists who might come hunting them down. Now they had submachine guns and could reasonably expect to put up a spirited defense in case they were attacked by vengeful men of the hated generalisimo.
The strain of what they had been through after being forced to attack an enemy who possessed modern automatic weapons while they lugged along antiquated bolt-action rifles had finally caught up with them. The full realization of their situation now pulled their emotions into a tumble, leaving them confused, with a feeling of spiritual exhaustion.
"What the hell is that, Chief?" someone asked as the noise of heavy firing and aircraft reached them.
"Ay Dios de me vida!" one man moaned. "They are sending airplanes to bomb us now."
Nimble Pancho DiPietro suddenly leaped up and scampered to a tree. He worked his way up to the top branches, then peered in the direction of the noise. "Helicopters!" he shouted down to his buddies. "And they are diving down on the Falangists!"
Everyone cheered and laughed, but Pullini was in no mood to celebrate. "Let's move farther away, guys! They may come this way:'
Now thoroughly frightened about this new potential danger, the convicts obeyed their chief and began hurriedly trekking through the jungle in a northeast direction.
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FALANGIST FIELD HEADQUARTERS
0610 HOURS LOCAL
THE generalisimo and the headquarters guards looked up in alarm at the sudden rustling of brush to the north. Coronel Jeronimo Busch, Suboficial Adolfo Punzarron, along with Chaubere and Muller, came into view, hurrying into the clearing. Busch wasted no time in reporting in to the commander-in-chief.
"Mi generalisimo, four helicopters have strafed our entire force," the coronel said grimly. "Casualties are high. We were lucky to be able to move southeast out of harm's way. We found Gonzales and his men shot up along with some of those cursed convicts. But there were only a dozen or so corpses of the miserable criminals. We could not find the others."
"A new, unexpected development has been thrown at us by the enemy," Castillo said. "Perhaps we were drawn into a trap from the outset. I don't know. I wanted to order the machine guns brought down here, but I could not raise Platas."
"They are all dead, mi generalisimo," Busch said. "And the machine guns destroyed."
"What about Ignacio Perez?" Castillo asked.
Busch shrugged. "We saw nothing of him up there. The miserable little bastard was probably hiding in the woods like a trembling rabbit."
Punzarron, Chaubere and Muller went over to the ammunition dump to refill their magazines.
Chapter 19
SELVA VERDE MOUNTAINS
EASTERN SLOPE
18 JANUARY
0930 HOURS LOCAL
A slight wind blew across the open area where Senior Chief Buford Dawkins, the Odd Couple and Garth Red-hawk waited with Ignacio Perez. Dawkins had Ignacio's rucksack in hand, and it had been taped shut in accordance with strict instructions given by the man who was to pick it up. Ignacio was in a good mood, knowing that he had just come out of one of the worst stages of his life. Although the SEALs were not able to guarantee him any good deals like immigration to the U. S. A., he knew there would be some sort of reward for him because of the valuable information he had provided. Ignacio at least had a realistic hope he would be turned over to the Americans. The worst-case scenario dictated that he would be given a fresh start someplace where no one knew about him or his background.
A Brazilian Army CH-146 chopper appeared in the eastern sky and made a careful circle around the landing area before coming in. As soon as it touched down, a lone man wearing a nondescript military fatigue uniform stepped out. He walked over to the SEALs and spoke to Dawkins. "Haul ass:'
"Damn quick," Dawkins replied as the countersign. "Here's the guy, and here's his goodies?'
The stranger took the rucksack without another word, gesturing to Ignacio to come with him. They walked over to the helicopter and got in. It immediately took off, turning toward Brazil.
Dave Leibowitz scratched his armpit. "Where do you think they're taking him, Senior Chief?"
"To Langley, Virginia, no doubt," Dawkins replied. "The CIA is gonna wring him dry. And you can bet intelligence reps from a half-dozen countries on both sides of the Atlantic will want to talk at him too:'
Mike Assad hefted his CAR-15 up on his shoulder. "The little guy will get something out of this."
"It depends on his prior record," Dawkins said. "If he's clean-cut, he might even be given a new I. D. and a resident visa for the States."
"He's not going to be able to settle in South America or Europe," Redhawk opined. "He's got to go somewhere them Falangists can't get to him. Once they figure he ratted 'em out, he's gonna be on a shit list."
"He's gonna be on a hit list," Dawkins said, correcting him. "Let's go. The Skipper's waiting for us."
The SEALs turned and walked toward the jungle to go back up the mountain.
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GRAN CHACO
FUERTE FRANCO
1200 HOURS LOCAL
WHEN the Falangists who had participated in the battle returned to Fuerte Franco to join the rear echelon party, the entire group numbered 60 men. This was down from the 110 they had when at peak strength. These survivors expected an attack at any time and had been spread thinly among the bunkers and other fortifications.
Morale was decidedly bad. A dark feeling of hopelessness permeated the collective mood of the Falangists, and their responses to shoring up defenses were listless. It seemed a probability rather than a possibility that a much larger force would be sent against them. The senior officers quickly picked up on the growing emotional depression, and Generalisimo Castillo called a staff meeting of his ranking commanders to discuss an issue that was growing more serious by the hour.
Coronel Jeronimo Busch and Comandantes Javier Toledo and Gustavo Cappuzzo took seats in front of the generalisimo's desk in the Centro de Mando bunker. The mood was glum, but the officers held out hope for the situation to turn around. And this was the one thing emphasized by Coronel Busch.
"We still have reinforcements that can be sent us," he said in an optimistic tone. "It is only a matter of time. Have we not had additional men coming in here from time to time? There is no reason why that should stop. There will be more weapons, supplies and ammunition as well. Even helicopters. Perhaps several jet fighters will be able to fly support sorties for us."
Toledo caught the enthusiasm. "Por su puesto--of course! We have no reason to despair. Time is on our side."
"You need to speak to the men of all this potential, mi generalisimo," Cappuzzo said.
"Yes," Busch agreed. "But speak to them as if all this is on a schedule that is already in the administrative mill. Even if we must endure an assault before things improve, the men will fight heroically, even desperately, if they have hope."
"Muy Bien very well!" Castillo said, banging his fist on the desk. "We will parade the men this afternoon, and I will deliver a speech of inspiration to them:'
.
1400 HOURS
THE formation was a mass one without regard to sub-unit integrity. The Falangists, with their capitdnes and comandantes at their head, faced Generalisimo Castillo with Coronel Jeronimo Busch standing to his left r
ear. The men were called to attention, then put at ease. Castillo took a half-dozen steps toward them.
"Guerreros Falangistas--Falangist warriors!" he spoke loudly. "You stand now in the vanguard of our movement; your courage and devotion to the fascist cause undaunted and unswerving. Although we have lost many men and are forced back into Fuerte Franco, we are far from defeated. Even now there are several lifts of jet attack-fighters waiting to be brought out to aid us. Two extra SA-330 helicopters are waiting in Argentina to be ferried here. A recent purchase of 82-millimeter heavy mortars and 12.7-millimeter heavy machine guns has been made from the Russian Federation."
Busch carefully studied the men to their front, happy to note that many were beginning to stand straighter with their shoulders back. This was the sure sign of professional soldiers whose morale had begun an upswing.
Castillo continued, "All our supporters and sources in Europe are working full-time to get reinforcements out to us from across the Atlantic Ocean. Meanwhile, brave soldiers, marines and airmen of Argentina, Bolivia and Chile are standing by to be funneled into our replacement program. They will be followed within a short time by Spaniards, Frenchmen, Portuguese and Germans. The result of these precise personnel actions is that we will be stronger than ever. Now what we ask of you is to maintain the faith! Stay brave! Remember that any setbacks, like this one, are only temporary. Consider it an opportunity to grow in the spiritual and physical strength that make us truly worthy of the victory that will be ours." He paused and raised his hands, shouting, "Arcangel Miguel, nos bendiga--Archangel Michael, bless us! With your divine protection and guidance we shall prevail and cast the devils of communism and socialism into hell with Satan."
The resultant cheers were not orchestrated as the Falangist fighters exploded into spontaneous shouting, their fighting ardor completely restored.
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WASHINGTON, D. C.
THE STATE DEPARTMENT
20 JANUARY
1030 HOURS LOCAL
THE conference room was set aside for particularly sensitive sessions. It was located adjacent to the secretary of state's office and could be accessed from there or by a special corridor that was manned twenty-four/seven by a special detail of the Capitol Police. It was not a large place, and it seemed crowded with the half-dozen people seated around the one table in the small chamber.