by Steven Linde
Chapter Eleven
The Hispanic Liberation Army was struggling to be led by Colonel General Ramirez ‘Loco’ Estevez. Colonel General Estevez was the leader of MI13 in Los Angeles and had very close connections to the Mexican Mafia. He was thirty-one years old, charismatic and brutal; he was tall, six-four, and rail thin, with at temper that would fly off the handle in a moment. He was able to unify the Latino gangs in Los Angeles and surrounding cities almost through brute force and killing anyone who got in his way. After the event, a new environment existed where a gang joined into a larger gang simply to be able to exist, and if they didn’t they could easily be overrun and eliminated altogether.
Colonel General Estevez wasn’t the racist many of his counterparts were, as he did understand that the black gangs were huge and did present a formidable enemy if he couldn’t make peace with them. He offered all of the black gang’s entry into the Hispanic Liberation Army and many took him up on his offer. In fact, his second in command was Major General Alfred Simons, a black man from the East Side Crips. The other gangs in the area were also asked to join: Vietnamese, Chinese, White, you name it. Most of them turned down the offer and were eliminated by the much larger HLA, and the reality of the situation was that the smaller gangs never had a chance if they chose not to join.
Colonel General Estevez knew that he now had thousands under his command; he also knew that such a loose confederation wouldn’t be able to fight cohesively because right now they were a large mob. He created a board of gang members that had prior military service to help him organize his new army, which was good and bad at the same time. It was good that he could organize into brigades with battalions and companies, and within those companies were platoons, within the platoons were squads. Colonel General struggled to get to gangs to conform to this, as they were all very independent, which was bad. Many of the Latino gangs wouldn’t integrate with the black or white gangs and the same held true for the black and white gangs not wanting to integrate with each other.
Since the army’s name was Hispanic Liberation Army, the senior Latino leadership believed that all senior leadership positions should be Latino and that would mean replacing Major General Simons. There were close to ten-thousand black members, and the Colonel General was sure that, if he removed General Simons, a civil war would be created, and he didn’t have enough Latinos to take them on. When all was said and done, he had twenty-thousand Latino members, and the rest were made up of other races and ethnic groups. If the blacks broke off, there was a good chance they would take some of the other groups with them. Colonel General’s hands were tied if he wanted to take on the US Military down South.
After months of brutal bullying, he was able to get their respective formations, although they were broke up along race and ethnic lines. It sometimes seemed they were more interested in fighting each other than Marines in the South. The board of prior military members warned the Colonel General that, unless he can instill discipline within his ranks, there was no real point to all of this. The Colonel General disagreed with them and disbanded the board, now thinking their advice was useless. The board’s recommendation about acquiring weapons and vehicles from National Guard Armories and Marine/Army Reserve posts almost proved disastrous. The Army National Guard men and women put up a hell of a fight, considering they numbered in the hundreds and Colonel General’s Army numbered in the thousands. The gangs suffered heavy losses when fighting the Guard and Reserve, and when they were finally able to overrun their positions, they had destroyed the vehicles and disabled all of their weapons.
They were largely left with what they had, which was a lot of pistols, lots of very old AK-47’s and other type of submachine guns, as well as AR-15’s they had scavenged from homes and Police Stations, and the biggest concern was the limits they had on ammunition. Colonel General was adamant that they needed everything that was in Camp Pendleton. Everything. It wasn’t working out the way he planned; the Marines had a few thousand men and women at best and they were fighting the Mexicans in the South and in the North, but neither force could get the Marines to budge. Then there were rumors of a much larger US Military Force up near Monterrey. Colonel General had sent to Company size elements to find out and report back to him. That was two months ago, and they had disappeared hadn’t been heard from since. You would think that would have told him and his staff something, but they were oblivious to it.
During the period, they were moving of the Greater Los Angeles area into Orange County, and they were able to absorb many of the other gangs that chose to join them. The average civilians were generally robbed of everything they owned except the clothes on their backs. Most of the civilians headed north along the highways and freeways hoping for a better life, however as they moved north, they found themselves at the mercy of bandits and other types that further abused them, and most lost their lives. The ones that headed into the wilderness areas did better to varying degrees, as long as they knew how to camp and use other survival techniques. As they pushed out into these areas, they found small towns to be very defensive and didn’t allow ordinary folk in unless they had a skill the community was looking for.
The Hispanic Liberation Army had ransacked all of the big box stores, grocery stores, but one of the things that was going to doom them in the long run was Colonel General had no long term plan on how to feed his army. They didn’t have farmers or engineers, as the average age of the Soldier was twenty-three and most had been gangbangers most of their lives. Everything they came about in their lives they took or stole from others. The big mistake that the Colonel General and his senior staff made was either killing or letting escape the producers they needed.
The Hispanic Liberation Army got as far as San Clemente before running into thousands of well-placed Marines that were heavily armed. Even though the Hispanic Liberation Army had an organization table similar to the Military, they weren’t the Military. The board that Colonel General had set up recommended not rushing into anything, let them set up a training regimen that included weapons and tactics, but the Colonel General scoffed at such an idea, feeling there was nothing they needed to know. They had the guns and could shoot them, what else did they need?
The Hispanic Liberation Army quickly realized the mistake they had made attempting a frontal assault on Marine positions. The Marines had M-249 and M-2 machine guns and slaughtered the gang members as they charged so they never even got close to the Marines. The HLA pulled back and licked their wounds for the rest of the day while Colonel General and his staff come up with a plan of attack; anything had to be better than what they had just attempted to do. They had decided to act on some of the earlier recommendations made by the board of prior service military members. Part of that recommendation was to send out small teams to probe Marine lines to look for gaps, holes, and other weaknesses. The other part of that recommendation was to train those teams so they would be able to approach those lines as stealthily as possible and teach them recon techniques that would help them survive on the battlefield.
As far as the Colonel General was concerned, the second part of the recommendation was a bunch of military mumbo-jumbo, and all his people were going to do was go up and take a look; what could go wrong with that? He found out when none of his teams he sent out ever returned. In fact, every single one was captured by the Marines, who were also sending out their own recon teams. The difference was the Marines knew what to do. Now the Colonel General was caught between a rock-and-a-hard-place: the two Companies he had sent north were gone, and his recon teams he sent south were gone. People were losing confidence in his leadership, and he knew no matter how brutal he was with his own people, it was a matter of time before they killed him, unless he could turn things around.
Chapter Twelve
Lieutenant Winchell and Gunny Roy, along with SFC McDonald, made their way to the Admiral’s Office where the Rear Admiral Davis and Commander Washington were waiting for them. SFC McDonald leading the way rapped hard on the door jam
b and proceeded into the office. All three men came to attention and saluted the Admiral, who returned the salute and signaled for the men to take a seat near Commander Washington. After introductions were done the Admiral spoke. “Damn good to see you men,” he said, directing it to Lieutenant Winchell and Gunny Roy. “We’ve been wondering what the hell has been going on down South for quite some time. As you know we have a rather large operation ongoing right now to determine that.”
“Yes Sir,” the Lieutenant responded. “Sergeant McDonald informed us.”
The Admiral looked at SFC McDonald for a moment; SFC McDonald smiled back at the Admiral. Chuckling and shaking his head, “You gotta be careful of these greenie beanie snake eaters,” said the Admiral. “
“Yes Sir. “Said Gunny Roy. “Don’t we know it!”
The Admiral went on, “Our first thought was to get you out to the Hornet ASAP. Have you go back out with the Commander here. But after speaking with the Commander and others we have decided to send you back to Pendleton.”
This perked up the Lieutenant and Gunny, “Yes Sir!” said the Gunny. “How do we get there and when do we leave?” asked the Lieutenant.
They all laughed at that, and it was evident they were happy to be going home. “You’ll leave in a couple of hours via C-47 which is down at the airport. Do you mind jumping in at around sunset?”
Both men were stunned to be going home so quickly, and by airplane at that. “Sir is there a reason you want us to jump in?”
“Yes, we don’t want to get shot down. We can fly high enough were small arms won’t hurt us and if you HALO in odds are you’ll be Ok.”
“So you don’t want to lose a plane but it’s ok for us to get shot at?” asked Gunny.
“No, no, I don’t mean to come across that way, if we could land we would.”
“Sir, we prefer you land. I don’t think they will fire on you until they figure out who you are, and if you’re landing they would feel it an opportunity to get an airplane.”
The Admiral looked at both the Lieutenant and Gunny for a moment. “Alright your call. You’re taking SFC McDonald and his team with you. You’re also taking three working shortwave radios with you with replacement parts. The A-Teams comms Sergeant can go over the specifics with you. Ideally we want one at Pendleton, NAS North Island, and 32nd Street. The C-47 will also be staying for the time being. Its crew will be training a Navy crew there, that’s up to the Commander down south. I can tell you now the Air Force wants their crew back, though. The first radio needs to be set up within twenty-four hours per the orders of General Watkins.”
“Who’s General Watkins?” asked the Lieutenant.
“Lieutenant General Watkins is the current Commander of all US Forces.” The Lieutenant and Gunny nodded their heads.
“It’s imperative that the radio gets set up on Pendleton by 2130. General Watkins will be transmitting at that time attempting to make contact with senior leadership there. It will be up to you Lieutenant to get that ball moving on that end. Is that clear?” said Admiral Davis.
“Sir if that’s the case can we leave ASAP?” asked the Lieutenant.
“Certainly, it’s your call, Lieutenant. You can leave now if you want, however, I would suggest a shower, change of uniforms, and some chow.”
“Yeah you guys stink.” said SFC McDonald. “And we’re all gonna be stuck in an airplane with you for an hour, so take a shower, all of you, please.”
Everyone laughed at that, “Roger that, Sir. We’ll take you up on that offer. How about two and a half hours?” said the Lieutenant.
“Sounds good. SFC McDonald will get you squared away, Godspeed gentlemen and good luck,” said Admiral Davis, standing and shaking their hands. That was the sign the meeting was over and for everyone to return to duty.
Commander Washington would return to his Sub and report back to the Hornet with the new plan. All he knew he was glad it wasn’t him heading to Pendleton, as he preferred the safety of the submarine than ground combat.
SFC McDonald led the Marines to pick up fresh uniforms and then onto the showers. News spread quickly throughout the campus that Marines were present from Camp Pendleton. Everyone on campus was aware of the operation that was currently underway and wished they were in on it. While at chow, several officers tried to approach the Marines to talk to them about what they knew. All of them either knew SFC McDonald or had heard of him, he had a reputation for being a ruthless fighter and a mean son-of-a-bitch. Once SFC McDonald showed up at the mess hall, he chased everyone away from the Marines, and no one wanted to have to deal with SFC McDonald, Officers and NCO’s alike.
The Marines and SFC McDonalds team showed up at the airfield in Monterrey at the prescribed time. The C-47 was ready to go, and as it turned out, the C-47 had some bite to it. It had door gunners and some modified missile platforms that had been installed onto the plane. It looked a bit odd, but did give the occupants a bit more confidence. Truth-be-told, Lieutenant Winchell had no idea how Camp Pendleton would react with an old World War II airplane flying over and onto its airfield. He knew they had a fifty-fifty chance at survival.
Chapter Thirteen
It was 1500 and the C-47 was circling Camp Pendleton, and so far the Lieutenant and Gunny had been right, no one was shooting at them. The pilots could see that there was a lot of activity on the ground, and odds were it had been a very long time since anyone had seen an airplane actually flying. The pilots made a low pass over the runway, signaling that they wanted to land. They were also trying various radio frequencies, attempting to make contact with anyone on post, but so far no success.
They made one more circle around post and then came in for their final approach. The wheels touched down two times as the pilots cut back on power to the engines. They started to make their way to the hanger. They came to a halt about five-hundred feet from any building, knowing that they were be charged by the Marines on the ground. The pilots felt that being in the open so the Marines could see everything happening would help their longevity. As soon as they cut the engines they saw heavily armed vehicles making their way towards them. The pilots told everyone in the rear of the plane to sit tight and that there were a lot of trigger happy Marines on their way. Let them get here first, and then take it one step at a time.
A dozen Humvees pulled up, weapons bristling out of each one, and one Captain Hendricks approached the airplane. He yelled for the personnel in the aircraft to “Un-ass it!” or they would destroy the aircraft in place. The aircraft’s passenger door popped open and out came Gunny Roy. “What the hell Captain?”
“Gunny what the fuck are you doing? You and the rest have been presumed KIA,” the Captain said.
Lieutenant Winchell quickly followed Gunny Roy out of the aircraft. “Word of our demise has been greatly exaggerated!” stated the Lieutenant.
The rest of the team piled out of the aircraft, followed by SFC McDonald’s team. The Marines surrounding the aircraft, as well as the Captain, were a bit stunned to see a bunch of Army snake eaters exit the aircraft.
“How’s it shaking there, Captain?” SFC McDonald said.
With this, the Captain was shaken out of his stunned state. “I’m fine Sergeant. It’s a little unexpected to see a bunch of Green Berets here.”
“You mean as opposed to a World War II vintage aircraft flying in, landing and depositing two Special Operations teams?” SFC McDonald was grinning ear to ear. Gunny Roy couldn’t stop himself from breaking out in laughter. Captain Hendricks looked like he was thinking about it then chuckled himself. “Good point Sergeant, I know a bunch of people are going to be happy to see you all!”
At that point, Captain Hendricks ordered the Marines to lower their weapons and return to their posts. “Captain,” said Lieutenant Winchell, “We have delicate equipment aboard, we need to move and we need to speak to the Commandant like it was yesterday.”
“Roger that Lieutenant,” said the Captain. “Take a couple of the Humvees, the Commandant had alread
y ordered that whoever gets off the plane to send them up ASAP. Do you have anyone that can handle the movement of the equipment aboard?”
Lieutenant Winchell pointed to one of the Green Berets, and he introduced the Communications Sergeant and told him he was responsible for the equipment, it needed to be brought up to the Commandant’s Headquarters. The Captain nodded and brought over a couple of the Humvees and turned them over to Green Berets, and they quickly offloaded the equipment and followed the rest of them to the Commandants HQ.
It was about a fifteen minute drive to the Commandant, and with that they had to dodge a lot of traffic heading either way north to fight the gangs or south to fight the Mexican Army. There were a lot of men and vehicles on the road. Lieutenant Winchell and his men talked amongst themselves, and they noticed that there was a lot more activity on post. They saw quite a bit of wounded being brought back from either front, and from what they saw, things had gotten a lot worse since they had left. Hopefully the General would see this as good news.
They arrived at the Commandant’s Headquarters, which was under heavy guard. It looked like they were in the process of bugging out and if that was the case it wasn’t good. The men unloaded out of the vehicles, leaving most of the Army SF A-Team behind to guard the radios, as they couldn’t afford to lose any of them for any reason.
Lieutenant Winchell and Gunny Roy along with SFC McDonald entered the Commandant’s Office. Lieutenant Winchell was correct in his assessment: they were bugging out. The three men entered the General’s office, came to attention and saluted. The General was seated at his desk, returned the salute but was staring at SFC McDonald, the big Green Beret. The General was tongue tied for a moment, finally realizing they weren’t alone and they had arrived in a perfectly functioning C-47. If they had that, what else did they have?