The Montevideo Game

by J E Higgins

  Figuring it would still be too risky unless the drivers were caught up with some kind of diversion, the Israeli decided they would need something to keep their quarry’s attention. The peasant offered to go down there pretending to look for his goats. The drivers would not be threatened by some local peasant, especially since goat herders were very common. The drivers would be anxious to drive him off since their operation would begin soon and the chance the peasant might stumble upon their collection of guns.

  With no other option available, Dayan agreed, and the plan was put into effect. Perez and Ripley took four other men and quietly began working their way along the ridge. They were to wait ten minutes for the team to get into place and the sky to get darker. The rest of the team looked on nervously. The peasant took several deep breaths as he tried to control his nerves. He felt a hand gently touch his shoulder. Looking back, he saw it was the Israeli looking at him. “You’ll be fine,” the foreigner said softly, trying once again to provide some comfort for the young man.

  When ten minutes had elapsed, the peasant got up and started down the hill. He began calling out and ringing a bell he had in his hand. Arriving at the base of the hill, the young man could see, even in the growing darkness, the cluster of men beginning to come toward him.

  “You have a problem?” One of the drivers asked as he confronted the peasant.

  “Forgive, sir. I don’t have my dog, and my goats ran off. I’m trying to find them,” the young man said as he held his composure.

  As predicted, the drivers gathered around him and were casually trying to edge him away from the trucks. They definitely were concerned that, if he got a closer look, he would notice their guns along the side of the truck. “We haven’t seen any goats, and we’ve been here for a while now,” the driver, who acted as spokesman, replied. He and the others continued to walk up to the young herder.

  Pretending to look all about, as any nervous herder would do, the peasant noticed in the darkness a collection of silhouettes approaching. He had only caught a glance as they stayed along the opposite side of the road and kept in the shadows of the trucks. Continuing to play dumb, he kept looking around as if not knowing what else to do. The growing, nervous exasperation from the drivers was becoming apparent. They were anxious to get rid of the peasant. The silhouettes were now passing the second to the last truck.

  The herder decided he had delayed long enough. “Well, forgive me for interrupting you. I will look for my goats back up on the hill. With that, he turned away from the group of drivers and began in a hurried pace back toward the hill.

  At that moment, the mercenaries, led by Perez and Ripley, emerged from the shadows of the trucks and moved on the unsuspecting drivers. They barely had time to realize what was happening when they were met by several explosive flashes of gunfire. Bullets tore into their bodies as the mercenaries fanned out into a tactical line. The drivers shouted in fear as it began to register they were under attack. Some froze and were cut down instantly, a few attempted to run but made it only a few feet before they were cut down.

  Though it felt like hours, the whole business lasted less than a few minutes. Despite the extensive fusillade of gunfire, the noise was silenced by the use of suppressors. But the road was now littered with corpses of dead Arabs.

  A quick count by Ripley determined they had accounted for all ten drivers. By now, Dayan and the rest of the team were on their way down the hill to join their comrades. Along the way, they picked up the peasant, who was breathing hard and lying in a fetal position on the ground. He was shaking and completely shocked by the cold way the mercenaries removed the dead drivers and continued on as if nothing had happened.

  With the bodies thrown to the side, the road was clear. The mercenaries set about slashing the truck tires until all were completely flat. Then, crossing the road, they fired their rifles into the vehicles’ engine blocks ─ a little extra insurance for making the trucks inoperable.

  With no time wasted, the mercenaries were now back on the road, ready for the next phase of the operation. The peasant didn’t need to be told, he moved up in front and waved them toward the tree line. A few meters past some thick bushes, the team found themselves standing in a sizable opening.

  The peasant proceeded to take Dayan across the opening. There, the young man slowly walked the Israeli to a collection of small trails hidden within the shrubbery and trees. Only with his night vision optics, could Dayan pick out the trails. They were well hidden and wouldn’t be noticed, even in the daytime, unless someone stumbled upon them.

  Chapter 47

  There were five trails in all. At a distance, they all broke off as if going in different directions. But those directions were all leading toward the border. Dayan noticed the trails all met at the base of the clearing. It was a fortunate discovery, and he immediately saw the tactical advantages the area offered. Overlooking the trails was a hill that was heavily covered in thick vegetation and overgrowth. Mounting a machine gun on top of the hill would give them control over all the trails.

  It would be a narrow window, Dayan thought, but if they could initiate an ambush at the base of the opening, they would be able to catch the Arabs off guard inflicting serious casualties before they had to retreat. After further study of the terrain, the Israeli realized it was the only option they had.

  Dayan and the peasant were soon joined by Ripley, Vanderhook, and Perez. The Israeli wasted no time communicating the general outline of his plan. After looking over the ambush zone, the three commandos concurred with their leader’s analysis.

  Quickly, the mercenaries set about preparing for the ambush. Perez placed their one claymore facing the head of the trails. He connected the wires before sending a man to run the line across the walking path. He set the wires just a few inches off the ground to ensure they were nearly invisible. Any good shot of moonlight might expose them, but if the wires were too low, several feet might walk past before someone tripped and set off the claymore.

  At the same time, Vanderhook was busy taking his team up the hill. Looking through the bushes and trees, it took the Dutch mercenary several minutes before he found a position that didn’t shroud them from their target objective. Once a location had been discovered, his team set about digging in fighting positions and sighting in the machine gun.

  Ripley had taken two other men up the trail to provide an observation post. Some three hundred meters up, he thought he would be able to see any sign of the enemy before they could hear the mercenary force working. They were setting up an ambush that might get initiated in hours, or it could just as easily be discovered by the enemy force arriving too early and ambushing the ambushers. In either case, the commando kept still, peering into the distance through his optics.

  The mercenaries worked quickly and expertly. As hardened combat professionals, they knew all too well the dangers of not having a well-established setup. It was nearly thirty minutes later when the ambush was finally ready. It wasn’t the ideal setup due to the absence of time and the generally poor digging conditions. Still, it was adequate for what they needed. They had built dirt mounds for cover and collected enough foliage to conceal their fighting positions. Dayan didn’t want his team distracted or exposed when they weren’t sure when the Arabs would arrive. In the dark, with an unsuspecting enemy, they would have the advantage.

  With everything done as well as possible, the mercenaries got into position. A quick squawk on the hand radio by Dayan alerted Ripley the ambush was ready. Minutes later, the Welshman and his men came through the foliage. The Israeli led them past the claymore and directed them to the other side of the clearing where the rest of the team waited at the ready. With his services complete, the peasant was given permission to leave. The young man wasted no time and quickly vanished into the vegetation.

  Everything was in place. Vanderhook and his men had the machine gun set up with fields of fire covering the trails. The rest of the force was positioned ready to lay down massive fire. All that was
left to do was wait. Hunched down behind the hidden fighting position, Dayan looked across the way.

  In his mind, he still pictured the narrow width of the trails leaving little room for the enemy to maneuver. Once the attack began, he calculated five minutes for them to get over the initial shock and figure out where the attack was coming from. It would take another two to five minutes to estimate the size of the enemy against them and for someone in leadership to take charge and initiate a counter-attack. In all, he assumed it would be ten minutes before his team would have to fall back if the Arab force didn’t fall back first.

  An hour had passed before a squawk came over the mercenaries’ radios. It was Vanderhook, ever watchful, alerting everyone that he had sighted someone coming down the path. The mercenaries readied themselves. Moments later, sounds of shrubbery and branches being crushed were heard. The sound of many boots on the ground was more distinct. No one had to see to know that whoever was coming, there were a lot of them.

  What unnerved Dayan, and most likely the mercenaries as well, was the absence of any talking ─ the noise he had hoped to hear. Whoever was coming was keeping good noise discipline ─ the sign of well trained and disciplined soldiers. It had been the Israeli’s experience that a soldier that participated in unnecessary conversation or otherwise made noise in the field was unprofessional and poorly trained. Such noises were not heard this evening. While crunching of branches and shrubbery and the thumping of booted feet could not be helped in such places, needless conversation and clanging of unsecured equipment were properly addressed. Those noises were not heard from the group moving toward them. This revelation had Dayan believing this force was going to be both trained and professional.

  With weapons ready, the mercenaries waited for the upcoming fight. Dayan peered around his fighting position to observe. Through his optics, he could already make out the silhouetted figures of men coming down the trails. Taking deep, slow breaths, he worked to control his heart rate and his nerves as the enemy neared.

  No matter how many battles the commando had been in, his mind still raced with thoughts of all that could go wrong. Would someone fire early? Would the enemy see someone who is too exposed? His adrenaline pumped as he prepared for the inevitable action. It was only the deep breaths he took to fill his lungs and relax his nervous system that caused his hands to stop shaking with anticipation.

  Figures were now emerging from the tree line. As expected, they were beginning to collect in the clearing. Sliding behind his mound of dirt, the Israeli raised his hands to his ears and opened his mouth. The coming explosion would be loud. Covering his ears would only do so much; opening his mouth helped balance out the shock.

  The ground shook with the thunderous explosion. It reverberated with equal force under the mercenaries’ positions. Instantly, Dayan lowered his hands and grabbed his rifle. The machine guns roared into action from both the hill and the ambush position. Leaning around the mound, the Israeli saw, through his optics, silhouettes racing about chaotically. By now, the noise discipline was gone as shouts and screams echoed from temporarily traumatized Arabs. Between the gunfire and the collective yelling, it was hard for Dayan to make out what was actually being said. He fired, along with the rest of the team at any movement in the general location of the trails. He emptied his first magazine within seconds. With limited visibility, even with his optics, he figured he should be hitting hostiles. Quickly, changing out another magazine, he commenced firing again using more controlled shots, aiming where he could pinpoint the most shouting.

  Atop the hill, Klaas Vanderhook directed his men as they fired on the men who were caught on the narrow goat trails. Looking through a pair of night optic binoculars, he watched as the Arabs began to figure out the direction of the attacking fire. They dove behind trees and wedged into nearby thickets. As assumed, these guys were trained. They weren’t going to retreat, they were going to fight. It wouldn’t be long before they counter-attacked. His men aimed down the trails firing controlled bursts. Assuming the other two machine guns were covering the front of the enemy formation, Vanderhook had his men aim toward the rear to catch those still confused and lined up. He could see several figures fall or lean over and crumple to the ground. He also began to see some of them being collected. Someone below was now taking charge and starting to deploy forces to fight back.

  Major Akim had only been confused for a short while. He was a long time veteran of far too many horrific battles to be easily shaken. It didn’t take the Iranian long to figure out where the attacks were coming from. It also didn’t take him long to realize they were being ambushed by only a small group. And, given the initial blast of the claymore wasn’t followed up with more explosives, such as mortars or grenades, he could easily determine the ambushers were lightly armed.

  Grabbing several men standing nearby, Akim pointed out the source of gunfire that revealed the enemy location. He ordered them to round the clearing from within the tree line and attack from the side. The men immediately took off. Then, pulling more men forward, the major intermingled them within the trees and berms and had them lay down a returning base of fire. The Iranian looked at the flashes of gunfire coming from the adjacent area, an elevated location, most likely a hill hidden in the thickets. It took only a short time for Akim to realize there was only one gun firing from the hill, and that the machine gun was concentrating its fire toward the far end of the trail. Grabbing up another group of nearby men, he pointed to the location atop the hill. Pointing out the direction of the machine gun fire, he dispatched them to move in the opposite direction. The men moved out weaving past the established firing line.

  Rounds whistled closely past Dayan’s head. Bullets crashed into the mound, throwing bits of dirt and rock flying into his face. The volume of returning gunfire was increasing ─ becoming heavier ─ as more men from the other side joined the resistance line. From the cries coming from his own side, Dayan realized that he had already suffered casualties. By his calculations, his team had just a few minutes before the Arabs either pushed across the clearing and forced the mercenaries out or flanked them from either side. That would finish it. The only question left in the Israeli’s mind was how much longer they could continue inflicting casualties before they absolutely had to fall back and withdraw.

  If they waited too long, they would eventually be surrounded and trapped. In the short time he had been in this gunfight, he had burned through two magazines and was nearing the end of his third. He could assume that the rest of his team had gone through as many. He had to make a decision; they would need enough ammunition to cover their escape.

  Chapter 48

  Even from where he stood, the peasant could hear the rattle of gunfire growing as the battle ensued. Waiting just off the side of the road, he felt droplets of sweat running down his face. All he could think about was if Eva had made it ─ if the patron had gotten the message. The young man was no combat expert. He didn’t need to be to understand that the mercenaries were fighting overwhelming odds. He had seen these foreigners slipping across the border with his own eyes and knew they were trained professionals. His concern was that soon he would see the road filled with these Arab invaders ─ then what?

  Suddenly, he saw a set of headlights in the distance, ─ a vehicle was heading towards him. Behind it was another set of headlights, then another, and still more. Eva had done it! His baby sister had come through. The vehicles swiftly approached and within seconds the first set of headlights materialized into a farm truck.

  Stepping onto the road, the peasant waved down the convoy. The lead truck slowed to a halt just inches from where he stood. The passenger door swung open and out jumped a short, petite girl of no more than fifteen. Throwing her arms around the young man, she grabbed him tightly in an embrace; the peasant enthusiastically reciprocated.

  “Eva,” he said, with a relieved sigh. “You made it, you’re safe!” He rolled his fingers through her mane of curly black hair.

  “I did as yo
u asked,” she replied excitedly. “I found the patron!”

  The driver’s door opened and out stepped a man that, even in the darkness, stood tall and lean. The man moved into the headlights; revealing himself as Diego Mancha, the patron. He cut the perfect figure of a South American aristocrat. His long, silver-colored hair came to his shoulders. His well-trimmed beard was a matching color, completing a commanding presence.

  “Patron,” the peasant said, excitedly, “you got my message.”

  Mancha looked off into the darkness, as he listened to the gunfire crackling in the night. “Sounds like we’ve arrived in the nick of time,” the aristocrat chuckled. “I appreciate your diligence.”

  Turning away, Mancha began signaling the other trucks that had lined up behind him. Several figures leaped from the back of the big hauling truck and assembled in front of the headlights. They were farmers, still garbed in their work clothes ─ coveralls, worn blue jeans, and sweat-stained shirts. Some even wore the stereotypical straw hats. They were quickly joined by more people from the other trucks. All were similarly dressed in the various forms of work clothes of those who earned their living working the land. From their dress and stance, they were clearly not soldiers. The one thing they all had in common was the guns they now held in their hands.

  Long accustomed to the culture of radicalism and totalitarianism that had dominated their country, these farmers were experienced in carrying weapons to protect their community. When the latest wave of radical violence swept their country, they assumed chaos would follow. Left-wing rebels or right-wing vigilantes would lash out with violent military reprisals. Determined not to be victims of either, the people of the nearby villages banded together and made deals with black market elements to obtain guns. They turned to those such as Patron Diego Mancha, a retired professional soldier, who had served many years in the Uruguayan army. He helped finance the purchase of equipment and inspection of the weapons bought. He, along with several other former soldiers and policemen, set about training the local townsmen twice a week in basic tactics, marksmanship, and drills.