beyond and above the call of duty. I submitted his name for an award of the Silver Star, and I'm happy to report that earlier this morning I received word that this posthumous award has been approved by the Department of the Navy.
'I, as their commanding officer, am saddened by the loss of those brave men. My grief is eased somewhat by the pride I have from serving with them and other fine men of the United States Navy's SEALs. For that honor I shall be eternally grateful.'
Brannigan ended his discourse and went back to his place beside Lisa. Lisa, wearing the service dress blue uniform of her rank, reached over and took her husband's hand.
Next, Cliff and Kevin's two fire team leaders, Lieutenant James Cruiser and Chief Matthew Gunnarson, came up together, and each made additional remarks in regards to two fine shipmates who gave their lives so far away from their native land while serving and protecting their people.
The memorial ceremony continued with further eulogies from members of the platoon. When everyone had had a chance to express his sense of loss, the chaplain brought the event to a close with a final prayer and a blessing to the congregation.
Now, with the final honors having been bestowed on fallen comrades, it was time for Brannigan's Brigands to return to duty.
.
FOULED ANCHOR TAVERN CORONADO, CALIFORNIA 2145 H0URS LOCAL
A few of Brannigan's Brigands gathered at the tavern for what they termed an After Action Wrap-Up, not realizing they were establishing a tradition that would continue as long as the platoon was carried on the active rolls of the United States Navy.
They pushed a couple of tables together at the rear of the place, and the Odd Couple, Milly Mills, Joe Miskoski, Bruno Puglisi, James Bradley and Chad Murchison were joined by Salty Donovan for an evening of beer drinking. The absent members of the Brigands were all the married men who were home with their wives and children.
The exceptions were bachelors Senior Chief Buford Dawkins and Chief Matt Gunnarson, who were hotly pursuing a couple of middle-aged cuties they had met in a Chula Vista bar. Lieutenant Jim Cruiser was living up to his surname by cruising the North Island officers' club for available single women.
Dixie, holding two pitchers by the handles in each of her hands, set the four servings on the table. She had already cried herself out over Kevin and Cliff, and was ready to get on with her life, as were the members of the platoon. She stepped back and gazed down at them. 'It looks like Brannigan's Brigands have worked their way into a shipshape outfit.'
'Yes, ma'am!' Mike Assad said. 'I think we were functioning really good together from the moment our boots touched down on the DZ over there in Afghanistan.'
'Yeah,' his buddy Dave Leibowitz agreed. 'We're ready to take on whatever the Navy throws at us.'
James Bradley raised his glass. 'Here's to what the future holds for Brannigan's Brigands.'
Chad Murchison stood up a bit drunkenly, holding his beer up for a toast. 'Allow me to quote some lines written by the poet George Banks. He wrote it a long time ago, but it pertains to us in every way:
For the cause that lacks assistance, For the wrong that needs resistance, For the future in the distance, And the good that I can do.
'That was most profound, Chad,' James said.
'Yeah,' Bruno agreed. 'What was that guy's name again?'
'George Banks,' Chad replied.
'No shit?' Joe Miskoski said. 'What platoon is he in?'
EPILOGUE:
STATE DEPARTMENT
WASHINGTON, D. C.
15 NOVEMBER
0945 HOURS LOCAL
THE three South American diplomats sat in sullen silence at one end of the large conference table. Arturo Sanchez of Bolivia, Patricio Ludendorff of Chile and Luis Bonicelli of Argentina were special envoys from their respective governments. Their mission to the American State Department was one of extreme sensitivity and confidentiality. It was of the utmost importance that the subject to be discussed that day not be revealed to the outside world, particularly to the populations of the emissaries' home countries. Revelations of the conference would cause untold embarrassment to all concerned, not to mention instigating a trio of the bloodiest revolutions in the history of Latin America.
The door to the room opened, and the trio of South Americans snapped their eyes over in that direction. Carl Joplin, PhD, an American undersecretary of state, joined them, taking a seat at the head of the table. 'Good morning, gentlemen. Or should I say, 'Buenos dias, caballeros'?'
The three visitors smiled slightly in a subdued manner of greeting.
'I was most surprised to hear from all three of you at the same time,' Joplin said. 'It is hard to imagine what situation would have brought Argentina, Chile and Bolivia together in what appears to be a common cause.'
'Then you realize that only the gravest of circumstances would have brought about this event that you find so electrifying,' Ludendorff said.
'Frankly,' Joplin said, 'I must admit that at this moment I am more than just a little apprehensive. Your grim demeanors do nothing to allay my uneasiness.' He leaned back in his chair. 'I believe it is obvious that since I know nothing of your mission, I am unable to officially open this diplomatic session in which no agenda has been introduced.' He smiled. 'Would one of you gentleman kindly do the honors?'
Bonicelli spoke up in the realization that he and his two companions would have to start the ball rolling. 'It begins with a fascist Spaniard by the name of Jose Maria de Castillo y Plato.'
'Ah!' Joplin exclaimed. 'The Far Right enters the picture, hey? I am very familiar with Don Jose Maria and his political background. It appears you are having problems with neo-Nazis in your particular necks of the woods. Is this the case?'
'Not neo-Nazis in the strictest interpretation of the term,' Sanchez said. 'In this case it is Falangistas, Dr. Joplin. El senor Castillo y Plato is a wealthy Spanish officer who had always dreamed of reestablishing a right wing dictatorship in his country. We believe his regime would be even more draconian than that of el Generalisimo Francisco Franco.'
'A moment please,' Joplin said. 'As I recall the Falangists were the political party that ran Spain under Franco:'
'The same,' Ludendorff said. 'And since Castillo cannot realize his dream in Spain, he has chosen to establish a new fascist country he is calling Falangia. He has chosen South America for this dubious honor. To be more precise, he wishes to do this in an area where Argentina, Chile and Bolivia come together?'
Joplin shrugged. 'This is pretty far-fetched, is it not? The whole concept is preposterous.'
Sanchez shook his head. 'I beg to strongly disagree, sir! Castillo has taken dissident officers and noncommissioned officers of the armed forces of the three countries into his movement. They have looted entire garrisons to get the material and weaponry they need. They are now well equipped, armed and have begun making raids against isolated military posts in the area. These Falangistas have hidden camps in the jungles and river country of the territories they occupy. The populations living there are under their command and control.'
'I would think,' Joplin said, 'that if you sent the armies of your nations against these rebels, you could easily crush them.'
Ludendorff looked at his two companions, then turned a sad expression on Joplin. 'The Latin-American military has always been fond of political adventuring. Consequently, we do not know who to trust in our armed forces. We require outsiders to rid us of this problem.'
'To be more precise,' Bonicelli said, 'the situation requires fuerzas especiales--special forces to defeat the Falangistas.'
'Let's speak plainly, gentlemen,' Joplin said. 'You are requesting American military assistance in battling and destroying these fascist revolutionaries, are you not?'
