'Right you are, Senior Chief,' Brannigan said, grinning to himself at Miskoski and Puglisi's affected upper-class accents. 'So here's how it's going down. We'll leave the bivouac at twenty-four hours. Needless to say, make sure you have your night vision goggles with you. We'll go in a direct line to the position of the enemy garrison as was determined by the Odd Couple's GPS reading. When we arrive, the First Assault Section will form a line from east up to north. The Second Section will be from east around to the south. That will make a nice tight horseshoe formation. We don't want to completely surround the place or we'll be inflicting casualties on ourselves through friendly fire.'
'Where is the Command Element gonna be, sir?' James Bradley asked.
'Right in the center,' Brannigan replied. 'The attack will be a fire mission only with automatic fire. There won't be much of a chance for sniping; and I want the two SAW gunners to pour a hell of a lot of quick bursts into the target area. You guys might not hit very many of 'em, but they'll sure as hell keep their heads down and not move around a lot. When I determine I've learned enough of about their capabilities, I'll order a withdrawal. We'll beat it back here, then hop aboard the boats for a trip back to the base camp:'
'What about commo, sir?' Frank Gomez asked.
'All transmissions between myself and the section and team leaders will be over the AN/PRCs,' Brannigan said.
'Team commo will be by LASH.' He checked his watch. 'We'll be leaving in approximately nine hours. Get back to your guys and brief them. I want everybody to take advantage of this opportunity to rest up:'
The SEALs got slowly to their feet, then walked out toward the perimeter to find their teams.
.
HEADQUARTERS, BANDERA 1
1945 HOURS LOCAL
THE evening guard scheduled to take over the garrison's defensive perimeter had been drawn up on the parade ground in the vicinity of the headquarters hut. All wore freshly washed camouflage uniforms complete with Kevlar helmets, LASH headsets, night vision goggles and binoculars. Their web equipment held ammo pouches filled with magazines of 5.56-millimeter rounds for their CETME assault rifles. The only thing different from normal field attire were their boots; the footwear was spit-shined bright enough to pass inspection on any parade ground.
The officer of the guard for the night was Suboficial Adolfo Punzarron. He had dressed like the others with the exception of his headgear. Rather than a helmet, he wore the tasseled olive-green forage cap of the Spanish Foreign Legion. In place of the usual webbing, he sported a pistol belt holding a holstered Spanish Astra 7.63- millimeter automatic pistol.
Punzarron marched over to the far right man in the rank to begin his inspection. He went down the line from man to man, finding no fault with their collective appearance. These were veterans with years of military service and knew all the tricks of falling out sharp for guard mount. They were also aware of the suboficial' s violent temper and wished to avoid a hard punch to the face. Everything looked good to Punzarron until he reached a Chilean paratrooper sergeant named Antonio Muller. There was no shine on his boots.
Punzarron snapped his eyes up to look straight into Muller's face. 'Your boots look as if you rubbed melted chocolate all over them. Why did you not shine them?'
'My boots are for use in the field,' Muller said calmly. He was also a large, muscular man who had spent his entire military career in parachute rifle companies. 'I therefore applied waterproof dubbing for use on active operations, rather than polish to make them shiny and pretty.'
Punzarron seemed to growl as he spoke. 'I specifically issued orders that boots are to be highly shined for guard mount.'
Muller sneered. 'I'm no parade ground martinet. I'm a parachute infantryman, por Dios, and I'm going to look like one. I am ready for combat, not prancing about on a parade ground.'
Punzarron threw a punch, but Muller deftly ducked it while handing off his rifle to the man next to him. The suboficial tried again, but Muller was faster, slamming his fist into the ex-legionnaire's jaw. Punzarron went down but quickly got back to his feet, charging his opponent. Muller was ready and responded with a combination of hooks and uppercuts that sent Punzarron to the dirt once more. This time when the Portuguese sprang to his feet, the had a knife in his right hand.
Muller stepped back, grabbing his rifle. 'This is a pelea entre soldados--a soldier's fight--there is no place for a knife here. We are not thugs brawling in a tavern.'
'There were no gentlemanly rules for fighting in the Spanish Foreign Legion,' Punzarron said. 'So you either continue to fight or give up.'
'I am not going to fight like a street hoodlum,' Muller said. 'So shoot me with your rifle:' Punzarron challenged.
'I told you I am a soldier,' Muller said. 'I will not murder a superior officer.'
'Then you give up?'
'I do not give up,' Muller insisted. 'I quit out of disgust!'
Punzarron laughed in triumph. 'Es el mismo--it is the same.' He slipped his knife back into its hiding place in his pistol belt, then called the guards to attention. After facing them to the left, he marched them off for posting.
Over on the thatched veranda of the headquarters but Generalisimo Jose Maria de Castillo y Plato stood with Teniente-Coronel Jeronimo Busch. They had observed the altercation between Punzarron and Muller. Busch took the cigar out of his mouth. 'I am not so sure the customs and traditions of the Spanish Foreign Legion should be applied in the Falangist forces, mi generalisimo. These men are all noncommissioned officers.'
'Strict discipline for both soldiers and civilians will be the norm in the Dictadura Fascista de Falangia, Coronel Busch.'
'I agree that many of our men are being put into excellent physical condition under Suboficial Punzarron,' Busch said. 'And they will set excellent examples when we begin filling the ranks with younger, inexperienced recruits. But such discipline could cause serious problems with South Americans?' He turned and looked at Castillo. 'Allow me to respectfully point out that we are not as compliant as Europeans:'
'Compliance is an unpleasant word for obedience, Coronel Busch,' Castillo said. 'When used in its proper place, the expression puts the concept into a better light.' He walked toward the door of the building. 'Care to join me for a whiskey?'
'Con mucho gusto, mi generalisimo!'
.
5 DECEMBER
0200 HOURS LOCAL
BRANNIGAN'S Brigands came into the attack area in a double column, moving easily across the savannah with the darkness brightened to green hues in the night vision goggles. As they reached the point where the Odd Couple stood, the First Assault Section peeled off to the north to take up positions, while Senior Chief Buford Dawkins's Second Assault Section went south. Wild Bill Brannigan and his Command Element gathered around Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz as the others continued on to the battle line.
Brannigan checked his watch, then spoke into the AN/PRC-126. 'Brigand One and Brigand Two, this is Brigand. Move your teams forward to your firing positions. Make sure you place the SAW gunners where they can do the most good. Out.'
The detachment began arranging itself for the coming firefight.
.
SARGENTO Antonio Muller sat cross-legged at his guard post, still seething over the knife-pulling by Punzarron. That hijo de la chingada portugues was going to have to be taught a severe lesson. He would learn the hard way that the Old World mierda of Europe wasn't going to work in South America; especially the ways of that goddamn Foreign Legion the son of a bitch served in over in Morocco.
Muller raised the Spanish-manufactured Vista-Nocturna binoculars to his eyes and used its night vision capability to survey his area of responsibility on the perimeter. Suddenly a trio of armed men rose out of the grass to his direct front, moving a few meters toward him before dropping back to the ground. Muller went directly to his LASH, raising Punzarron. 'Alarms! Unknown armed men approaching the garrison limits.'
Punzarron, who had been dozing in the adjutant's office of the headquarters hut, leaped to his feet and rushed out to the veranda where the alarm gong hung. Following Legion custom, he began banging it to call the
