camp to arms.
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THE BATTLE
THE sounds of a banging gong and men shouting rolled across the savannah. Brannigan grabbed the ANIPRC-126 to contact the section and team leaders. He ignored proper radio transmission procedures as he ordered, 'Open fire!'
Immediately salvos of automatic fire sparked from the SEALs' positions, slapping into the Falangist camp. The SAWs, employed by Bruno Puglisi and Joe Miskoski, sent out sweeping volleys at the rate of 725 rounds a minute. Even with a carefully applied delivery of fire bursts of six bullets at a time, the magazines emptied quickly. Puglisi and Joe, like the others, had no visual targets and were forced to keep their individual areas of fire covered by shooting blindly into the enemy camp.
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TENIENTE-CORONEL Jeronimo Busch had slipped into his boots and grabbed both the Star 9-millimeter submachine gun and ammo harness at about the same instant that Punzarron hit that gong for the third time. He rushed outside, meeting Castillo on the veranda. Both realized they had absolutely no idea of where to go. But an agile cabo suddenly appeared to lead them to some slit trenches at the side of the building. Within moments a thoroughly terrified Ignacio Perez joined them. The little adjutant said nothing as he huddled into a fetal position in the dirt.
Toledo, his capitemes and noncommissioned officers were now at their positions as they had practiced during countless training drills. A good rate of rifle fire was pouring outward at the attackers, backed up by a trio of machine guns.
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THE incoming hurricane of flying steel pounding into the SEAL positions grew with each passing moment. Bullets whined and cracked through the air around the Americans, some clipping the taller blades of grass. It was obvious to everyone that the enemy had night vision equipment and was well prepared to deal with sneak attacks, especially those that happened during the hours of darkness. But like the SEALs, this evening's violence made it impossible for them to deliver accurate fire.
Brannigan knew the tiger was now tested, and he was tough, efficient and professional. Now was the time to break contact. The Skipper thought quickly, almost instinctively reaching the decision to withdraw fire teams from the ends first to leave the center of his battle line as strong as possible. He once more grabbed the radio handset. 'Fire Team Delta, this is Brigand. Break contact and withdraw a hundred meters to the rear. For God's sake keep you heads down! The incoming fire is as thick as swarms of hornets. Out!'
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COMANDANTE Javier Toledo had been informed minutes before by Capitan Roberto Argento that there was no-incoming on the east side of the camp. He ordered the Argentine officer to move his section over to the west side to add to the firepower in that area. Now Argento's men were interspaced with those of Capitanes Silber and Platas. The rate of outgoing fire was increasing dramatically, giving confidence to the Falangists.
Teniente-Coronel Jeronimo Busch didn't like lying in the slit trench. Cowering during a firefight wasn't part of his Prussian-Chilean heritage. He slipped into the harness with the extra forty-round magazines, pulling the night vision goggles out of their pouch on the shoulder strap. The Chilean gripped the submachine gun and leaped from the hole in the dirt. He rushed across the bullet-swept open space to join the fighters on the perimeter as he pulled the goggles down over his eyes.
Busch threw himself down between a pair of riflemen and began kicking off fire bursts at the muzzle flashes blinking rapidly from the attacker's side of the battle. After a few moments, the paratrooper officer noted a marked less fire on the right flank. He immediately realized that the attackers were in the process of breaking contact. He scrambled to his feet and rushed to that side of the line, once more diving to the ground when he reached an advantageous spot for some serious shooting. This time he carefully regulated his pulls on the trigger, sending controlled fire bursts toward the enemy. Within a minute he was aware there was no one to his direct front. Now was the time to pull a one-man maneuver to outflank the bastardos. Busch jumped up yet again, rushing forward to seek combat.
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BRANNIGAN ordered Bravo Fire Team to pull out of the fight. Connie Concord led his men toward the rear to join Cruiser and Bruno Puglisi. Cruiser yelled at the Bravos, 'Hold up!'
Connie halted the men. 'Aye, sir! What's the word?'
'Let's kick out some more salvos before we break contact,' Cruiser said. 'We don't want them to feel too confident about leaving the safety of their camp.'
The Bravos, with Puglisi playing the SAW like a musical instrument, raked the area to the front with bullets. As they laid down the fire, the Command Element was heading off to join the others who had already pulled out of the line.
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BUSCH was now crawling through the grass, paying no attention to the fact that he was headed into some of the Falangist fire as he worked his way down the line formerly held by the attackers. He finally spotted what appeared to be five men firing in the direction of the garrison. They suddenly leaped up to pull back.
Busch fired a long burst toward them, damning himself for not having arrived fifteen seconds earlier. He was rewarded with the sight of an attacker bowled over to the ground by the simultaneous strike of at least two of the 9-millimeter slugs. Suddenly a couple of the fallen man's pals turned on him, cutting loose with a wicked volley of return fire. Busch had to scamper backward to find cover as bullets plowed the grass and dirt around him.
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LIEUTENANT Jim Cruiser was the man hit. At almost the exact moment he collapsed to the ground, Lamar Taylor and Paulo Cinzento each grabbed him by an arm. He cussed in pain as they dragged him back toward the rear. When they reached the rest of the detachment, he had gone numb.
Brannigan rushed over to his 2IC. 'Can you walk, Jim?' 'Let me see:' Cruiser said. 'Maybe if--oh shit! I can't feel my legs, Bill!'
The hospital corpsman, James Bradley, joined them. He knelt down and gave the wounded officer an examination in the eerie illumination of the night vision goggles. As he applied a field compress to the wound, he asked, 'Can you move your legs, sir?'
Cruiser shook his head. 'No.'
Brannigan turned to Lamar and Paulo. 'Form for a chair carry. We've got to get the hell out of here.'
The two SEALs slung their CAR-15s and reached out to grab each other's wrists to form a 'chair' of their forearms. Brannigan and James picked Cruiser up and set him on the two SEALs' strong arms.
The unit formed up with Charlie Fire Team acting as rear guard, and headed for the boats.
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'CESEN del fuego!'
Comandante Javier Toledo's voice boomed so loudly over the garrison area that he was heard above the shooting. The firing immediately ceased, leaving a buzzing silence in the men's battered eardrums. Castillo joined the bandera commander. 'Are you going to pursue the enemy?'
'Only if I am ordered to do so, mi generalisimo.'
'Why is that?' Castillo asked. He was used to the aggressive and risky tactics of the Spanish Foreign Legion.
'We do not know their numbers,' Toledo explained. 'The withdrawal could be a trap. An entire brigade of Bolivian infantry could be out there waiting for us to walk into an ambush.'
Castillo was thoughtful for a moment. The comandante could be correct, and, of course, there weren't a lot of men in the bandera. One disaster could set the Falangist movement back as much as a year. 'Very well, comandante. I agree with your choice of action.'
Back on the firing line, Sargento Antonio Muller stood up and stretched. It had been one hell of a fight, though none of the Falangist subunits had sustained any casualties. The battle seemed to be more of fire than maneuver, and neither side had worked its way into an advantageous position. They simply exchanged shots.
Suboficial Adolfo Punzarron walked by, coming back from a front position where he'd been in the thick of the fight. His foreign legion forage cap was pushed forward cockily on his head, and his uniform was stained by mud and
