the narrow waterway. Of the pair of casualties, one lay still in death while the other moaned softly with a belly wound.
* * *
'NOW hear this,' Senior Chief Buford Dawkins whispered over the LASH. 'Start easing back, but stay alert. I don't expect them to chance exposing themselves again, but they're prob'ly really pissed off at us.'
Dawkins would have liked to stay and bring the fight to a more satisfying conclusion, but there was a strong possibility that the Falangists might have called for reinforcements. That was a luxury the Americans did not have.
The SEALs surreptitiously, quietly, slowly and stealthily hauled ass.
Chapter 9
SEAL CACHE MAYBELLE OA, SOUTHERN SECTION
15 DECEMBER
0915 HOURS LOCAL
CHIEF Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson, leader of the First Assault Section, walked through a pouring rain around the recently constructed cache that had been named after Connie Concord's wife. The earthen evacuation, now covered by carefully dug-up sod, was practically invisible, even to someone standing directly on top of it.
The assault section, recently reorganized since Lieutenant (J. G.) Jim Cruiser had been wounded nine days earlier, had already adapted to the new one-man command structure. Matt was an experienced leader, quickly able to turn things around to his own methods of leadership.
Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz considered their assignment to the group as a sort of vacation after days of acting as the detachment's point men and scouts. They were well acquainted with the other old sweats in the section, having served with them in the platoon's first mission in Afghanistan. On the other hand, Petty Officer Second Class Lamar Taylor and Petty Officer Third Class Paulo Cinzento were fresh assignees the original members were just beginning to know.
Lamar was a twenty-one-year-old African-American from Cincinnati, Ohio. This married man with two kids was at the beginning of his second four-year hitch after shipping over. His entrance into the SEALs had been through the inspiration of a high school teacher who had served in the outfit in Vietnam. Lamar still exchanged letters with the social studies instructor who had wielded such a positive influence in his life.
Paulo was from San Diego and had lived around the local naval facilities all his life. His family were tuna fishermen of Portuguese ancestry who had worked the seiners out of Southern California for three generations. The collapse of that industry kept the twenty-two-year-old from going to sea like the older men in his family, so he enlisted in the Navy to 'ride the waves.' However, the indoctrination in boot camp about SEALs attracted him to that challenging branch of the armed forces. His girlfriend Rosa was a court reporter in San Diego.
Matt was pleased with the condition of the hidden cache and now turned his attention to the men of the section. They all stood in the rain, their ponchos glistening with wetness, as they waited for the chief to get the day's real business rolling.
'All right,' Matt said, 'we're ready to go. We'll leave the raider boat and piragua hidden in the reeds there along the river. The Skipper wants us to recon this part of the OA. The mission is to gather what intelligence we can on local conditions. If we sight targets of opportunities, we're not to attack without an okay from the Command Element. Does everyone understand that? If we spot any bad guys, I'll get on the horn and describe the situation to Lieutenant Brannigan. He'll choose our course of action. Fight or flight. Got it? All right, Bravo Fire Team take the point.'
The small column formed up and moved out onto the savannah that was getting a heavy soaking in the precipitation.
.
OA, SOUTHWEST SECTION
1000 HOURS LOCAL
THE rainstorm had passed through the area, and now the sun blazed down, boiling invisible clouds of humidity out of the soaked ground. Delta Fire Team along with Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins and SAW gunner Joe Miskoski watched as the Petroleo Colmo helicopter came in for a windy landing that sent a rolling ripple across the grasslands. As soon as it touched down, Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan stepped out from the troop compartment and trotted over to his SEALs.
'Good morning, sir,' Dawkins said, rendering a salute. 'Anything special going on?'
'Same old shit mostly,' Brannigan said. 'But you're going to take a chopper ride over to the east to many up with Charlie Fire Team. I want your entire section to be together.'
'Right, sir. What're we gonna be doing?'
'The first thing is to set up a cache with the ammo and rations on board,' Brannigan said. 'You can name it after one of the guys' wives or sweethearts. The Command Element has Lisa, and Chief Gunnarson said they named theirs Maybelle after Petty Officer Concord's wife.'
'Well, hell, I ain't married, sir,' Dawkins said. He looked over at his men. 'Hey, Gutsy! What's your old lady's name? We're gonna call our cache after her.'
Gusty Olson laughed. 'Krista. I'll have to take a picture of it to show her.'
'Two reasons you ain't gonna be able to do that,' Dawkins said. 'First of all you ain't got a camera; and the second reason is that if a cache is done proper, you can't see the godamn thing anyhow?'
Gutsy shrugged. 'She'll be honored just the same. I guess.'
'Now hear this,' Brannigan said loudly to get everyone's attention. 'Your mission after digging the cache is going to be pure reconnaissance, got it? Do not make any contact with the enemy unless I okay it first. Your mission will be to pinpoint Falangist movements and locations. The Petroleo Colmo outfit has acquired another Dauphin chopper so each of the assault sections will have one. The Command Element will play its transportation by ear. Let's go!'
'You heard the Skipper,' Dawkins bellowed. 'Start breaking ground on Krista.'
Gutsy scowled. 'I don't think I like the sound of that.'
.
HEADQUARTERS, GRUPO DE BATALLA
CAMPAMENTO ASTRAY
NOON LOCAL
NINE new men had arrived in the garrison the day before after a flight from Argentina aboard the generalisimo's Piaggio turbojet. Six were Spanish officers from both the Foreign Legion and parachute infantry units, and two were Portuguese noncommissioned officers from their nation's Marine Detachment for Special Duties. Additionally, one disaffected Spanish-speaking sergeant from the French Gendarmerie Nationale was also among the new men: He'd gotten into hot water for killing a stubborn and defiant Algerian terrorist suspect he had arrested; it looked like he was headed for a general court-martial. He made a critical decision to flee France to avoid prosecution.
The Frenchman's name was Arnaud Chaubere, and he was one of those individuals with cold eyes and a calm exterior not unlike that of a leopard preparing to attack. When the new men arrived, they were formed up for a quick inspection by Generalisimo Castillo. He looked at each one, but he stopped for a long moment in front of the former gendarme. 'I've heard of you, Chaubere.'
'Yes, mi generalisimo,' he answered in French-accented Spanish.
'You had a bit of a problem with a terrorist prisoner, did you not?'
'Yes, mi generalisimo,' Chaubere said. 'I bent him a little too much, and he broke.'
The generalisimo laughed aloud. 'You're the type of man we're looking for. I hereby appoint you to the rank of sargento-mayor.'
'Gracias, mi generalisimo! '
Coronel Jeronimo Busch, standing off to the side, was favorably impressed with all nine. They were obviously in top-notch physical condition, well-experienced and proven in combat, and had the right political attitudes to put forth the aims and goals of the Falangist movement.
After Castillo had finished his inspection, he turned the men over to Capitan Silber to be taken to an orientation. As he was walking back to headquarters, Busch hurried and caught up with him. 'Generalisimo,' the
