we?'
'I understand,' Borden said. 'I assure you we are no more than peaceful farmers.'
By then a half-dozen more men had come out of the helicopter. They stood by the aircraft in a formation of two ranks. Busch yelled over to them, 'Registran el pueblo. Pronto!'
The detachment, broken down into two teams, rushed forward and began an efficient inspection of the huts. They spent forty minutes prowling the village under the joint command of Punzarron, Chaubere and Muller, while Busch stayed with Reverend Borden.
When the task was finished, Punzarron reported to Busch with a food carton. 'We found a but with boxes of food in it. Here is one for your inspection, mi coronel.'
Busch took the container, noting the different languages printed on it. He raised his eyes and gazed suspiciously at Borden. 'Where did you get this?'
'They are part of a delivery sent us through my mission,' Borden explained. 'It is the Christian Outreach Ministry.' 'And where is this organization based?'
'In America,' Borden replied. 'Dallas, Texas, to be exact:'
Busch was no longer smiling. 'Many organizations from America are fronts for their Central Intelligence Agency.'
'I swear to you, sir!' Borden said. 'My mission group is not CIA:'
'I want to believe you, of course,' Busch said. 'We are leaving now, but we will be back. Think of us as your friends. We can bring you things you need. Perhaps our food will be superior to what your mission sends you.'
'We are not in need, senor el coronel,' Borden said.
'How fortunate for you,' Busch remarked coldly. 'Remember! We are the Falangists. The day is nigh when we will not only control the Gran Chaco but all of South America. Do not play coy or false with us. There would be dire consequences for you and your people.'
'Yes, senor el coronel,' Borden acknowledged respectfully.
Busch shouted terse orders, and the Falangists made a hurried but orderly walk toward the helicopter. Borden watched as the aircraft lifted off to fly low over the grasslands.
'May the Good Lord save us from such friends!' he prayed aloud and fervently.
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SEAL BASE CAMP
Ancho. Brannigan would have liked to employ the rigid raider boats for the task by using their motors when noise wasn't a problem and poling them when silence was essential. But attempts to move the ungainly craft using the quieter method proved impossible. Even towing them behind the piraguas was impractical. It was obvious the craft were designed to be propelled rapidly through the water, not tediously pulled across it. On the other hand, there was no way to attach the motors to the sterns of the piraguas. A trial attempt almost sank one as its bow rose steeply out of the water under the weight.
Thus the piraguas were the boats of choice for the river trip across the savannah to the jungles of the Selva Verde Mountains.
Not all the caches had been excavated. Those that contained items not absolutely necessary for the mission such as extra clothing, web equipment, camouflage capes and netting were left in their earthen concealments. However, all of James Bradley's medical supplies and Frank Gomez's commo gear, including extra batteries, were placed in the little wooden boats.
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2311 HOURS LOCAL
THE detachment stood in two ranks, observing section and team integrity. All were fully equipped for combat, including their night vision equipment. The knowledge that they were about to embark on an extremely dangerous trek through the heart of the enemy was foremost on everyone's mind, but none spoke any concerns aloud. This was a job to do--a rather hairy one--but still it was just another task in the dangerous lives they had volunteered for.
Brannigan went to the front of the formation and studied the detachment. It was at times like this that he missed Lieutenant (J. G.) Jim Cruiser. There was a quality of calm efficiency about him that gave Brannigan not only confidence in his men but in himself as well. At least it was comforting to have Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins and Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson around. Those old salts had smarts that could only be developed and nurtured over long years of military service.
Brannigan cleared his throat, speaking only loud enough to be heard. 'Listen up,' the Skipper said. 'First thing. The Odd Couple is going to alternate point and reconnaissance duties with Redhawk and Murchison. Devereaux is going to be pulled from the Second Assault Section and go with the Command Element. That way we'll have six men, while the assault sections will have seven each. During the run down the river we'll rotate three jobs in two- hour shifts. You will alternate poling the piraguas, acting as flankers on both sides of the river, and resting.'
'Sir,' Connie Concord said, raising his hand. 'How in hell are we supposed to rest?'
'You'll just have to arrange yourselves as conveniently as possible among the three piraguas,' Brannigan said. 'Don't worry about being uncomfortable. Hell, you'll only be resting for a couple of hours anyway. But try to get as much sleep as possible. This is going to be a long trip.'
Andy Malachenko asked, 'Just how much time is it gonna take, sir?'
'If things go well; Brannigan said, 'we'll be able to travel relatively fast--for a walking speed--and should reach our destination within forty-eight hours. When we get to our debarkation point, the boats will be hidden along the banks of the river, and we'll move from there up to the high ground and set up positions.'
Bruno Puglisi frowned in puzzlement. 'Then what, sir?'
'Then we'll await either further orders from home or organized assaults from the enemy,' Brannigan said. 'Whichever comes first. Any more questions? Good. Now hear this! First Section begins as flankers, the Second Section poles the boats, and the Command Element will ride and rest.'
Cries of derision rose from the assault sections, directed toward the Command Element. 'Headquarters pukes! Staff weenies!'
Brannigan chuckled. 'All right! Move out, you magnificent sons of bitches!'
Chapter 14
ON THE RIO ANCHO
7 JANUARY
0700 HOURS LOCAL
THE SEALs had managed to move twenty-six kilometers after eight hours of continuous travel from the base camp. Poling the piraguas down the river was the most difficult part of the journey. The men manning the boats were continuously working with their arms and shoulders, first placing the twenty-foot poles into the water until reaching bottom, then giving a hard push. That was bad enough, but it had to be done in cadence or the first boat would hardly move while those behind it banged into each other. This problem was eventually solved by having the man on the head boat speak softly over the LASH, saying, 'Up! Down! Push! Up! Down! Push!' The first and third men poled on the starboard side while the second did his chores on the port side, all this done in time to the cadence. It was very monotonous and tiring. Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan took special note of the situation, and in the rotation of jobs, the SEALs went directly from poling to resting before going back to flanker duty.
It wasn't so bad to be a flanker. They simply walked along the riverbank, having to deal with uneven ground now and then as they strode down the Rio Ancho. The guys could gaze out over the panorama of deep grass around them, feeling the hot breeze off the savannah as they strolled rather slowly to keep from getting too far ahead of the piraguas. The only downside was that if the column was attacked, they would be the first casualties. Still, it was actually a rather pleasant walk in the country, though the heat was bothersome.
The guys resting after their poling duties were like any well-trained military men. A rookie might be restless and finicky about taking a nap, but all seasoned veterans have evolved into champion sleepers. Any experienced campaigner could sit down or lie down and fall asleep in an instant. In some cases, they would find no difficulty sleeping on their feet. They could even doze off for one or two minutes and come out of it a bit more refreshed than before they closed their eyes. The soft sounds of the first boat guy's voice were like a lullaby to those SEAL veterans as they recovered from their own muscle-cramping stints on the poles.
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