noting that the exchange of salvos was getting steadily louder.
Chaubere was the first one to catch sight of the bandidos. 'Voila! I can see the enemy, mon colonel,' he said, slipping into French. 'There is a man on each side of the river.'
'Atacen!' Busch ordered.
The four Falangists rushed forward, their submachine guns spitting fiery salvos at the SEALs.
Up ahead, Chad Murchison on the north bank and Andy Malanchenko on the south, turned to meet the attack. They dropped to the ground, pumping the triggers of their CAR-15s. Bruno Puglisi immediately became aware of the situation and rushed back to join them. The squad automatic weapon added to the volleys of steel jacketed slugs directed at the four attackers.
Busch immediately broke off the attack, and the equipo dropped to the grass as one man. They would bide their time, then once again make a charge on the rear of the bandidos' column.
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1615 HOURS LOCAL
THE fighting went on all through the day. Neither side took casualties because of the nature of the fighting. No one could expose himself long enough to deliver accurate fire, so both sides more or less delivered independent firing in the blind. Many times the combatants simply raised their weapons without aiming, and squeezed off short fire bursts.
Busch's Equipo Comando kept the pressure on the rear of the SEALs with sporadic attacks before pulling back out of harm's way. While they didn't accomplish much in the way of inflicting casualties, they were able to keep an accurate measure of the enemy's rate of advance. Busch continually radioed Comandantes Toledo and Cappuzzo of the distance traveled by the bandidos. The information allowed the Falangist forces on both sides of the river to move along in the fluid battle.
Busch wanted to keep the pressure building until the bandidos could be pinned down in one spot. Then the Falangist force could hit them from two sides and quickly bring a victorious end to the day's fighting.
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1930 H0URS LOCAL
BY now Wild Bill Brannigan and James Bradley poled the piraguas on pure adrenaline. They had passed the point of being able to assess their fatigue; instead they simply went through the process of pushing the boats along while poling like automatons.
'Ammo!' a voice came from the south bank. 'Two bandoleers.'
Brannigan reached down and grabbed the cloth holders, tossing them over to Gutsy Olson. The Skipper took a deep breath and shook his head to clear his mind. He opened his eyes wide and exhaled before breathing in again. Then he noticed that the incoming firing was lessening noticeably. 'Hey, Chiefs!' he said, speaking to both Senior Chief Buford Dawkins and Chief Matt Gunnarson. 'Is the enemy fire easing up?'
'Roger, sir,' Dawkins replied. 'I think them assholes may be needing an ammo resupply by now.'
'Yeah,' Matt agreed. 'If we hear choppers again, you can bet they'll be toting bullets into the combat area.' 'Okay:' Brannigan said. 'I haven't heard any casualty reports from you guys.'
'We ain't had any, sir,' Dawkins said. 'But on the other hand, I'm pretty sure we ain't inflicting any either.'
'Then let's keep moving,' Brannigan said. 'Step up the pace if you can. Every meter closer we get to those mountains is an advantage to us.'
'Aye, sir!' came back two simultaneous replies.
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2030 HOURS LOCAL
THE sound of chopper engines eased in from the distance on both sides of the river. They stayed back out of range as they settled in to land with lights beaming down on the grassland beneath their skids.
The incoming fire on the SEALs dropped some more, indicating the Falangists were sending men back to pick up ammo for the line. Brannigan knew this would impede their fighting ability until darkness descended to end the long Southern Hemisphere summer day. He also was aware that the enemy had night vision capabilities, and this would add another problem to deal with. The longer the battle lasted, the more advantage the Falangists had. Brannigan had to come up with some sort of plan to stop the fighting or at least delay it for a few precious hours.
'Everybody,' he said over the LASH, 'keep moving!' He glanced back at James Bradley. 'How's Connie doing?' 'He's still with us, sir.'
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2230 HOURS LOCAL
SEALs' activities, waiting to see if an opening occurred where a grand slam could be dealt.
Brannigan's mind had been churning for the previous two hours, and he now had a tactical scheme. It was risky, probably could not succeed, and was a disaster waiting to happen, i. E., just the type of situation in which the United States Navy SEALs excelled.
Brannigan got on the LASH. 'We're holding up right here. I want good solid defensive perimeters set up. Let the team leaders handle this. Meanwhile I want to see both section commanders along with the Odd Couple and Garth Redhawk. Let's go, people! We don't have a hell of a lot of time.'
When the quintet of invited guests reported to the piraguas, they scrambled aboard the first one, settling down in the stern sheets. James Bradley now had time to get into the second boat to check Connie over. He found the injured man resting comfortably and not headed into shock. The wounds were serious, however, and the combination of broken bones and tissue damage was something to take seriously.
Brannigan took a swig of water from his canteen, then turned his full attention to the five men who had joined him. 'We can't stay here,' he said. 'The only chance we have is to get the hell out of here and into the Selva Verde Mountains to set up and wait for whatever the high command has in store for us.'
'I don't suppose you know what that might be, do you, sir?' Senior Chief Dawkins asked hopefully.
'I don't have clue,' Brannigan admitted bitterly. 'So here's what we're going to do. I want the Falangists to think we're camping out here. They'll pull back from the river and put out sentries, then wait for daylight to lower the boom on us. So! The Odd Couple and Redhawk strip down for action. By that, I mean no equipment, just pistols and knives. Get all the noise making crap out of your pockets like keys and coins. You guys are going to pussyfoot it onto the south bank of the river, taking out guards along the way. Just keep in mind that they have night vision goggles. You're going on a risky mission, but there's a good reason for it.'
'I get it, sir:' Mike Assad said. 'We're going to clear a path to get down the river a ways.'
'Exactly!' Brannigan said. 'When you've done that, the whole detachment is going to get together on that bank. We'll put four men on each piragua and lift them out of the water. We'll carry them through the cleared area for about three-quarters or so of a kilometer. Then it's back in the river to pole like hell toward the mountains in the east.'
Matt Gunnarson nodded his understanding. 'So we'll stay up on the riverbanks until you call us in for the big move, right, sir?'
'That's it,' Brannigan said.
Redhawk sniffed the air. 'I smell rain, sir.'
'I'll take your word for it,' Brannigan said. 'But I'd be surprised if the gods of war would give us a break like that.'
The three men who would be operating with pistol and knife through the enemy lines began shedding unessential gear to leave in the piragua.
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8 JANUARY
0200 HOURS LOCAL
THE rain fell heavily, beating an uneven staccato on both river and grass as Garth Redhawk signaled back to the Odd Couple bringing them to a halt. He was ten meters ahead of them as they lay prone in the grass. They had no ponchos, and their BDUs soaked up the water from the deluge and hung heavy on the SEALs' bodies. Three dead sentries were scattered between them and the spot where they had climbed from the river onto the south bank.
Dave Leibowitz looked past Redhawk and could see what had caught his attention. A Falangist guard sat
