The war in the Gran Chaco was over.
Chapter 21
NORTH ISLAND NAVAL AIR STATION
CORONADO, CALIFORNIA
31 JANUARY
1400 HOURS
THE arrival of the C-130 Hercules caused no ripple of interest as it touched down and began its taxi run to an isolated area of the base. A pair of M1078A1 2.5-ton cargo trucks were waiting as the big transport approached the end of the runway. The aircraft turned, then the pilot shut down its inboard port engine as the passenger door opened. Thirteen men in extremely filthy BDUs disembarked, stepping unsteadily down to the concrete after the long air trip. All carried rucksacks and weapons. They seemed extremely tired and downcast, but the appearance of one individual from behind the truck brought smiles to their faces when he stepped out and hollered at them.
'What the hell took you so long?'
Lieutenant (J. G.) Jim Cruiser, using a cane but moving along confidently and steadily, walked over to them. He shook hands with Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan, then turned to endure the poundings and rough greetings of the others.
'I'm doing fine,' Cruiser said, answering all the inquiries. 'I'll be back to duty within a couple of months.' His mood sobered a bit. 'The other aircraft got in a couple of days ago bringing in the wounded and KIAs. I knew Ferguson and Taylor, but I'd never met Cinzento. Milly and Gutsy were in great shape, and are due to be released from Balboa tomorrow. But Pecheur and Connie are going to be gone for awhile. Both had pretty serious injuries. They might even be facing disability separations from the Navy.'
'Shit happens,' Brannigan said. He turned to the detachment. 'Get on the trucks, guys. You've still got a debriefing before you're turned loose.'
'Well, anyway, welcome home,' Cruiser said. He walked over to join Brannigan in the truck's cab.
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CIA SAFE HOUSE
GEORGETOWN, VIRGINIA
A Spanish citizen by the name of Ignacio Perez had gotten into the habit of selecting Big Macs, extra large fries and chocolate milkshakes when it was time for his mentors to go out for his sustenance. He was consuming the menu three times a day and loving it. The thinness he had developed on French rations down in the Gran Chaco was rounding out to a quite noticeable plumpness.
Ignacio had been through the grilling mill since his arrival back in the-States. Agents from the CIA and FBI had combed through his papers as the little man explained the setup of the Falangists. Other agencies as well as intelligence officials from South America and Europe still waited to have their turn at him. While he waited for their arrival, he spent his time studying English and watching TV programs to pick up a bit more of the idiom. His favorite shows were reruns of Cheers after he figured out the character Norm was an accountant.
A place in the Federal Witness Protection Program had been arranged for Ignacio, and he would eventually be given a complete new identity and sent to an area where he could begin that new life he wanted so badly.
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THE REPUBLICS OF ARGENTINA, BOLIVIA AND CHlLE
THE newspapers and magazines of all three countries ran a special feature that had two photos of a dead Falangist fighter. He was identified both as Adolfo Punzarron, a deserter from the Spanish Foreign Legion, and Adolfo Punzarrao, a fugitive murderer from Portugal.
One of the photographs had been published in the Chilean newspaper El Conquistador when, under the alias of Mauricio Castanho, he testified he was a Brazilian squatter who had lost his family during a massacre he claimed was done by American Green Berets. The other picture showed his shrapnel-torn corpse that had been pulled out of a bunker at a Falangist stronghold. This was all offered as proof that the outrage committed against the Brazilian squatters was done by the fascists, and Punzarrao aka Punzarron had been one of the killers.
A related story also appeared with the one about the Portuguese murderer. This one reported that two Falangist prisoners who were listed as deserters from the Chilean Army--Teniente-Coronal Jeronimo Busch and Sargento Antonio Muller had escaped from a military prison near San Bernardo, Chile. There were strong suspicions that the breakout was the result of both inside and outside collusion. A military police official stated that the men had undoubtedly been taken into the Falangist underground, where they would be inserted into an escape-and- evasion net. They would eventually end up at a hideout somewhere in Europe.
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CORONADO, CALIFORNIA
THE BRANNIGAN RESIDENCE
5 FEBRUARY
1300 HOURS LOCAL
LIEUTENANT Bill Brannigan's wife Lisa sat at the table on the patio, sipping a glass of Chardonnay as she watched her husband turning the steaks on the barbecue. She was used to him being somewhat taciturn after coming back from a mission, but this latest operation had left him almost completely uncommunicative.
The official word was that he and his detachment had been on a highly classified training operation in which some new infiltration and exfiltration techniques had been tested. Some things had gone terribly wrong in which three men were killed in accidents and four injured, two of them quite seriously.
Lisa was a naval pilot stationed at North Island NAS in an EA-6B Prowler squadron, and she could read between the lines of the report. She quickly figured out there had been a supersecret mission of some sort that had taken place under some very heavy wraps. Whether it was a success or not would not be known for years if ever. Meanwhile, families might never be informed that their relatives were killed in action, nor would any medals be issued, and any acts of heroism would be hidden forever in files marked TOP SECRET. Only when the operation was officially declassified would the dead be properly honored and the brave receive the medals due them.
Now, in the peaceful atmosphere of the patio, Brannigan used tongs to grasp the steaks, slipping them on the plates. He walked over to the table and set one steak down for Lisa and the other for himself. She spooned out the salad and green beans as he took a chair and started to eat. Brannigan stopped with his fork halfway between the meat and his mouth. He looked at his wife in a special, meaningful way.
'Ain't this some shit?'
She smiled sadly but proudly, knowing exactly what he was referring to.
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OFF THE SOUTHEAST COAST OF CUBA PRESIDENTS' DAY
BACK when Jimmy Carter was the President of the United States, floods of refugees from Cuba braved the dangerous crossing to Florida in attempts to get to America to start new lives under the blessings of freedom. Many people perished in vessels that were sometimes no more than inflated tractor inner tubes. President Carter was disturbed by these tragedies and made a deal to let the defectors into the U. S. A. if the Cuban leader Fidel Castro would lift the ban on their fleeing his autocratic government.
This became known as the Mariel Boat Lift, and 125,000 people left Cuba under its provisions. Unfortunately, Castro emptied prisons and insane asylums, inserting these undesirables into the flow of authentic refugees. This created a nightmare for everyone concerned when the truth was discovered. Undesirable Cubans ended up spending years in custody while decent Marielitos, as they were known, suffered the stigma of being associated with criminals and lunatics.
For Fidel Castro this was one big joke he had played on the American president.
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0330 HOURS
OFF' in the darkness, the Cuban shore was shadowy and indistinct as a nondescript fishing boat stood by. A group of thirteen men slipped over the side into two rubber rafts for a very short boat trip. These individuals making ready to row to the beach were Gordo Pullini and his gang members. They had been issued handguns, clothing, and carried knapsacks with over $100,000 American packed in them. In this reverse of the Mariel Boat Lift, they planned to set up whatever illegal activities were available to Spanish-speaking, ruthless professional criminals within Cuban society.
