Ghost Force

starboard beam, the rest of the shoreline, on either side of the seaway, was Chilean. They expected to dock in Punta Arenas at 0700 on Friday morning, April 29.

It was a relaxed, uneventful journey, conducted almost entirely in the dark, the Chilean CO following the buoyed ten-fathom channel for a hundred miles. The SEALs and the SAS team had dined the previous evening on board Toledo, bowls of excellent minestrone soup and steaks.

But the spread laid out before them in the dining room of the Aquiles brought joy to their hearts — the CO had laid on a banquet for the Americanos—it was called curanto, a hearty stew of fish, shellfish, chicken, pork, beef and potato, accompanied by both chapalele and milcao, delicious Chilean potato breads. Douglas Jarvis and the sheep stealers had found their heaven on a twenty-three-year-old former hospital ship with German diesel engines.

They all slept for six hours and prepared to leave shortly after 0630. They were showered and shaved, with freshly laundered clothes, and carried further clean stuff in their bergans. In fact most of the SAS shirts, trousers, vests, and undershorts were incinerated, and Captain Fraser had instantly come up with a new supply, the way Americans do.

It was a long time since Captain Jarvis and his men had felt quite so good. And when they finally docked in the Chilean Navy's Punta Arenas, about an hour later, on a cold crisp morning, there was a spring in the step of the SAS men for the first time for two weeks.

Commander Hunter's men felt very good too. And so did their leader, until he saw with some dread a hideously familiar figure standing at the bottom of the gangway to greet him. He was standing in front of a long black Chilean Navy staff car, the unmistakable figure of the head of SPECWARCOM, Admiral John Bergstrom.

Good grief! thought Rick. There's only one goddamned reason on this earth he could be here. Where the hell does he want us to go now?

A voice right behind him muttered, 'Holy shit, that's Bergstrom. What in the name of Christ does he want now? Blood?' Dallas MacPherson was thinking precisely the same thoughts as his leader.

'Morning, Rick, and very well done,' said the Admiral, holding out his right hand. 'Everything went according to plan?'

'Most of it,' smiled the SEAL leader. 'You'll have received the signal that Captain Jarvis is safe…he had a few difficult moments, but he's right behind me, if you would like to meet him…'

'I'd like to meet him very much.'

'But I can tell you did not come all the way down here just for that.'

'No. I guess not. And perhaps you and Captain Jarvis, and your deputy, Lt. Commander MacPherson, would like to have breakfast with me for a very highly classified chat.'

'Admiral, I would very much like to do that. But first I need to know what's happening to my guys.'

'Rick, everyone's flying out of here this afternoon…Chilean Navy aircraft to Santiago. It's about thirteen hundred miles from here, 'bout three and a half hours. A United States Navy aircraft is already waiting there, and everyone flies directly back to San Diego North Island.'

'Everyone?'

'Nearly everyone.'

'Jesus,' said Commander Hunter. And just then Douglas Jarvis, dressed now as a submariner in his new clothes, walked down the gangway and joined the two Americans.

'Dougy, this is Admiral Bergstrom, the man who masterminded your escape…Admiral, this is Captain Douglas Jarvis, Diana's kid brother, my brother-in-law, and a very, very fine Special Forces officer. Got his guys out alive, all of 'em.'

Admiral Bergstrom offered his hand. 'I'm very privileged to meet you, Captain,' he said.

They shook hands, and Douglas Jarvis replied, 'I want to thank you. I didn't do much. The U.S. Special Forces got us out, and if they hadn't arrived when they did, we might not have made it.'

'Very British,' smiled the Admiral. 'But right now I'm talking to the guy who went into the Falkland Islands, operated undercover and took out an entire Argentine garrison with all of its weapons, including guided missiles… then kept his guys alive for almost two weeks more, behind enemy lines, on an occupied island, in very bad weather, with half the armed forces of Argentina conducting a manhunt by air and land. Correct me if I'm wrong.'

Captain Jarvis grinned. 'Well, you're on the right lines, sir. But I'm not much of a hero, just stumbling around, doing my best.'

'Very British,' replied John Bergstrom.

By now the underwater SEAL boss, Lt. Commander Chuck Stafford, was leading all twenty-five of the assembled Special Forces, in company with a Chilean Navy Captain, to a long low building two hundred yards from the jetty, where breakfast had been organized in an accommodation block where they could sleep and relax before the flight.

Commander Hunter, with Doug and Dallas, climbed into the staff car with the Admiral and were driven to the officers' mess, about a half mile away. Inside, they were escorted to a private room, somewhere between a U.S. situation room and an ops room.

It was without windows, painted bright white, with a large computer display screen on the wall, plus a line of consoles and keyboards. More important, for the moment at least, there was a group of silver-covered dishes on the long central table, which contained bacon, fried and scrambled eggs, sausages, mushrooms, and toast. Two navy orderlies were already placing large glasses of orange juice at the four set places, and filling the coffee cups.

The Special Forces commanders helped themselves to breakfast and sat down at the four places. Before Dallas had time to attack even one of the three sausages on his plate, Admiral Bergstrom said, 'Gentlemen, we have little time, and I would like you to know what precisely we have been doing…in the broadest terms the U.S. government has decided to conduct a series of highly destructive raids on Argentina's most expensive military hardware — that's warships and fighter aircraft.

'Simultaneously, the President is demanding that Argentina sit down and negotiate a peace settlement with Great Britain, which will include the restoration of two billion dollars' worth of oil and gas to ExxonMobil and BP.

'Failure to comply with this represents a deal breaker. And it may cause the United States to take military action against Argentina. However, no one thinks that's going to happen. Indeed, the President's close friend Admiral Arnold Morgan is suggesting the attacks on Pebble Island and Mare Harbor may already have brought them into line.

'However, if that has not been enough, we intend to launch a further assault on their most prized military possessions. And that, according to Admiral Morgan, will surely do it, because Buenos Aires does not wish to end up in combat against the USA.'

Finally, he came to the point. 'Gentlemen,' he said, 'I have been asked to discuss with you the possibility of your undertaking this operation…the good news is that it should be swift, requiring only a very small team of eight men, operating in great secret, direct action.'

'And the bad news?' asked Lt. Commander MacPherson, an edge of resignation to his voice.

'Er…it's going to take place on the Argentinian mainland,' replied John Bergstrom.

'Oh,' said Commander Hunter. 'Interesting. Do they know we're coming?'

'Of course not.'

'Just checking.'

'Well…again, to come to the point…the objective of the attack is on the air base at Rio Grande…close quarters, if you understand me.'

'Rio Grande?' exclaimed Rick. 'That's the place down on the island of Tierra del Fuego, I believe. A full-sized military air base…home of the Mirage jets, and the Skyhawks and the Super-Etendards?'

'Yes. That's the spot.'

'Well, Admiral, for the moment let me assume you have a way of getting men in there? But rather more important, have you thought of a way out?'

'Not really. We'll bring them in by helicopter overland from Punta Arenas. And we had rather assumed, after they had done their business of course, they would walk out to a safe point and we'd pick them up somewhere. Probably with another helicopter.'