Pacheco shut the truck down, and they got out, in their tiger stripe fatigues, load bearing gear, and wearing camouflage face paint under their ProTec helmets and NVGs. All three pulled their Galils out with them, but they hoped to avoid using them, at least for the next couple of hours.
“Pacheco’s on point. Jenkins, watch our six.” They crossed the road and faded into the jungle that lined the ridge that pointed toward San Tabal, where it nestled in a hanging valley less than a mile away.
The slope was steep and rough, and the vegetation made it even worse. They’d barely gotten five hundred yards and Brannigan was starting to wonder about the wisdom of taking this approach. He couldn’t check his watch on the move, if only because he didn’t want to risk the light in the dark under the trees, just in case the Green Shirts had patrols out. But they were already behind schedule, he was sure of that.
They needed to pick up the pace. He hadn’t seen anything to suggest that the Green Shirts were professional enough that they’d brave the jungle and the terrain. Most of those they’d encountered so far had been little more than enforcers, far from trained infantrymen, never mind the kind of hard-core light infantry who would see a nasty piece of ground like this ridgeline and say, “Let’s go up there.” So, noise was probably less of an issue than they were assuming.
The next time Pacheco looked back at him, Brannigan pumped his fist up and down. Speed up. Pacheco acknowledged, and they were soon moving at a better clip, making slightly more noise but covering ground more quickly. Still, getting into the city this way was going to take hours. The veg was just too thick.
Nothing for it. Forcing the checkpoint would be far too loud, alerting every Green Shirt in the valley. They had to take the long, difficult, exhausting way.
Time stretched as they hacked their way through the undergrowth, Pacheco leading with a machete. Every few minutes, they had to stop, crouching down and listening for any movement that wasn’t one of the myriad nocturnal animals moving through the jungle. The night noises were almost deafening, and Brannigan could only hope that they’d hear any Green Shirts before they were right on top of them.
He really hoped they weren’t in some jaguar’s night hunting ground. He was consistently looking up as well as side to side and behind them, but he wasn’t sure he could spot one of the big cats before it dropped onto his head.
Finally, somewhere around three in the morning, they got to the edge of the city. Pacheco held up a hand to call a halt, sinking to a knee behind a tree, just behind a low, white-plastered brick house with barred windows and a Spanish-style fluted tile roof. A single light out front cast a dim glow around the corner, giving them just enough illum to see the street clearly through their PVS-14s.
Brannigan moved out onto Pacheco’s flank, his Galil held ready as he found his own vantage point, and Jenkins took up a position behind them, leaning against a tree, panting and sweating, watching their six. Brannigan had half expected to have to tell the former SEAL to watch the hill behind them, but he hadn’t.
Santelli must have really put the fear into him.
He scanned what he could see of the street below through the narrow gap between the single-story whitewashed house and the darker, two story place next door. It appeared to be empty, and he strained his ears but couldn’t hear engines or any other movement over the chirping, shrieking, and buzzing of the jungle night life behind him.
Pacheco apparently thought it was clear. He rose slowly, but instead of moving down into the neighborhood just below them, he moved over and joined Brannigan.
“You know where we are?” Brannigan kept his voice pitched as low as he could while still being able to hear himself.
“We’re about half a kilometer from Quintana’s house—unless he’s moved. Fuentes might be reasonably confident that he’ll join us, but he’s been a prisoner in his own house for the last couple of weeks, at least. He hasn’t been in town to see what Quintana’s been up to. That said, I don’t think Quintana would have moved. It doesn’t fit the role he’s picked out for himself in the new order.”
“Well, let’s go, before a patrol decides to come down the street.” Brannigan rose and started toward the gap between the houses.
Pacheco put out a hand to stop him. “Try not to look sneaky. If we swagger a little and act like we belong here, like we own the city, any Green Shirt patrols might mistake us for some of their own, especially at a distance and in the dark.”
“Good thinking.” It was too easy, especially under these circumstances, to get so wrapped up in not being seen that sometimes the simplest and most straightforward solutions got lost. There’s no way to be completely invisible in an urban setting, so you settle for the next best thing—blending in with the population. If the population’s locked down, try to blend in with the forces holding the area.
Their tiger stripe camouflage, face paint, and NVGs wouldn’t fool anyone up close, but they hoped that they could keep their distance and avoid the Green Shirts altogether.
Pacheco took lead again, letting his rifle hang on its sling, walking casually out into the street. He didn’t silhouette himself under the streetlight, but he strolled up the street as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Brannigan didn’t know if
