“And the prisoners? Sir?”
I looked hard over at Fairfax, who had let out the secret that it was the Americans who had fucked up this little way station on the drug road north. “Keep them tied up over by the fuel dump. I’ll sort them out later.”
Briscoe smiled at this and worked on his own beer. All soldiers like to make things go BOOM! He drained his beer at the same time as I drained mine, and then went outside to make it happen. He had a number of very enthusiastic helpers. When we lifted off, there was going to be a very loud BANG! When he returned, he came with a couple of helpers rolling one of the barrels of fuel with him. We moved out onto the grass while he rigged the shack to blow. In the faint light around us, I could see similar activity in the hangar and over at the fuel dump.
Once that was ready, I ordered a second beer for everybody, and announced that was it. I also quietly told Briscoe to pack up those two bottles of rum we had found on the floor. It was probably rotgut, but I intended to find out once we got home. Briscoe just grinned and nodded.
At 0250 I struggled to my feet and started over to the fuel dump. Briscoe and Janos hopped to their feet. “What’s up, Captain?”
“Nothing much. You stay here.”
“Where are you going, sir,” he pressed.
I gave him a hard look. “I’m going to release the prisoners. Now, stay here. That’s an order.”
His look back was as hard. “I can do that, sir.”
“My responsibility, Sergeant, now sit down.”
Sergeant Briscoe nodded and I hobbled over to the fuel dump. The four prisoners were tied hand and foot behind the remaining barrels. They were talking amongst themselves, and I heard the words “gringos” and “Americanos.” Yeah, they knew all about us. I pulled my 1911A1 and put a round into each of their heads. The sound was deafening in the still Nicaraguan night. When we blew the fuel dump, the bodies would be burned up. There would be no witnesses to talk about American paratroopers invading Nicaragua.
Lieutenant Fairfax intercepted me as I limped back. “Sir, what happened?”
“I released the prisoners, Lieutenant.” Released them from their earthly bonds.
“I heard shooting.”
“I cut them loose and then I fired into the air to hurry them along,” I told him.
“I want to check on them.” He turned to go.
I grabbed him with my left hand as I laid my right hand on my Colt. “Get back to your group, Lieutenant. The prisoners are gone. That’s an order!”
I was surprised when several of the men came over and positioned themselves between Fairfax and the fuel dump. He got the message, and went back to sit with his group.
At 0255 we turned on the radio and made contact with the Hueys. Janos had rigged up some piles of cocaine bricks soaked in fuel, and I let him set them on fire as landing lights. It wouldn’t do to breathe the fumes very long, but that was the least of my worries. Ten minutes later I heard the WHOOP, WHOOP, WHOOP of an approaching helo. I struggled to my feet. A moment later it flared out in the circle of light, and I ordered the group of dead and injured loaded on board. It was gone two minutes later.
Two minutes after the first bird lifted off, the second landed and Briscoe’s group took off. Finally it was time for the third Huey. Sergeant Briscoe magically appeared out of the gloom. “You were supposed to be on that bird,” I told him.
“Janos sprained a thumbnail. I sent him out instead.”
I smiled at him. I’d have never have gotten these guys home without his help. “Well, it’s a good thing. I forgot you had the remote detonators. Everything ready to blow?”
He held up a couple of radio igniters. “Just say the magic word!”
We were interrupted by the sound of the last helo arriving. “You got the booze?” I asked.
In response he patted his pack and grinned.
I grinned, too. “They say stolen kisses are the sweetest. I wonder if it’s the same about stolen booze?” I had to yell over the WHOOP, WHOOP of the Huey’s rotors. It landed and I pointed towards it. “LET’S GO!”
The other five men ran under the spinning blades and tossed their gear on board and scrambled in. Briscoe had to half carry me over, as my knee was screaming now. He wanted to toss me on first, but I insisted he get on first. I was more than happy to allow him and Spec 4 Thompson to pull me in. We strapped in, and the pilot lifted off. I ordered the crew chief to have the Huey hold in place a few hundred feet up, and then I pointed at Briscoe. “HIT IT!”
He grinned and punched first one detonator and then the other. The first exploded the hangar, in a whoosh of yellow as fuel, cocaine, and airplane lit off. The second exploded the shack, and then started a chain reaction going down through the flatbed truck and on to the fuel dump. Third Platoon cheered loudly, and I told the crew chief to get us the fuck out of there.
My knee throbbed the entire trip home, but I no longer cared. I had gotten my men home. Every once in a while one of the guys caught my eye and gave me a thumbs up. I would simply smile and return it. I was so tired, but I could carry on a little while longer. It wasn’t a long trip back to the base. Another cheer went up when the lights came into view. The other three helos were already there, along with a number of men around one of them. We flared out and there was another cheer, and then cheering men crowded around from the other Huey. It was the rest of the Third Platoon that had been on the plane, less Lieutenant Fairfax, Gerald, and the wounded and dead.
I hopped carefully off the bird and we all moved away from it while the pilot shut down the engines. Spirits were high, but I got the men calmed down somewhat. I confirmed that a group of ambulances had taken away the first helo’s load. “Okay, Sergeant, once we get some transport, I want you to get the men back to quarters and get them settled in. Get the men fed. I’m heading over to the hospital and checking on the men, then I’ll be back to check on you and these guys, and we’ll see about those two bottles.”
“You should stay at the hospital, sir,” he argued.
I smiled but shook my head. “Later, Sergeant, after we see to the men and those bottles. Priorities, Sergeant Briscoe, priorities!”
Several headlights were now apparent coming towards us. “Transport has found us,” I commented. It looked like we had a couple of deuce-and-a-halfs coming our way, along with a Jeep.
It was Sunday the 15th and the mission was finally over. We stood there and watched as the convoy approached. The Jeep drove right up to us, and I could see that it had three men in it. They got out. The passenger was a very natty and neat major, the driver was an older staff sergeant, and a young corporal was sitting in the back. The major looked at me in considerable disgust. I guess that after a week of crawling through the Nicaraguan countryside I wasn’t ready to be presented at high tea. I was filthy, unshaven, and smelled like a goat, in fact. I didn’t care. I just stared at him. “Captain Buckman?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re under arrest, captain! The charges are mutiny and failure to obey orders.” He turned to his sergeant and corporal. “Take him!”
Chapter 58: More Hard Time
Here’s an important safety tip for all you new Provost Marshals — if at all possible, never arrest somebody in front of armed troops. On the one hand, they might disagree with your decision to haul away their friend or leader. On the other hand, they might be so overjoyed to be rid of the asshole they decide to help you take care of justice! It is better to get the offender away from the group and do it quietly and privately.