Wilson saw movement and pulled the trigger. The deafening report filled the cabin and Monique screamed. The round sprayed bark from the tree it hit, and one man darted away as the others fired at the house. One bullet shattered another window, ricocheting off a ceiling beam as glass peppered Wilson’s back. After several seconds of wild firing, one of the men shouted a command to stop. Wilson sensed they didn’t want to waste ammo either.
“El Americano, now!”
Sundown was in an hour, an advantage for the men outside. Wilson had an idea.
He had three pencil flares left, and cocked the launcher before he screwed one into the firing tube. Setting the pistol down next to him, he stretched out his arm, thumb on the release mechanism, and waited for movement. After a long minute, he saw a silhouette dart among the trees and fired.
With a whoosh, the flare shot ahead through the window and into the woods. It then ricocheted off a tree, bounced off the ground, and slammed into another tree. The alarmed men shouted and scrambled away from the wild pyrotechnic as Wilson picked up the pistol and fired two rounds. A man shouted and in Spanish Wilson heard the word ayudame!
At least one — Wilson still didn’t know how many were out there — recovered enough from the surprise to fire off four rounds. The shots came from the southwest corner of the cabin and broke a side window. The men cursed and screamed at each other in Spanish as the spent flare came to rest. Wilson’s hope for a fire went unfulfilled, but he was sure he had wounded one of his attackers. Someone was now whimpering in pain for help.
“One man is hurt in the leg and bleeding,” Father Dan said.
“Do you know Spanish?” Wilson asked him.
“Enough,” Father Dan nodded.
The rapid thump, thump, thump of helicopter rotor blades could be heard in the distance, and they seemed to be getting near. Again, Wilson wasn’t sure what kind of helicopter it was, and, as he listened, he kept his eyes on the spot where the wounded man crouched behind a tree. Motioning to the side window, Wilson asked Father Dan to take a peek.
“Nothing. Can’t see anyone,” he replied.
The rotor blades were beating heavier, and Wilson strained to identify the sound. He wanted it to be a Sierra, but couldn’t be sure it was. And he heard the sound of only one aircraft. How he wished he heard two, a better chance that it was a rescue party. As the men outside shouted over the din of the rotor blades, Wilson kept watch. The wounded man no longer seemed to be involved in the firefight.
The helicopter flew over, and Wilson heard it turn as it did. It was their helicopter, whoever they were.
“Father, what do you see?”
A bullet smashed through the window above the priest, showering him and Monique with glass. The petrified woman drew her legs up and hugged them. She appeared beyond help.
“Well, someone is out there, Jim.”
“Yeah, that answered my question. Stay down.”
The helicopter returned overhead and seemed to enter a hover to the north of the cabin, along what Wilson knew was a road. Reinforcements, but whose? He wished he could take a peek.
“Father, go to the other side and look out the window. Can you identify what kind of helo it is?”
“Helo?”
“Helicopter! What kind? Color? Anything.” Wilson had to fight to remain calm.
Father Dan scooted over to the other side as another bullet smashed into the clapboard. Through the trees he could make out a helicopter. “I’m not much of an airplane nut, Jim. Not sure what kind that is.”
“Color? What color?”
After a moment, Father Dan answered. “White… part of it blue.”
That was a clue for Wilson. Not military. It could be Americans from the embassy, a security team. More wishful thinking, he surmised. Soon, he knew that to be true as he heard Spanish shouts from the road as the helicopter took off.
“They’ve sent more, Father.”
Wilson needed to somehow redefine the fight. But how? With the added men, they would soon be surrounded and stormed. He had another idea.
“Father, take this flare. This is the ‘day’ end. Pull the top just like the old soft drink cans and stick the end outside through the log bin door in the back. It will smoke heavily. You can let it fire, but don’t expose yourself. And try not to let it fall outside. We can use the other end later.”
Bewildered, Father Dan took the flare and crawled to the rear of the cabin. Outside, the shouts increased.
“What are they saying, Father?”
“They are moving to surround us.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’d do, too. Monique… Monique!”
The woman jerked her head at Wilson in surprise.
“Water, I need some water. Please, Monique.” Wilson smiled at her.
Monique nodded and crawled to the sink. Grabbing a glass from the counter and staying as low as possible, she set it under the tap as she turned the lever. She then scooted over to Wilson and handed it to him. Wilson downed the water in one gulp and smiled again. “Thank you.”
He then looked behind him. “Father, crack open the bin door and pop the flare!”
Father Dan pulled at the flare actuation device. As Wilson watched him, a round smacked the stool Wilson was hiding behind, and other slugs thudded against the cabin walls. The men were showing no signs of slowing their fire.
After some more fumbling, Father Dan actuated the flare. “Oh!” he cried as pink smoke billowed out from it with a loud whoosh.
“Hang onto it, Father. Just stick it through the opening!” Wilson shouted. In seconds, he could see the bright smoke wafting in front of him and floating into the woods. The men outside shouted to each other in Spanish.
Wilson kept the pistol aimed at the tree. If the men were coming to the aid of their stricken mate, he would shoot. He heard shots hitting the back of the cabin. “Father, make sure you keep your hands inside.”
“Oh, I dropped it!” Father cried. Fuck! Wilson thought. He wasn’t sure what he would have done with the night end of the flare, but he had wanted to keep it. Now it was on the ground outside and too dangerous to retrieve.
Pink smoke was everywhere, and it rose into the air above the trees. Wilson had sent a signal in a last ditch effort to draw the attention of local law enforcement. With any luck, American embassy personnel, or even Trinidad military if they were in the area, would see the smoke. Rounds continued to slam into the cabin.
Hope the good guys see this.
CHAPTER 72
Edgar Hernandez nodded to his colonel. “Do it.”
The American was reported in Trinidad and pinned down by Daniel’s muscle, but he was holding out, harbored by a missionary priest! Hernandez thanked his good luck. From San Ramón, a quick reaction force of twenty men could be flown to the position in Trinidad in less than thirty minutes. “Capture him. He is of value only if alive,” he added.
The men were far from elite forces, and they were not combat proven, but they were all he had with such short notice. He wondered if the Army could get three helicopters airborne! With the sunlight remaining, they could get in and at least secure the perimeter from nosy locals before a snatch and grab team from Caracas could get there in the morning. Maybe he would get lucky and his men would capture him tonight.