“How many planes do we have today?” Hernandez demanded.
“Almost twenty, mí general. Eleven Flankers and seven F-16s.”
“Not even two squadrons…. Can’t we get more?” Hernandez asked his wing commander.
“Mí general, my people are working around the clock. We have one Flanker and one Viper down for high-time engine changes and—”
Hernandez exploded. “Dammit! This is not time for scheduled maintenance! Must I do everything myself? Get those jets back in flight status! Without them, we may not have an AMV or a Republic tomorrow!”
“Sí, mí general!”
Hernandez calmed himself and moved on. “What intelligence do we have today on the American intentions?”
“Señor, we see the same familiar pattern they use in Arabia. Roll back the enemy defenses and soften up the battlefield. Their amphibious ships could be anywhere.”
Hernandez narrowed his eyes. “Do you really think the Americans will land a few thousand troops on our shore days, or even weeks, from now?”
“No, mí general, but they can reinforce Aruba or wait in the northern Caribbean for more forces. They used that type of reinforcement tactic both times they invaded Iraq. And they have airborne forces and air-delivered forces, commandos that can take and hold harbors and key nodes, all with tactical airpower delivered from several bases in the region and their carriers. This is a much easier supply problem for them.”
Hernandez stroked his chin. When would they come? Where? With San Ramón out of action and Río Salta mined, the Americans had seemed to lose interest in the eastern part of his country. He believed they would come to Caracas today and tonight, and this aircraft carrier movement seemed to confirm it.
“Mí general, the Americans also have one of their warships near Grenada, and our shore agents observed a helicopter fly out to it and land.”
“Don’t all the American ships operate helicopters?”
“Sí, mí general, but we believe this aircraft had SEALs aboard. They could be using it to rescue downed aircraft as a precaution.”
“Where do you think they will attack?”
“I think the capitol tonight, mí general, and I think they will come for the long-range anti-ship and anti-aircraft missile batteries in the hills south of us. They like to attack at night and have the weapons and training to do it, but they need daylight hours, too, in order to maximize their effectiveness.”
“Today? Within hours? Here?”
“Sí, mí general.”
Hernandez studied the screen again. If the Americans came into his engagement zones, he could get lucky. A concentrated effort of fighters could yield another downed American — maybe two. Overwhelm them and make them bleed. Their own press would make it seem worse. Hit them from every direction, high and low. Maximum effort today.
“How is your missile supply?” he growled at the group commander.
“We can last a few more weeks, mí general. Lots of heat seekers.”
“Very well. Load up every station, and top off all the jets with fuel. I want all loaded weapons expended today and tonight. Send up everything you’ve got and defend the Bolivarian Republic! Fly the damn pilots until they collapse. I want them to bring the jets back empty. Everything you’ve got!”
“Sí, mí general!”
CHAPTER 66
Wilson awoke to bright sunlight streaming in from the window above him. He lay there a few moments, confused, before he realized where he was. The cabin… I’m in the cabin. Father Dan sat reading in his chair, and, when Wilson moved again, the priest turned to him.
“Well, Jimmy, you were sawin’ logs all night, ya were. Sweet dreams?”
Wilson winced as he propped himself up. “I was out. What time is it?”
“Oh, it’s already half past eight. I’ve said the Rosary and done my daily prayers. Monique should be ‘long now any minute with breakfast. Are ya hungry?”
“I have to contact the embassy.”
“Yes, she’ll bring a phone with her, one of those modern handheld gadgets. I don’t have one. All I’ve got is a wristwatch, so I’m not late for mass.”
“Do you have a chapel?”
“Yes, down the driveway, a short walk from the main road. A football pitch or two away. Oh, sorry, that’s soccer to you Americans”
“Father, it’s important the Americans get me back. You’ll be rewarded.”
The priest smiled. “I am, Jimmy, already. I am blessed to be able to help you and any other wayward travelers.”
Wilson sat up. “I need to go to the outhouse, Father.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll help.”
Father Dan gave Wilson a pair of slippers and helped him stand. He then held him steady as they moved, one step at a time, to the outhouse.
The priest waited outside for Wilson and looked up at the sky, thankful for a clear blue day. “Thank you for this day, Lord,” he whispered. “Please grant me the grace to serve others and to make disciples.”
When Wilson opened the door, Father Dan reached out to help him. “Sorry we don’t have an indoor loo, Jimmy, but we’re off the beaten path here. I’m sure, when you get to Port of Spain, they’ll have nice facilities.”
“I’m fine, Father, and I appreciate your kindness.” Wilson answered him as he grimaced with each step, which was more of a hop.
“How’s the leg? Looks like the swelling has gone down.”
“Does look better. Still hurts though.”
“I’ll brew some tea. We can chat for a while before Monique gets here.”
Father Dan deposited Wilson in his chair and set about brewing the tea. Wilson craved coffee but was grateful for anything. What day is it? he thought. Was this his fourth morning or only his third?
“So, Jimmy, why are you at war with Venezuela?” Father Dan asked as he filled the kettle with water, not making eye contact.
Still not sure he could trust the priest, Wilson took time to formulate his answer.
“I’m an American fighting man, and I follow orders.”
“Indeed, you risk your life for your country and your president. Commendable. But you are a man of forty you say, married. As Kipling said, you ain’t no bloomin’ fool, now, are ya? Yet, you go wherever your President tells you and blindly kill?”
“No. Our orders come from National Command Authority. They are lawful, and we carry them out with the minimum force required against military targets.”
“Minimum force? Why not use maximum force and get it over with? When I was a schoolboy in Cork, I got in a scrap with Evan, and I must say I didn’t hold back! Funny thing is, we became fast friends. He died last year of the cancer.”
Wilson listened but said nothing.
“I mean, the United States could just blow Venezuela to kingdom come. Just like you did Hiroshima years ago.”
“Destroying Hiroshima ended the war quickly and saved lives. The Japanese knew they could not continue.”
“Yes, so what’s the difference here? War is war, right? It looks to me like you are in the midst of a war. Why not end it—and become fast friends? If anyone is still alive.”