The South American side of the great scheme came into being from a Chilean military attache in that nation's embassy in Madrid. Teniente-Colonel Jeronimo Busch was not only fanatic about becoming a follower but had contacts in the right-wing elements of his own army and also those of Argentina and Bolivia. Disaffected officers in all three countries were looking for a way to rid their homelands of what they considered effete, leftist governments.
Thus, like the proverbial snowball rolling down the mountain, the Falangist movement picked up speed, steadily gaining momentum and strength.
.
HEADQUARTERS, BANDERA 1
0930 HOURS
THE forty men of the bandera were drawn up in four ranks facing the landing strip that ran along the north side of the garrison. Comandante Javier Toledo stood to the direct front, while directly behind him, Capitanes Silber, Argento and Platas were spaced evenly across the formation. Not all the sweat that was soaking the creases out of the uniforms was because of the humidity left behind by the recent rains. All were nervous at this auspicious arrival by the generalisimo in his move into the theater of war.
The distant sound of a jet aircraft was discerned a few moments before a dot appeared in the western sky. It gradually grew larger until 'the Piaggio could be clearly seen. The jet banked gracefully and came in for a landing. As soon as the wheels touched down, the four officers marched smartly over to where it would come to a halt. At that point the subalterns and warrant officers took charge of the formations.
When the aircraft braked to a halt, the engines were immediately cut. The door opened, and a crewman stepped out, lowering the steps that slid out from the fuselage. The first man to exit was the generalisimo, followed by Busch and Perez.
Toledo stepped forward and saluted sharply. "Mi generalisimo! Comandante Toledo of Bandera 1 reporting for inspection and review."
Castillo returned the salute and looked around, obviously disappointed. "You know, Toledo," he said with a frown, "we really must get a proper band out here for these occasions?'
.
VILLAGE OF NOVIDA
1100 HOURS LOCAL
THE First Assault Section, with Alpha Fire Team in the lead, walked across the field toward the village. The Odd Couple had already discovered the community and after an hour's observation, had determined it was safe to approach.
The first people to notice them was a small group of women drawing water from the well. They smiled and waved as the SEALS drew closer. Garth Redhawk was on the point, and he grinned and nodded to them, surprised and pleased by their amiable display. A couple of older men appeared on the scene, and they, too, were friendly. As the section walked into the village square, even more people, including some children, came out of their hut chores to join the small group. The women were barefoot, wearing blouses and skirts, while the men wore shirts, trousers and broad-brimmed hats. Several wore boots and carried short whips. It was at that time the SEALs noticed communal stables with horses.
A short, stocky man who seemed to be in his fifties stepped forward and spoke loudly, issuing sincerely happy salutations. Lieutenant Cruiser couldn't understand what he said, so he called for Chad Murchison to come forward. Chad had been a language major before enlisting in the Navy, and spoke French, German, Spanish and Italian fluently. He hurried to the front and offered his hand to the man.
"Buenos dial, senor," Chad said. "Como esta usted?"
The villager smiled and shook his head to indicate he couldn't understand. "Bom dia," the man said. "Muito prazer em conheca-lo."
Chad looked back at Cruiser. "Sir, he's not speaking Spanish. I'm not sure, but I think it's Portuguese:'
"Portuguese?" Cruiser said. "Why the hell would he be speaking in Portuguese? This is Bolivia. They speak Spanish here."
"Maybe he and these people came over here from Brazil," Chad suggested. "They speak Portuguese there."
"Shit!" Cruiser said. He turned to the section. "Do any of you guys speak Portuguese?"
Paulo Cinzento, one of the new men, stepped forward. "I speak Portuguese, sir."
"Oh, yeah?" Cruiser said, pleased. "How the hell did you learn to speak Portuguese?"
"I'm from San Diego, sir," Paulo replied. "My people came from Portugal and worked the tuna boats out of there for about three generations. I grew up with the language."
"Great," Cruiser said. "Go talk to the old guy there. Introduce us but don't mention that we're Americans. Just tell him we're patrolling this area and want to know how these nice folks are getting along."
"Aye, aye, sir!"
Paulo went over to the old man and began speaking. Within a moment they were going at it like they were long-lost brothers. A full ten minutes of conversation went by before the SEAL returned to the section commander. "There's a puzzling situation here, sir."
"What's going on?" Cruiser asked.
"Well, he thanked us for some rice and beans and said they came in handy," Paulo explained. "He asked about some guy by the name of Punzarrao, and I told him he was fine. He also said to give greetings to the other soldiers. Then he said no Bolivian troops have been around since the last time some weeks ago."
"Other soldiers and Bolivians, huh?" Cruiser mused. "Who is the old guy?"
"He's the chefe--the chief--and his name is Joao Cabecinho," Paulo said. "It seems they're illegal squatters from Brazil, and they're raising cattle here. Old Joao said everyone was afraid of getting run out, but evidently the same guys who gave them the food also promised they would protect them from Bolivian police and soldiers."
"Okay," Cruiser said. "I get it. These are some of the people Alfredo was talking about. The Falangists have already gained a strong influence over them. Go tell the old guy that we have to go now. Tell him we hope to be back soon."
Paulo made the good-byes, and all the villagers waved as the SEALs formed up and headed back toward the creek where the boats were hidden. Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson hurried forward along the column to walk with Lieutenant Cruiser. The chief was pessimistic. "What do you think, sir?"
"I think it's pretty obvious the Falangists have won the hearts and minds of those villagers," Cruiser said. "That means they've probably done the same thing to other civilians in the OA."
"That's bad news, sir," Gunnarson commented. "That means we'll be fighting on two fronts. We'll have to watch our backs."
"I'm afraid you're right," Cruiser said bitterly.
The column continued across the grasslands back toward the creek as it began to rain again.
Chapter 4
THE LOZANO GRASSLANDS
2 DECEMBER
0930 HOURS LOCAL
CAPITAN Tomas Platas led his nine-man column across the savannah, moving at a steady pace as they followed their assigned patrol route. He was concerned about the physical conditioning of the men, and glanced back, noting that several walked along with heads bent, obviously struggling as they went through the grim, ancient military practice of putting one foot ahead of the other. These sweating Falangists had abandoned staff positions to join the revolution, and none had the stamina of younger soldiers. Many had not served in line outfits for years.