They were divided into two rifle teams and a machine gun crew, and all were veteran noncommissioned officers from the Chilean, Bolivian and Argentine armies. They were in full field gear, carrying rifles while the automatic weapons crew was further burdened with an Amali light machine gun. The second-in-command of the patrol was a scowling Portuguese who had served in the Spanish Foreign Legion for a decade. Suboficial Adolfo Punzarr name Spanishized from the original Punzarrao of his native country--was in excellent physical condition. This large, muscular man with a shaven head had an enormous mustache that curled out from beneath a nose battered flat in innumerous brawls. Punzarron had fled into the Legion to avoid a murder charge in Portugal.
The suboficial, with the staying power of a bull unable to sense pain, scowled openly at the others in the patrol. He had nothing but contempt for the headquarters types. At least half of them were not truly devoted to the Falange. They had fled into the sanctuary of the revolution because of pending disciplinary actions, serious indebtedness, shrewish wives, or other personal problems. Those were the ones who found it so hard to readapt to field soldiering.
Here on the patrol, any slowing down or even a misstep earned the faltering man a heavy slap across the back of the head from the Portuguese's large hand. It didn't matter if he was a sargento or sargento-mayor, Punzarron treated the weakling like one of the pathetic wretches sent to his regiment from recruiting stations to be brutalized into effectiveness for the ranks of the Foreign Legion.
Capitan Platas didn't like the man, but Comandante Toledo, who had served with the suboficial, gave implicit orders that none of the lieutenants or captains were to interfere with his methods. No one denied that Punzarron was a brute, but he got instant results using his fists and boots.
The forty-year-old sargento carrying the thirteen-kilo machine gun was having a particularly tough time of it. The crew had been passing it among themselves to share the load, but Punzarron quickly put a stop to that. Custom dictated that the gunner was responsible for the weapon, and by God, that meant he and he alone carried it! The sargento-gunner had been supervising an ordnance repair shop before leaving the Argentine armed forces, and it had beeny ears since he had served in a line combat outfit. He finally stumbled and collapsed to the thick grass, near exhaustion as the weapon fell to the ground.
Platas turned at the commotion and saw Punzarron pull the man to his feet, slapping his face hard. After the punch-up, the out-of-shape Argentine was forced to hold the weapon over his head and double-time around the column. Stark fear of the Portuguese ex-legionnaire gave him the strength to perform the punishment. Platas, who was from a crack Bolivian parachute battalion, appreciated the results of the punishment, but he disliked seeing a senior noncommissioned officer treated like a raw recruit.
After three circuits of the patrol, the gunner was allowed to stagger back into ranks to continue the trek.
.
THE VILLAGE OF NOVIDA
1330 HOURS LOCAL
CAPITAN Platas and his patrol entered the village to find Joao Cabecinho waiting to greet them. Some of the vaqueiros out with the communal cattle herd had spotted the Falangists and sent a boy riding in to tell the headman about the visitors moving across the savannah toward the community.
Suboficial Punzarron went up with Platas to speak to Cabecinho while the men in the patrol sank to the ground to rest. Several women, noting the men's discomfort, brought them some rum to refresh themselves. As the exhausted men shared the liquor, Cabecinho enthusiastically shook hands with the senior patrol members, speaking through Punzarron's translation since Platas spoke no Portuguese.
"We are surprised to see you so soon," Cabecinho said. "Your other friends were here only a couple of days before."
Platas was puzzled. "What other friends?"
"They were soldiers like you," Cabecinho explained, "but their uniforms were different. I also noticed they had rifles that were not exactly like the ones you carry were sujeitos agraveles--nice guys. One of them spoke Portuguese in a strange way. Not like us and not like Suboficial Punzarrao. I thought it a little strange that none of them spoke Spanish."
"What did the men look like?" Platas asked. He was alarmed by the lack of Spanish speakers in the group and wanted to know more. "What were their -nationalities? What race?"
"One of them looked like an Indio from American western cinema," Cabecinho replied. "And one was a negm. All the others were europeus. A couple were very light-skinned:'
Punzarron looked at Platas and shrugged. "I am confused, mi capitan. The men of whom he speaks are obviously not Bolivian or even Chilean or Argentine if they did not speak Spanish?'
"I think an unexpected situation has arisen here," Platas said. "Tell Senor Cabecinho to keep a lookout for these strangers and any others that may show up. Tell him to notice how many of them there are, and to do his best to find out their nationality. Also instruct him to say nothing of us Falangistas. Impress upon him that there is a possibility of treachery in this situation."
Punzarron turned to the village headman and passed on the message in Portuguese. Cabecinho asked, "Is there some sort of problem?"
"We don't know," Punzarron replied. "Just be careful." "I shall do as requested," the village headman promised. "Com todo o gusto."
Platas ordered the suboficial to get the patrol back on their feet. "We're going straight back to headquarters," he said. "We must report this situation to Comandante Toledo immediately."
Punzarron barked the necessary orders, and the men struggled to their feet. The Portuguese noted the machine gunner would slow down the patrol, and he ordered one of the other members of the crew to take the heavy weapon from him. "You may now take turns with it." Sometimes discipline must come in second to expediency. To even things out, he would give the machine gun crew extra PT that evening.
Cabecinho waved as the Falangists left the village.
.
SEAL BASE CAMP
THE detachment worked rapidly to prepare the bivouac to be temporarily abandoned during a long patrol out into the OA. Caches were closed while a minute inspection of the camp was made. All signs of the area having been occupied had to be obliterated, even though the SEALs eventually planned to return to the site. The slightest bit of carelessness could result in passing strangers inadvertently discovering something as small as a burnt match, a piece of an MRE packet or even a slight imprint of a boot in the soft soil. These seemingly insignificant objects would be like a neon light to a clever, vigilant enemy.
When the work was done, Brannigan led them a couple of hundred meters away, then sat everyone down for an oral OPORD of the coming operation. The men instinctively maintained team and section integrity as they settled into a semicircle to listen to the skipper's discourse.
"All right, my friends," Brannigan began, "here's the word. We're going to board the three rigid raider boats with the piraguas tied to the 'stern. We'll head down the Rio Ancho to that creek. By the way, we're now referring it to as Big Creek."
"Not a particularly colorful appellation, but aptly descriptive just the same," Chad Murchison remarked.
"Thank you, Petty Officer Murchison," Brannigan said. "We're so pleased you approve."
"Sorry, sir!" Chad uttered with a red face as the other SEALs grinned.
"To continue," Brannigan went on. "When we get to Big Creek, we'll hold up there. All boats will be camouflaged and hidden, then the First Assault Section plus the Odd Couple will head cross-country to that village of Novida. The Second Assault Section will follow at a discreet distance with the Command Element right behind them. As soon as the First Section reaches the objective, they will halt and inform me. Meanwhile, our intrepid scouts will re-con the area to see if any bad guys are in the vicinity:'