.
VILLAGE OF CARIDAD
1330 HOURS LOCAL
THE entire population of the small community watched the bright red Petroleo Colmo Gazelle helicopter come in for a landing. James Bradley, holding onto his medical kit, had now endured the everlasting gratitude of everybody in the village. He had never gotten so many friendly embraces in his life. He didn't mind the women so much, but the crushing bear hugs of the men were beginning to tell after he'd endured several dozen.
Little Joselito was in his mother's arms, completely bewildered by all the hullabaloo. He didn't realize he had even been sick, much less at death's door; all he knew was that he felt a lot better now than he had for the past few days. He also was unaware that the man everyone was giving so much attention to had saved his life.
When the chopper touched down, Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan stepped out. He walked up and took Milly Mills's salute, then was introduced to the Reverend Walter Borden. The minister gripped Brannigan's hand, shaking it with great feeling.
"You and your men are truly a blessing bestowed on us by the Good Lord above!" he cried. "You have brought us food and clothing and medicine, but above all, you brought us that most precious commodity: hope! The good doctor James saved a life, and all these grateful people look upon it as a sign that we will do more than simply survive. We shall grow and prosper in this community we have built for ourselves."
"I'm glad we could lend a hand," Brannigan said, having been apprised of James's good deed over the AN/PRC126.
"We were in very bad shape," Borden admitted. "And we are all city folks, so none of us are expert in living off the land. Now, thanks to the seed you sent us, our gardens shall blossom properly and provide even more food for us."
"I'm real happy things are starting to pick up for you," Brannigan said, feeling awkward in the barrage of gratitude.
"We are more than happy to help you in your struggle," Borden said. "I abhor war, but you are such good men, I know your cause must be worthy and blessed by God."
"We appreciate your offer of help," Brannigan said. He turned to Milly. "Take your fire team off and do some patrolling. All around this village. Get back here within an hour, and we'll take you back to your assault section." He grabbed James's arm, pulling him toward the chopper. "Let's get the hell out of here."
The villagers cheered as the two climbed into the chopper, glad to escape all the disconcerting love being showered on them.
.
FIREFIGHT
1400 HOURS LOCAL
THE Falangist patrol had been waiting, silent and sweating, for four hours with no movement to their front. Punzarron, as patient in battle as he used to be when setting up an armed robbery in his native Portugal, had kept his men quiet. Now, although there had been no sign or sound of movement to the front, he was convinced the attackers were gone.
"We are going to advance," he called out to his five surviving men. "The skulking bastards have crawled away on their bellies like the cobardes--the cowards--that they are."
At his command, the patrol pulled themselves out of the creek and stood up on the bank. Bursts of fire swept across them, and two men tumbled to the grass. Cursing and snarling, the Falangists leaped back into the cover of the narrow waterway. Of the pair of casualties, one lay still in death while the other moaned softly with a belly wound.
* * *
"NOW hear this," Senior Chief Buford Dawkins whispered over the LASH. "Start easing back, but stay alert. I don't expect them to chance exposing themselves again, but they're prob'ly really pissed off at us."
Dawkins would have liked to stay and bring the fight to a more satisfying conclusion, but there was a strong possibility that the Falangists might have called for reinforcements. That was a luxury the Americans did not have.
The SEALs surreptitiously, quietly, slowly and stealthily hauled ass.
Chapter 9
SEAL CACHE MAYBELLE OA, SOUTHERN SECTION
15 DECEMBER
0915 HOURS LOCAL
CHIEF Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson, leader of the First Assault Section, walked through a pouring rain around the recently constructed cache that had been named after Connie Concord's wife. The earthen evacuation, now covered by carefully dug-up sod, was practically invisible, even to someone standing directly on top of it.
The assault section, recently reorganized since Lieutenant (J. G.) Jim Cruiser had been wounded nine days earlier, had already adapted to the new one-man command structure. Matt was an experienced leader, quickly able to turn things around to his own methods of leadership.
Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz considered their assignment to the group as a sort of vacation after days of acting as the detachment's point men and scouts. They were well acquainted with the other old sweats in the section, having served with them in the platoon's first mission in Afghanistan. On the other hand, Petty Officer Second Class Lamar Taylor and Petty Officer Third Class Paulo Cinzento were fresh assignees the original members were just beginning to know.
Lamar was a twenty-one-year-old African-American from Cincinnati, Ohio. This married man with two kids was at the beginning of his second four-year hitch after shipping over. His entrance into the SEALs had been through the inspiration of a high school teacher who had served in the outfit in Vietnam. Lamar still exchanged letters with the social studies instructor who had wielded such a positive influence in his life.
Paulo was from San Diego and had lived around the local naval facilities all his life. His family were tuna fishermen of Portuguese ancestry who had worked the seiners out of Southern California for three generations. The collapse of that industry kept the twenty-two-year-old from going to sea like the older men in his family, so he enlisted in the Navy to "ride the waves." However, the indoctrination in boot camp about SEALs attracted him to that challenging branch of the armed forces. His girlfriend Rosa was a court reporter in San Diego.
Matt was pleased with the condition of the hidden cache and now turned his attention to the men of the section. They all stood in the rain, their ponchos glistening with wetness, as they waited for the chief to get the day's real business rolling.
"All right," Matt said, "we're ready to go. We'll leave the raider boat and piragua hidden in the reeds there along the river. The Skipper wants us to recon this part of the OA. The mission is to gather what intelligence we can on local conditions. If we sight targets of opportunities, we're not to attack without an okay from the Command Element. Does everyone understand that? If we spot any bad guys, I'll get on the horn and describe the situation to Lieutenant Brannigan. He'll choose our course of action. Fight or flight. Got it? All right, Bravo Fire Team take the point."
The small column formed up and moved out onto the savannah that was getting a heavy soaking in the precipitation.
.
OA, SOUTHWEST SECTION
1000 HOURS LOCAL
THE rainstorm had passed through the area, and now the sun blazed down, boiling invisible clouds of humidity out of the soaked ground. Delta Fire Team along with Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins and SAW gunner Joe Miskoski watched as the Petroleo Colmo helicopter came in for a windy landing that sent a rolling ripple across the grasslands. As soon as it touched down, Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan stepped out from the troop compartment and trotted over to his SEALs.
"Good morning, sir," Dawkins said, rendering a salute. "Anything special going on?"
"Same old shit mostly," Brannigan said. "But you're going to take a chopper ride over to the east to many up with Charlie Fire Team. I want your entire section to be together."
"Right, sir. What're we gonna be doing?"
"The first thing is to set up a cache with the ammo and rations on board," Brannigan said. "You can name it after one of the guys' wives or sweethearts. The Command Element has Lisa, and Chief Gunnarson said they named theirs Maybelle after Petty Officer Concord's wife."