They quickly crossed the short distance to the entrance of the squat building to their direct front. When the two officers entered, they found Brannigan's Brigands just beginning to stir to greet the new duty day. A few were in the head going through their morning toilette while others were sluggishly dressing. They still hadn't gotten the word on why they had been so unceremoniously pulled out of the Fouled Anchor the night before.
The appearance of their two officers snapped them out of the early morning doldrums. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins walked in from the head. He immediately bellowe to attention. Now the men moved smartly, snapping into the traditional position.
"Good morning, sir!" Dawkins said with a salute as he reported.
"Good morning, Senior Chief," Brannigan said. "Gather the guys around. I've got a couple of items to pass on to them."
"Aye, aye, sir!"
It took Dawkins one more bellow to have the entire platoon assembled within five seconds. Brannigan gave the SEALs permission to make themselves comfortable, and they sat down on racks and footlockers, waiting to learn what the hell was going on.
"The first thing I want to say is that I'm sorry about everybody's plans for the holidays fizzling out. But I'm afraid it couldn't be helped."
Frank Gomez, sitting on a footlocker beside his buddy James Bradley, grinned. "You've probably saved the lives of about two dozen turkeys, sir. The humane society should give you an award."
"It wasn't my idea, believe me," Brannigan said. "Lieutenant Cruiser and I received a preliminary briefing last night. None of it was etched in stone, so we won't get the final word until the N2 and N3 show up with an asset. But right now I have good news, and I have bad news."
Joe Miskoski stood with a towel around his waist, his face still covered with shaving soap. "Give us the good news first, sir."
"Sure," Brannigan said. "The good news is that this mission will be carried out with one foot in the water. In other words, it's an old-fashioned SEAL operation with boats. There're evidently some rivers and creeks involved."
"Excellent!" Connie Concord said. He suddenly sobered. "What's the bad news, sir?"
"It appears we're going to be in the OA for quite a spell," Brannigan said. "Possibly for much longer than the last operation." On their last mission, the platoon had deployed on what was supposed to have been a quick linkup with a defector in Afghanistan, but the situation quickly deteriorated to the point that they were on the mission a bit over five weeks. Two of the Brigands had been killed in action during the ensuing combat. "And one more very important item. Because of the nature of this upcoming little happening, I'm adding seven more guys to the roster. Two are to replace Kevin Albee and Adam Clifford, of course. The other five are going to flesh out the assault sections."
"Assault sections?" Gutsy Olson asked. "What's that all about, sir?"
"It will all be explained later," Brannigan replied. He checked his watch. "All right! Go ahead and finish getting dressed. The briefing is scheduled to start at oh-seven-thirty hours." He nodded to Dawkins. "Take over, Senior Chief."
"Let's go, people!" Dawkins yelled. "We're gonna have company!"
The SEALs turned back to dressing. Thanksgiving and Christmas were completely forgotten with this latest news of going back into harm's way. Most wondered where on the globe they would be headed to put their asses on the line this time.
.
0730 HOURS LOCAL
THE Brigands were already occupying the seat/desks in the briefing area when the visitors arrived. There were more than just the usual three-man briefing team; seven SEALs, complete with their personal field gear, also came through the front door. These were the replacements and reinforcements Brannigan had mentioned earlier. Chief Matt Gunnarson directed them to the rear of the briefing area where chairs had been arranged for them. All were known by Brannigan's Brigands from other activities within the SEAL teams at the base. Reacquaintances were accomplished with nods and waves.
Commander Thomas Carey, the N3, took the floor, positioning himself behind a battered podium that had held many an OPLAN in the past. "Good morning," he said. "I see that Brannigan's Brigands are ready to go." He gestured to his two companions. "You know Commander Berringer, of course:'
Lieutenant Commander Ernest Berringer, the N2, stood up and nodded to the assembled SEALs.
"And this other gentleman with us is our asset," Carey continued. "He'll be known as Alfredo for the time being." A husky, balding Latino sitting next to Berringer made no reaction to being introduced. Cary took a few seconds to arrange his notes on the podium. "Well! Shall we begin the briefing? The first item is the situation. A right-wing organization of rebel military officers of the Chilean, Argentine and Bolivian armed forces has occupied an area of southeastern Bolivia known as the Gran Chaco."
The Brigands began taking notes as Carey explained about the Spanish generalisimo Jose Maria de Castillo y Plato and his Falangist political movement. A question and answer period followed the situation briefing, lasting until all the Brigands were thoroughly familiar with the latest information on their potential enemy.
"I do want to emphasize one very important characteristic of these Falangists," Carey said. "These are not haughty Nazis as you would see in old World War II movies. The leader Castillo is a tried and proven officer in the Spanish Foreign Legion. This is an organization noted for brutal discipline. Castillo is also a modern right-wing fascist who has learned one very important lesson from the Communists. He quickly establishes rapport with the common people in the areas he wishes to control."
Chad Murchison, in civilian life a wealthy preppy with intellectual leanings, folded his arms across his chest as he thoughtfully scratched his chin. "Is it possible for us to neutralize this relationship he has established with the indigenous people? I am suggesting that this could e managed if we are provided with the means and commodities to launch our own program of goodwill, i. E., food, clothing, medical support and even outright donatives."
Puglisi looked over at Chad. "Just what the fuck are do-natives?"
"Gifts," Chad answered.
Brannigan interrupted, saying, "I've already got that potential under consideration, Murchison. We'll have to play it by ear until we discover the extent of these Falangists' activities in that area."
"This Castillo fellow," Carey continued, "is in fact striving to establish a nation within the Gran Chaco. This country is to be called the Dictadura Fascista de Falangia. That translates as the Fascist Dictatorship of Falangia. It's evident that he's making no pretense of forming a democratic government. And, by the way, the nation is referred to by its Spanish acronym DFF."
Joe Miskoski was skeptical. "This all sounds like a bad movie."
Brannigan again interjected, "It's all real, and you had better take it seriously."
"Now the mission," Carey said. "You are to enter the OA and locate the Falangists, engage them in battle, and defeat them. By 'defeat' I do not mean driving them from the Gran Chaco. That will not do--I say again--that will not do! They must be killed or captured to break the back of this revolution. If you fail, the result will be one of the bloodiest uprisings in the history of South America. And that's saying a lot:'
Brannigan looked up from his notes. "Since the three armies of the affected nations cannot be trusted, who will be our backups?"
"All your support will come through American military and intelligence channels," Carey answered. "And the situation in Iraq puts you on low priority. However, actual deliveries will be made through CIA arrangements. But I'm edging over into Commander Berringer's bailiwick. So I'll turn the intelligence portion of the briefing over to him."