Chaubere knocked the microphone from Alfredo's hand. The ex-Special Forces sergeant major reached over and pulled Muller's pistol from the holster with the flap still unfastened. But before he could fire, Busch swung up his submachine gun and squeezed off a long burst.
Alfredo toppled to the floor, althost cut in half.
Busch looked from the mangled corpse over to his men. "Which of you brought the plastic explosives?"
"It is I, mi coronel," one answered as he snapped to attention.
"Take care of those damn red helicopters out there," Busch said. "I don't want to see another one of those in the sky over the Gran Chaco."
"Si, mi coronel!"
The Falangist pulled the white blocks of C4 from his haversack as he walked from the building to destroy the Petroleo Colmo aircraft.
.
SEAL BASE CAMP COMMO HOOTCH
0545 HOURS LOCAL
FRANK Gomez looked up at Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan, who stood beside him. "That was Alfredo, sir."
"Shit!" Brannigan exclaimed. "What the hell could have happened?"
"He said he was compromised, sir."
"Godamn it, Gomez!" Brannigan snapped. "I know what he said. I'm wondering what went wrong."
"Yes, sir."
"This is a lost fucking cause," Brannigan said. "Our local support is completely wiped out. Get the SOI to see what we do in a case like this."
"Aye, sir." Frank reached over to a niche hacked in the dirt wall. The SOI, sealed in plastic with an AN-M14 incendiary thermite grenade standing on it, sat in the small excavation. He pulled it out, ripped off the covering, then handed it to the Skipper. Brannigan went through it, finding the information he was looking for. He showed it to Frank.
Frank tuned to the correct frequency, then began transmitting. "Matrix, this is Brigand. Over."
"This is Matrix," came an immediate reply. "Authentication kilo-papa-zulu-echo-tango. I say again. Authentication kilo-papa-zulu-echo-tango."
"This is Brigand," Frank replied. "Wait." He turned to the proper section of the SOI, reading through columns and rows of five-letter groups. "This is Brigand. Authentication follows. Uniform-whiskey-victor-zulu-mike." Then he added the day and month. "Zero-six-zero-one. Over."
"This is Matrix. Authentication verified. Over."
Frank handed the microphone to Brannigan. The Skipper spoke directly and plainly as he passed on the word of the disaster at the oil company's field office. "Petrol is compromised. Over."
A short pause followed before a reply was transmitted. "This is Matrix. You will move to map coordinates six zero--five one--two four--two two--three five--zero niner. I say again. Six zero--five one--two four--two two--three five zero finer. Out."
Frank had copied down the coordinates. He ripped the page out of the pad and handed it to Brannigan. "There you are, sir."
"Yeah," Brannigan said, taking the piece of paper. "That's it. End of transmission. Period."
"They don't want to talk to us no more, sir," Frank said. "That's SOP."
"Yeah," Brannigan grumbled. He reached into his side trouser pocket and pulled out his map. He opened it up and read the grid lines right and up. "Well, hell! We've got a good ways to go:'
"Where're we headed, sir? Frank asked.
"The Selva Verde Mountains," Brannigan replied. "That range is completely covered by jungle. The Rio Ancho will take us there, which means we can go by boat. But the contour lines on this fucking map are so close together a gnat couldn't piss between 'em. That means a steep, difficult climb up to our objective."
"Jesus," Frank said. He had already missed Thanksgiving and Christmas with his family. Now it looked like it would still be a long time before he got. home--if he made it. "What the hell are we do up there?"
"Our best to fucking survive."
.
FUERTO FRANCO
HEADQUARTERS BUNKER
1430 HOURS LOCAL
GENERALISIMO Castillo called a conference with his senior field commander and intelligence officer. Coronel Jeronimo Busch and Comandante Diego Tippelskirch sat in the bunker with Suboficial Ignacio Perez off to one side at his little desk to take notes of the meeting.
Busch was in a good mood. "The bandidos are now without CIA assistance via the Petroleo Colmo Company. And we are the only ones with air support."
Castillo had a concern. "But what if another CIA cover unit moves into the area? Surely they would bring aircraft with them, no?
"That would create no difficulties for us, mi generalisimo," Busch said. "If we see other aircraft in the Gran Chaco, we will shoot them down. Do not forget that the EC-635 has a twenty-millimeter cannon in the nose."
"You're right," Castillo said, relieved. "Well, in the meantime, I have been studying the map and putting myself in the place of the chief of the bandidos. As far as I can determine, he has but two choices. He can either give up the fight and withdraw from the Gran Chaco or carry out his campaign with a new source of support."
"I am not worried," Comandante Tippelskirch said. "Our intelligence net grows stronger at almost a daily rate. Nothing can be moved into the Gran Chaco without our operatives discovering it before it's done. We will be forewarned at every turn of the card in this game."
"Bueno," Castillo said, "what if the bandidos decide to carry out the fight with the resources they have?"
"I believe I've already come up with a plan to take care of that eventuality," Coronel Busch said. "We could send out hunter-killer teams to engage them in battle. Since the only helicopters in the campaign are ours, speed will be in our arsenal. We are the ones who can now move quickly from spot to spot to deal with trouble."
"And that is exactly what we shall do," Castillo said.
"Mi generalisimo," Busch said. "I would like to have Punzarron, Chaubere and Muller permanently assigned to me from this point on. I want those three men close by wherever I go."
"The four would be invincible," Tippelskirch said with a smile.
"Indeed!" Castillo said. "And I think you and Coronel Busch should get together to design some operational combat plans we can put into immediate effect."
Busch nodded. "I think the first thing we must do is switch over our basic tactical structure to become an immediate reaction force."
Castillo smiled his approval at the paratrooper. "Coronel Busch, when this great struggle of ours is won, you will be a mariscal! No, wait! You will be a reichmariscal!"
Ignacio, scribbling in his notebook, had recorded the minutes of the meeting almost word-for-word.
.
WASHINGTON D. C.
THE PENTAGON
SPECIAL OPERATIONS LIAIS0N STAFF
7 JANUARY
Military Police guard at the entrance to the section, Carl Joplin, PhD, stepped through a door into a dingy portion of the big five-sided building. No buffer, mop or even a broom had touched the dusty floor for what looked like months or years. The only thing more isolated from the outside world would be a deep, abandoned coal mine.
Joplin had been in the place many times before. He went directly to the unmarked entrance of a nondescript office. He stepped inside to see the desks of Specialist Mary Kincaid, U. S. Army; and Senior Airman Lucille Zinkowski located in an outer office. Sometimes these stern and efficient young ladies were disturbed by Joplin's surprise appearances, but that morning they had been expecting him.
"Good morning, Dr. Joplin," Kincaid said.
"Colonel Turnbull is waiting to see you," Zinkowski said. "You can go right in:'
Joplin walked into a conference room and crossed it to the office of Colonel John Turnbull, who served as the chief of staff of Special Operations liaison. The undersecretary rapped on the door and stepped inside.
"Hello, Carr Turnbull said. "Grab a seat. This won't take long."