Berringer, a morose man who spoke in a near monotone, replaced Carey at the podium. "The enemy you face is called the Falangist Army. It is made up of units called banderas that are similar to battalions in our armed forces. These banderas are further divided into three to six destacamentos or companies. Each destacamento consists of four secciones each with four equipos. Naturally these are all conventional in that they have infantry, heavy weapons support, artillery and all the normal organization of military units."
Brannigan got to his feet. "Hold on! You're talking about battalions here that could have as many as a thousand men each. Take a look around you, Commander. If you count us, you'll see that we number twenty-one. How the hell are we supposed to take on a field army or army corps?"
"As of this time," Berringer explained," the Falangists are only the cadre of such a unit; that is to say no more than the nucleus or core. The commanders and staff are all that make up these banderas. Without the rank and file the average of these units will be equal to your detachment's strength. You'll find lieutenants and sergeants acting as riflemen in squads led by captains and majors."
"That's good news," Brannigan acknowledged. "But how many banderas are we going up against?"
"We don't know," Berringer replied.
"This is getting more and more interesting with each passing moment," Brannigan growled as he sat back down.
"Sorry I can't give you more information," Berringer said. "But quite frankly there just isn't that much known about this revolutionary army. However, as a side note of interest, in most cases you can tell the nationalities of the hostile force by their last names. Argentines seem to have more Italian names, the Chileans are predominantly German, and Bolivians Spanish."
Milly Mills raised his hand. "Is there any cultural clashes or prejudices between 'em?"
"Well," Berringer said, "the Argentines and Chileans think of themselves as Europeans. They have a tendency to look down on the Bolivians as country bumpkins, since many of them are of Indian ancestry like the Mayas and Aztecs." He stuck his notes back in a manila folder. "At this point, I'm going to let Alfredo continue with the intelligence briefing. He has actually been in your impending OA and knows it well." Berringer began passing out packets of maps and satellite photos of the area.
Alfredo had no notes with him. The man, a CIA operative, got to his feet and ambled over to the podium with his hands in his pockets. "Good morning, gentlemen," he said. Rather than speak in a foreign accent as expected, he had the intonation of southern Florida. "First of all, let me give you the lowdown on the Gran Chaco, since it is not a particularly well-known area. It is widespread, covering northern Argentina, northwestern Paraguay and southeastern Bolivia. You, of course, will not be expected to operate across the entire spread of the place. Your OA is in an area called Desolado."
Dave Leibowitz, one of the platoon scouts, asked, "What's the layout of the terrain?"
"To the west and south is a swamp called Los Perdidos," Alfredo replied. "It's pretty desolate and forbidding. You aren't going to be able to travel through there on foot. Boats are the only means of transportation. To the east and north are the Lozano Grasslands, which is a prairie of sorts. That's where several colonies of settlers are located. This is cattle country, and those people are struggling to establish themselves. You can be sure the Falangists have made friends with them, so you must approach the civilians with caution. In fact, I suggest you avoid them as much as possible until it is to your advantage that they know of your presence in the area."
"You haven't said anything about trees," Mike Assad, Leibowitz's partner in scouting, said.
"There aren't any on the grasslands or in the swamp,"
Alfredo said. "However, to the southeastis the beginning of the Selva Verde Mountains that stretch into Paraguay. That is jungle country in the truest sense of the word. It's almost as forbidding as the Los Perdidos swamp. And I might add it's a good place to hide out if it becomes necessary."
"I was told we'd have one foot in the water," Brannigan said. "What about waterways?"
"All right," Alfredo said. "The biggest river is the Rio Ancho, which flows west to east through the Lozano Grasslands. The smaller Rio Torcido comes down from the Selva Verde Mountains and goes into Los Perdidos Swamp. I might mention there are numerous creeks and tributaries going out of and feeding the two rivers. You can see that in the satellite photos. Unfortunately, not all these are mapped."
Jim Cruiser looked up from the photographs he was studying. "Will boats be provided for us down there, or must we bring our own?"
"I've made arrangements with some people I trust in the Argentine Marine Corps la Infanteria de Marina--and you'll be given three rigid raider boats. These are British Royal Navy surplus but are in good shape. They're propelled by one hundred and forty horsepower Johnson outboard motors, and can hit some thirty-five knots. These craft are a little more than five meters long and two meters wide."
"That sounds all fine and dandy," Brannigan said grumpily. "But they're noisy as hell, aren't they?"
"That they are," Alfredo replied. "And I've taken that into consideration. There will also be three civilian piragua wooden boats that are propelled by basic poling. As long as you're quiet when you're using them, there'll be no problems when noise discipline is a must. These are three meters long and will also prove more than adequate in the unhappy event you're forced into the swamp."
"What kind of weather can we expect?" Senior Chief Dawkins asked.
"At this time of year, which by the way is early summer in the Southern Hemisphere, temperatures range from one hundred degrees down to sixty-eight, so it's not all that bad," Alfredo said. "But at times it can become hot and humid. And there is also rainfall to consider. You can expect fifty inches to twenty-five inches. So take your ponchos."
"One foot in the water!" Bruno Puglisi exclaimed. "We're gonna be in up to our asses!"
James Bradley, the hospital corpsman, raised his hand. "What about medevac?"
"You will be able to call in medical evacuation," Alfredo answered. "Helicopters from the Petroleo Colmo Oil Company will respond. Their call signs are Petrol Uno and Petrol Dos."
"What the hell is this oil company all about?" James asked.
"Don't worry," Alfred said. "They can be trusted. You will also have access to an emergency relay station in Colombia that can send your transmissions farther on if that becomes necessary. Information on this is in the very highly classified SOI that you will keep sealed unless you find yourselves up to your necks in shit." He looked around the room. "Any more questions? Fine. Thanks, guys. And good luck."
Commander Carey retook the floor. "That's it, gentlemen. It's sketchy, I'll admit, and you can see that reconnaissance will be your first priority when you get into the OA. We'll be back in about forty-eight hours for the brief-back."
The three-man briefing team made a quick, unceremonious exit. Brannigan went to the front of the room. "Okay. First things first. Organization. With the new men making us slightly larger, the platoon will be divided as follows. A command element for overall control, communications, reconnaissance and medical; and two assault sections that will consist of two fire teams each. A SAW gunner will stick with the section commanders during ops. Chief has a roster for each of you. Senior Chief Dawkins will make the brief back assignments."
The senior chief stood up. "Now hear this! The Skipper and Mr. Cruiser will take care of basic tactics, camp locations and other administrative details. Bradley will cover the medical and sanitation aspects of the operation. Concord takes weapons and fire support, while Gomez is in charge of commo. Me and Chief Gunnarson will handle the individual clothing and equipment." He paused and scowled. "Well? What the hell are you waiting for? Get to work!"