"All right, John," Joplin said, sitting down. "Fire away."
"The SEAL detachment you are dealing with is cut off and without support," Turnbull said, speaking rapidly. "The CIA facility that was backing them up is more than just compromised. It is wiped out."
Joplin leaped to his feet. "You've got to get those guys out of there!"
"I'm afraid they're going to have to stay and fight the good fight until the situation can be brought back under control," the colonel said. "Or maybe, to be more realistic, if the situation can be brought under control."
"What the hell are they supposed to do?"
"They will be moving east to the Selva Verde Mountains, wheregood cover and concealment is available," Turnbull said. "They only have access to equipment and ammunition in their base camp. They would never be able to get out to their auxiliary caches under the present circumstances."
"Then how the hell are they supposed to get over to those mountains?" Joplin asked.
"They'll be able to use a river down there for a straight shot to the place," Turnbull said. "At least that's what I'm told. I'm really not familiar with their OA. Hell! I don't even know what they're doing down there."
"We've got to pull them out," Joplin insisted.
"All I know is that orders are already issued telling them to go to the mountains," Turnbull said. "I was told to inform you. I've done that."
"Orders. Orders," Joplin mumbled.
"Those operational instructions are explicit and will be obeyed," Turnbull said.
"All right," Joplin said. "I suppose I should inform the secretary of state."
Turnbull shrugged. "What the hell can he do?"
Joplin turned and walked from the office, still mumbling to himself.
.
VILLAGE OF CARIDAD THE GRAN CHACO
1530 HOURS LOCAL
A half-dozen people worked slowly down the rows of plants in the garden. Their hoes made clumping sounds in the soil as offending weeds were chopped out and cast aside. They were in a good mood. The crops were doing well and would soon augment the food brought in by the norteamericanos. During the various other activities in the community, some minor injuries, such as cuts and burns, had occurred as would be expected. The antiseptics and bandages in the medical kit given them by their American friends served well in those instances.
Truly, God had blessed this undertaking.
The sound of the helicopter engine in the distance caught their attention. Everyone stopped working and looked toward the southeast. Almost immediately a dot appeared just over the horizon, steadily growing larger as an aircraft approached. The gardeners looked at each other and smiled; their friends from the north were coming back for another visit. One of the men laughed and called out, "Tal vez nos traen cerveza frig maybethey bring us cold beer!"
The reverend Walter Borden, working on an inventory in the food hut, stopped his task and walked outside. He looked up in time to see the helicopter make a wide circle of the village before coming in to land.
"Nuestros amigos han regresado--our friends have returned!"
Other joined him as he rushed over to greet the visitors. But as soon as four men jumped from the aircraft and strode rapidly toward the crowd, the happy mood plummeted to fearful uncertainty. These were not their friends; more than likely they were the soldiers they had been warned about.
Coronel Jeronimo Busch, followed by Punzarron, Chaubere and Muller, hurried to the village. The three lower-ranking men followed Busch as he walked toward Borden, who stood to the front of the crowd. The Chilean paratrooper immediately knew this was the headman. He held out his hand as he approached. "Buenas tardes, senor," the colonel said. He introduced himself, then turned and indicated his subordinates, giving their ranks and names. "We are soldiers of the Ejercito Falangista and have come to inquire as to how you are."
"We are well, gracias, coronel," Borden said. "I can get our papers for you, if you wish. We are here legally with the official permission of the Bolivian government?'
"I am certain of that," Busch said, smiling. "The reason I inquire as to your well-being is that a tragedy has occurred some seventy-five kilometers south of here. The entire population of a village similar to this one was massacred."
"The Good Lord have mercy!" Borden cried. "Who committed the crime?"
"Americans," Busch said. "Green Berets, to be exact. Have you ever heard of that organization?"
"Yes, sir:' Borden said. "I am an American missionary. We have established a religious community here to live in peace and observe God's laws."
"Most commendable, senor clerigo," Busch said. "Have you seen military men in this vicinity?"
"No, sir," Borden said, remembering the warning given him by the SEALs. "You are the first."
"I must warn you that if any appear, you should consider them hostile and dangerous. Take your people and flee!"
"I shall heed your advice, senor el coronel."
"I am going to have my men search your village," Busch announced. "We promise not to make a mess of things."
"I am distressed to hear that:' Borden said. "I would rather you did not do this. We are not engaged in any underhanded activities."
"I am sorry," Busch said. "It is a necessity we are forced to observe. After all, we do not really know you, do we?"
"I understand," Borden said. "I assure you we are no more than peaceful farmers."
By then a half-dozen more men had come out of the helicopter. They stood by the aircraft in a formation of two ranks. Busch yelled over to them, "Registran el pueblo. Pronto!"
The detachment, broken down into two teams, rushed forward and began an efficient inspection of the huts. They spent forty minutes prowling the village under the joint command of Punzarron, Chaubere and Muller, while Busch stayed with Reverend Borden.
When the task was finished, Punzarron reported to Busch with a food carton. "We found a but with boxes of food in it. Here is one for your inspection, mi coronel."
Busch took the container, noting the different languages printed on it. He raised his eyes and gazed suspiciously at Borden. "Where did you get this?"
"They are part of a delivery sent us through my mission," Borden explained. "It is the Christian Outreach Ministry." "And where is this organization based?"
"In America," Borden replied. "Dallas, Texas, to be exact:'
Busch was no longer smiling. "Many organizations from America are fronts for their Central Intelligence Agency."
"I swear to you, sir!" Borden said. "My mission group is not CIA:'
"I want to believe you, of course," Busch said. "We are leaving now, but we will be back. Think of us as your friends. We can bring you things you need. Perhaps our food will be superior to what your mission sends you."
"We are not in need, senor el coronel," Borden said.
"How fortunate for you," Busch remarked coldly. "Remember! We are the Falangists. The day is nigh when we will not only control the Gran Chaco but all of South America. Do not play coy or false with us. There would be dire consequences for you and your people."
"Yes, senor el coronel," Borden acknowledged respectfully.
Busch shouted terse orders, and the Falangists made a hurried but orderly walk toward the helicopter. Borden watched as the aircraft lifted off to fly low over the grasslands.
"May the Good Lord save us from such friends!" he prayed aloud and fervently.
.
SEAL BASE CAMP
Ancho. Brannigan would have liked to employ the rigid raider boats for the task by using their motors when noise wasn't a problem and poling them when silence was essential. But attempts to move the ungainly craft using the quieter method proved impossible. Even towing them behind the piraguas was impractical. It was obvious the craft were designed to be propelled rapidly through the water, not tediously pulled across it. On the other hand, there was no way to attach the motors to the sterns of the piraguas. A trial attempt almost sank one as its bow rose steeply out of the water under the weight.