Starfish Prime (Blackfox Chronicles Book 2) (17 page)

Riverine and Marine Infantry Post

Poyare, Colombia  

Back at the height of the guerilla war, Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez gave sanctuary and sought diplomatic recognition for FARC, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia—a te
rrorist organization with a good publicity department. FARC, a leftist organization, offered protection for profit to the multibillion dollar cocaine industry. They provided security for drug labs and allowed free passage for their shipments. 

The
druggistas were an innovative lot, and they began using couriers aboard airline flights to ship their product. When that could not keep up with demand, they used private planes and boats. When the Coast Guards and Navies of affected nations increased anti-drug patrols to a point that seriously limited shipments, the criminals turned to the manufacture of drug submarines to clandestinely infiltrate hostile waters and deliver their illegal cargo. 

In recent years, the manufacture of fast submersible and semi-submersible boats had become a cottage industry in several rural areas along the borders. Many of the boats were of high quality construction―usually made of fiberglass, as it generated less of a radar or sonar signature than ferrous metal and the boats were lighter and hence, easier to propel. The crafts had ranges of up to three thousand miles, which allowed the stealthy delivery of thousands of kilos of cocaine to numerous ports along the eastern seaboard and the gulf coast of the United States. 

Villegas’ company had recently captured such a boat before it could be pressed into service and was preparing it for transit to the main Pacific naval base at Malaga Bay. The cigar-shaped vessel was sixty feet long and painted a tranquil light blue color in the hope that it would better blend with the surrounding sea. 

Villegas’ naval mechanic, Sergeant First Class Gustavo Menendez, a true artist with any maritime engine, had put the boat through its paces on the river. He found it capable of travel at ten knots when submerged a few feet below the surface with a
range of over a thousand miles. Most important for the cocaine smugglers were that it’s cargo hold could carry ten tons of cocaine, worth an estimated two hundred million dollars.

Ramos again borrowed the colonel’s sat phone. This time he called his old friend Villegas to ask for a favor. 

“Hombre, we used to do that shit, but we haven’t since a National Guard unit engaged our patrol boats last year. Two of my boats got shot up and I spent three weeks tied up in an investigation. I could have been relieved,” said Villegas with a tone of exasperation.

“How can you ask me such a thing?” 

Villegas desperately wanted to leave command on his terms. He was so close and yet Marco Ramos―the seemingly bulletproof, consummate insider—would drag him into one of his crazy schemes, just when he was so close to safely moving on to other things. 

The Venezuelans had a main naval base at Puerto Ayacucho, where at least one fast patrol boat and numerous small twenty two foot riverine patrol crafts were stationed. Villegas figured that while it might be possible to make a high-speed run with a couple of his patrol boats and reach the wounded Marines, it would be impossible to imagine that the Venezuelans would a
llow them to return without engaging them in a firefight. Still, what is life without risk—or friends, for that matter? 

Sergeant
Menendez, dressed in his customary attire of grease spotted overalls, knocked on Villegas’ opened office door and waited to be summoned inside.  Villegas looked up, “Yes?”

“Sir, you haven’t signed my leave paperwork, and I’m scheduled to sail within the hour,” replied the Sergeant. 

Gustavo Menendez and another Marine were scheduled to sail the captured submarine down the river to the port of San Jose del Guariare, were it would be lifted out of the water and placed on a flatbed for road transport to the Pacific coast. Menendez’s home was in San Jose del Guariare and he intended on spending a much deserved weeks’ vacation with his wife and children, after which, he would hop a bus for the long journey back to his base. 

Captain Villegas muted the call and spoke. “I’ll be off this call in a moment. Meet me down at the dock and we’ll talk about

your leave.”               

Valle Verde

They had done a hasty burial of their Team Chief and the two Marines who had been at the head of the column. Michael silen
tly vowed to personally return and recover them in less exigent circumstances. The bodies of the South Africans were left to rot in the open. They could feed the vultures as far as he was concerned. The Marines had done a quick search of the bodies, gathered some additional weapons, including the claymores, and beat feet down the trail as best they could while carrying the wounded. 

It was close to sunrise and the false dawn had already made the use of NVGs unnecessary. Staying on the trail to the river was not a safe option, so Michael did a quick map recon to d
etermine whether there would be a safe hiding site until they could medevac the wounded. 

Michael approached the informant with his topographical map. 

“What’s this?” He said, pointing to a spot on the map that indicated a clearing and several small black squares adjacent to the Ventuari River. 

Bobby hesitated. Thomas aggressively slapped the small man across the side of his head “Answer the man!” 

Bobby cried out in pain and blurted out, “It’s an abandoned camp the gringos called an ecolodge. It was built by two American women years ago and lasted until the government was preparing to build the launch site. They had the National Guard chase them out.” 

The site was marked on the map as ‘Valle Verde,’ and sat five klicks down a side trail in a river valley formed by the mou
ntain they had just descended. It was isolated, but more importantly, sat on the edge of the river― permitting potential evacuation by boat. 

Reigns was
able to walk― a testament to both his superb physical condition and his need to put some window dressing over his role in a botched raid. Two of the other Marines had to be carried, and it took all the uninjured to expeditiously move the injured towards the river, lest they encounter an enemy quick reaction force. The amputee was the most seriously wounded and had to be moved first. Bobby unmarred, aside from an ego bruised by a bitch-slap promptly delivered by Thomas, was pressed into service as his stretcher bearer. 

Doc Murphy had brought a collapsible stretcher with him. The stretcher systems weighed only seven pounds, could acco
mmodate the largest Marine, and could be folded to be carried on the back. The shortage of stretchers was hastily remedied by the construction of two field expedient ones made from local materials. 

It took about three hours to complete the move. Twenty minutes after they finished, the team heard the high-pitched r
epetitive whine of multiple two-stroke engines approach and then fade into the distance. No doubt their enemy had grown curious about the status of their ambush team. Michael doubted they would be pleased with what they found. 

The lodge site consisted of the skeletal remains of eight stru
ctures. All bore obvious signs of looting and vandalism, but a few still had intact roofs and could be pressed into use as temporary shelters. Doc Murphy scouted all the buildings and selected a circular structure for his sickbay. He beckoned the stretcher-bearers inside with a wave of his hand. The building had thick wooden beams holding up a thatched roof and no walls, which would aid ventilation. Based on the existence of several communal tables and the ruins of a kitchen, it had probably been the complex’s dining hall. Murphy guided the stretcher holding the amputee to one of the remaining mess tables and checked the combat tourniquet he applied earlier. 

Gunny Grimes called the team together and immediately b
egan preparing a hasty defense of the site. He assigned Dixon to cover the trail with his medium machine gun as it was the most likely enemy avenue of approach. He placed the other Marines in a close semi-circular perimeter with their backs towards the river. He then released the sniper team to do what they did best – find some high ground to provide over watch. 

Michael badly wanted to question the informant as the amp
utee had been dosed with morphine and was unconscious. It seemed obvious that Bobby had collaborated with the enemy. The only thing they were lacking was a confession, but they would get that soon enough. 

He grabbed the small man’s arm and half-carried him to one of the buildings that housed about a dozen rusty twin bed frames upon which sat rotting mattresses. Thomas followed along, cur
ious to see what this crazy bastard would do next. 

Michael entered, threw a rotten mattress on the floor with his free hand and said, “Lie down!”

The informant looked at Michael with panic in his eyes. “Por favor,” he pleaded. 

“Last chance!” said Michael and the man repeated the plea. Michael grabbed Bobby by the shoulders and roughly pushed him onto the bedframe. 

“Hold him down,” he ordered Thomas. 

While Thomas begrudgingly held the man
to the bedframe, Michael zip tied his ankles and wrists to the metal frame and then checked them for tautness. Satisfied, he scanned the room until he found what he was looking for; two wooden crates sitting dejectedly off in one corner of the room. He grabbed them both, hoisted the foot of the bed and placed a crate under each leg―thus elevating the bottom of the bed by about two feet. 

Bobby stared at the frenzied Marine Captain with real fear in his eyes. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. Michael didn’t reply, but approached him, removed a tiger stripe camouflage bandana from around his neck, and tied it tightly around the man’s face.

“Shut up, asshole!” he replied with a mix of contempt and h
atred.

“Get me a couple buckets of water,” said Michael
to Thomas. 

“Sir, I hope this is not what it looks like,” Thomas said ca
utiously. 

“Don’t worry; I’m just going to show El
Comedulce a trick I learned from a guy I met in Iraq.” 

Thomas nodded as if humoring the man and departed, arri
ving back a short time later with two canvas buckets sloshing with river water. 

He placed the buckets in front of Michael and regarded him with a serious expression, “water boarding has been ruled to be torture,” Thomas said quietly.

“I like to call it enhanced interrogation,” replied Michael dryly.

“It’s expressly prohibited by the rules of engagement.”

“Are you with the ACLU?”

“No, sir, I am just trying to keep you from doing something you might be sorry for later.”

“Later? You actually think we’re going to live through this?” said Michael, cynically. 

“I try to stay positive,” said Thomas.

Michael nodded, approached Thomas and brought his mouth close to Marine’s ear, “Not a hair on his head will be harmed, he whispered. Just do me a favor and translate. My Yanomami sucks.” 

Sergeant Thomas nodded.

Michael began speaking in English and Thomas dutifully translated after each sentence.

“Bobby, I’m going to pour this dirty river water into your mouth and nose so that you can’t breathe. Your eyes will bulge from their sockets, as I will be drowning you from the inside, filling your head, larynx and trachea with water. You will cough, choke, and panic, however, your lungs will not fill with water. Oxygen in the blood will prolong this experience. Your suffering will be that of a man who is drowning, but cannot drown." 

Bobby’s eyes dilated in terror as he began to understand the translation. He started talking, but his voice was muffled by the bandana. Michael removed the cloth from his face. 

“Stal is holding my daughter and would have killed her had I not done as he ordered me!” declared Bobby with tears streaming down his face.

“What did he order you to do?” asked Michael cautiously. “Just to lead you to the installation,” replied Bobby. 

“Why did they take your daughter?”

“To keep me from talking. They knew I was upset by the deaths of two workers from radiation burns. They came and took her, saying she would be Colonel Stal’s maid. She is just a young girl and I hear he has brutally raped her!”

“How do I know that is true?” replied Michael.

Bobby thought for a moment and then nodded. “One laborer that was burned in the accident is still alive. He is being treated at the clinic.” 

Michael considered his situation and the informant’s story. There was no way he could send someone back to the village now. He either had to take a leap of faith that the little bastard was telling the truth or put a bullet in his head and
bury him. He was sure Thomas would tell him that violated the rules of engagement as well. 

“How the world turns,” Michael said finally. 

“Can I untie him now, sir?” asked Thomas. 

Michael nodded. “The good news is that we set a new record for breaking someone by water boarding.”  “If that’s the good news, what’s the bad?” asked Thomas. Michael looked at him with a tight expression on his face. 

“The bad news is that this mission just took on an added degree of difficulty―we now have to rescue a young girl being held by a sexually sadistic madman.” 

“Come on sir, it’s all in a day’s work,” said Thomas with a slight smile.