W. Griffin: The shooters

Shit, the last thing I need is for the gendarmes to think the gringos are laughing at them.

But it's too late now for the speech about respecting the customs of your brothers-in-arms.

Castillo started to walk toward the pickup truck.

Chief Warrant Officer Five Colin Leverette put his hand on Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo's arm, stopping him.

Leverette then screamed or shouted or bellowed, "On your feet, you candy-asses!"

This caught the attention of the Americans.

But no one moved.

Leverette then announced, at equal volume: "I will personally castrate any one of you candy-asses not standing tall by the time I get to the truck!"

Then, politely, he said to Castillo, "With your permission, sir?" and marched erectly toward the pickup truck, loudly and rapidly repeating "Up! Up! Up!" until he got there.

By then the Americans understood what was going on and had gotten to their feet.

Leverette jumped nimbly into the bed of the pickup, popped to rigid attention, and bellowed, "Assault force, atten-hut!"

The shooters and the fliers stood at rigid attention.

"Sir!" Leverette bellowed as he saluted. "Your assault force is formed!"

By then even the assault force commander understood what was going on.

Lieutenant Colonel Castillo marched across the Cathedral to the truck, jumped nimbly into the cargo area, put his hands on his hips, and examined his force as if he didn't like what he saw.

He turned to Leverette, who was still holding his salute.

"Very well," he said, quite loudly. "Carry on, Mr. Leverette."

"Yes, sir!" Leverette bellowed, then ordered the men, "At-ease!"

Leverette turned back to face Castillo. Neither the assault force nor the gendarmes could see his face. And they could not hear him as he softly said, "And to think you didn't want me to come…"

"I've never thought pep talks did much good," Castillo said loudly to the assault force and gendarmes. "So I'm not going to give one. And if there's anybody out there who doesn't know what he's supposed to do and when he's supposed to do it, he's out of luck. There's no time for that now.

"The only things I am going to say, and I'm sure Comandante Duffy agrees with me, is that the priority of this mission-above all else-is to get our people back from these hijos de puta. And to do that, we have to follow the schedule.

"This is one of those situations where one man, acting a minute too soon or a minute too late, can screw up the whole operation. Don't jump the gun! That'll get people-almost certainly the people we're going after, but members of the assault team as well-killed.

"And when your time comes to take action, don't hesitate. Hesitation will get people killed, too!

"And that's all I have."

Castillo looked down at Duffy, who stood beside the truck.

"Comandante?"

Comandante Duffy put his hands on the waist of a slight man in a gendarme uniform and hoisted him into the back of the pickup.

What the hell?

The gendarmes bowed their heads, and the slight man then invoked a lengthy, somewhat flowery blessing of the Deity upon the noble mission they were about to undertake.

It was only after everyone raised their heads that Castillo saw the clerical collar under the slight man's camouflage shirt.

Max sensed that something was going on that he was not going to be part of, but didn't protest when Castillo put him in the back of the Mercedes SUV and firmly lashed his leash to a metal loop in the floor. Delchamps would drive the truck, and Max, to the airfield at Formosa, where Torine and Miller had taken the Gulfstream.

Castillo had planned to send Lester Bradley with Torine and Max, but the piteous look in Bradley's eyes when he was told of this was even more piteous than the look in Max's eyes, and Castillo's resolve melted.

"Cover my back, Lester, and that's all," Castillo ordered.

"Aye, aye, sir."

Leverette intercepted Castillo and Bradley as they walked toward Big Bad Wolf, its rotor blades already turning. Lorimer, Mullroney, and two shooters were getting situated inside.

"Go get aboard, Lester," Leverette ordered. "I need a word with the colonel. And don't shoot anything until I tell you."

When Bradley was out of earshot, Castillo said, "Now what, Colin?"

"Would the colonel accept some friendly advice?"

"Not right now, thank you just the same, Mr. Leverette. I have a lot on my mind."

"Thank you, sir. How long has it been since the colonel has been referred to as Hotshot Charley, the Boy Wonder?"

"Meaning what?"

"May I remind the colonel that he is now a colonel? And that colonels-even light colonels, sir-are supposed to keep their minds free to make command decisions? Not drive helicopters."

Castillo stared at Leverette.

"Let the kid drive, Charley. He's good. I've been around the block with him, and the other kid, before."

Castillo glanced at the Huey, then looked back at Leverette.

"If the old man's memory serves, you've been around the block with me once or twice, too, Colin. Some people thought I was pretty good at this sort of thing."

"You were. That was then, this is now." He paused. "Let the kids drive, Charley."

"Fuck you, Colin," Castillo said, and walked quickly toward Big Bad Wolf.

The pilot, a young captain, was holding open the pilot's door.

"Where would like me to ride, sir?"

"Probably there would be a good idea," Colonel Castillo said, pointing to the pilot seat. "That's where they keep the handles and levers and all that aircraft crap."

"Yes, sir."

"Big Bad Wolf light on the skids."

"Big Bad Wolf off."

"Big Bad Wolf. Commo check."

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

"Big Bad Wolf. M-Minute in ten. Engage computer on my bong."

"Bong."

This was far from the first time Castillo had flown an assault mission using the technique known informally as "flying the needles." But it would be the first when he would not actually be flying from the pilot's seat of one-usually the lead-helicopter.

I'm not flying. The "kids" are.

Colin was right about that. I haven't flown a Huey for a long time.

I am no longer Hotshot Charley, the Boy Wonder.

This is no time for me to fuck it up by thinking I am.

Castillo knew that the destination coordinates and the desired time of arrival-in this case, six hundred seconds from his bong setting order-had been all fed into computers aboard the Hueys. The computers would make the necessary computations and convert them to signals that activated indicator pointers-the "needles"-on the compass, the radar altimeter, and the ground speed indicator.

By keeping each helicopter's compass and its altitude and ground speed indicator's pointers lined up precisely with the computer-generated data-continuously making adjustments en route-as many as ten helicopters can arrive simultaneously (within two to three seconds) on target from several directions.

In our case-Big Bad Wolf and Red Riding Hood One, Two, and Three-from three different directions.

Making this damned difficult and complicated, and requiring pilots of extraordinary skill and great experience to carry it off.

And these "kids"-these Army aviators of the 160th-are the world's best damn chopper jockeys.

At M-Minute less three seconds, Red Riding Hood One popped up from its nap of the earth altitude east of the target and rose to one hundred feet above the ground.

There were faint lights visible within the compound beneath Red Riding Hood One.

At M-Minute, what looked like an orange ribbon flashed down to the ground from the opened side door of the helicopter. It lasted about ten seconds, and then Red Riding Hood One made a steep turn and left the area.

The orange ribbon had come from a Dillon Aero M134D 7.62mm "weapon system" mounted on a pintle in the helicopter. This weapon is patterned after the Gatling gun, a multiple-barrel weapon that was developed just in time for Private Tiffany of the jewelry firm Tiffany amp; Company and of the First United States Volunteer Cavalry, to buy several from the Colt people with his own money and in 1899 take them to Cuba, where he put them to use assisting Lieutenant Colonel Theodore Roosevelt in chasing the Spaniards off San Juan Hill.