Guerilla Warfare (2006) s-2 Page 16
"For those who aren't executed," one man added bitterly.
WHEN Capitan Roberto Argento arranged to have the twenty-four convicts released into the custody of the Falangists, he was unaware that instead of a random selection being made from the overall prison population, all two dozen were members of a well-organized prison gang called the Cofradia. The name translated into English as "guild," a group of like persons or even a religious brotherhood. In a way, the Cofredia was all these things rolled into one.
They were one of a dozen gangs in the penitentiary. The great majority of convicts joined these organizations. A man alone would perish amid the convicts who were part of society's worst outcasts. None had anything to lose, and life was cheap. But when a prisoner was accepted into a gang, he had moral support, friends and a feeling of worth. Most of all, he had protection. In exchange for this he was expected to give his gang blind support even to the point of sacrificing his own life for the good of the others. If he found himself in such a situation, he might as well go ahead and take it all the way. If he failed or refused a suicide mission, his former pals would turn on him, and he would end up dead anyway. His mutilated body would be found in a remote corner of the penal facility by the guard staff.
The Cofradia gang had been extremely lucky when it came to their leaders. Throughout the twenty years of their existence three of their members had emerged from the ranks to take over and direct their activities. Through diligence, cunning and ruthlessness, they had gained control over drug trafficking, gambling and even a brothel in which prostitutes from the outside were brought in once or twice a month. It was true these unfortunate women were the lowest of the low in their professions, but for men without women they were virtual goddesses, examples of the utmost in feminine beauty, and sex with them was heavenly when compared with having to use another man to relieve one's passions.
All the initial investments made by the Cofradia in blood and money had paid off handsomely. In fact, the businesses were so successful that legal currency was used in all transactions rather than bartering of goods such as cigarettes and candy as is normally done in jails. The latest of these leaders, Gordo Pullini, had carried on the good work with customary success, and the gang had eventually amassed a million pesos--$330,000 American--that were waiting to be used when the right investment opportunities came along.
The Cofradia had excellent relationships with several high-ranking guards through blackmail, favors and a generous split of the take on the drugs, gaming and sex. When the word came down from the guard commander's office that a transfer to a labor camp was available, Pullini jumped at the chance to get his boys outside the walls. This was an opportunity to realize a very special dream. If they could get free, their treasury could be used for an escape to Colombia, where they could buy themselves into the lucrative business of smuggling drugs into the United States and Europe. When Pullini told the gang his plans and that they would live in luxurious mansions with beautiful women all under the protection of the drug cartels, they enthusiastically okayed the idea.
Pullini arranged to sell their business interests to a rival gang called the Culebras--the Snakes--for another million pesos. This brought their total treasury up to $660,000 American. After bribing the guard commander a measly $10,000 not to search their persons and belongings when they left the prison, the gang waited patiently for the trucks to show up to take them out to their great adventure.
NOW the Cofradia were in their camp within Fuerte Franco. Their money was still hidden away among their possessions. The Falangists were not properly trained or experienced in maintaining custody of convicts. Their search activities were pathetically inadequate when pitted against men who had lived for long years filled with subterfuge and secrecy in the bowels of confinement.
A sharp whistle from a lookout alerted the gang that someone was approaching the wire. The meeting quickly broke up as the convicts turned their attention back to normal camp life. Suboficial Adolfo Punzarron, recently back from his trip to Santiago, Chile, was at the gate with Coronel Jeronimo Busch.
"Oigan!" Punzarron yelled. "Listen up! All of you come over to the gate. Coronel Busch has something to say to you."
The prisoners dutifully walked from their rows of tents up to the camp entrance. Gordo Pullini pushed his way to the front. Busch looked them over, then spoke in a loud voice.
"Fellow fighters for Fascist freedom! We have learned that norteamericanos have committed a horrible crime at a nearby village. These were the notorious Green Berets who are well-known for their cruelty. They machine gunned every man, woman and child who lived in the little community of cattle herders. You will go with us to avenge these murders and kill the Americans. You will be given weapons and allowed the honor of participating in this act of sacred vengeance to be done in the name of Falangismo."
"Vivan los Falangistas!" Pullini cried. "Muerte a los Green Berets!"
The other convicts echoed the cry. "Long live the Falangists! Death to the Green Berets!"
Busch smiled. "You are showing the right spirit. We have not erred in bringing you into our cause. Do not worry, companeros, your time to fight is nigh."
"Soon you will have those weapons the coronel mentioned," Punzarron said. "You will be able to fight like men. Do you have any questions?" He looked at the convicts, who gazed back with blank expressions on their faces. "Very well. You are dismissed."
Pullini led his men back into the interior of the tent community as Busch and Punzarron watched. Bush frowned in puzzlement. "Have you noticed something, Suboficial? There are times when those convicts seem to be a well-organized group. It would seem they even have some form of discipline:'
Punzarron shrugged and shook his head. 'They are criminals, mi coronel. There are strong men among them who are the natural bosses. They have no leaders, only bullies:'
"Of course," Busch agreed. "They are nothing but common thugs. I doubt if they really have the intellectual capacity to seriously coordinate their efforts into any meaningful organized activity."
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WASHINGTON, D. C.
WHITE HOUSE PRESS CONFERENCE
3 JANUARY
1000 HOURS LOCAL
WHITE House Chief of Staff Arlene Entienne stood in front of Press Secretary Owen Peckham at the entrance to the short hallway that led down to the pressroom. She reached up and straightened his tie, smiling encouragement at him. "Are you ready to jump into the fray?"
"No," Peckham answered candidly. "I can think of ten thousand places I'd rather be today."
"Any special plans on dealing with the onslaught?" she asked.
"I'm going to come out swinging," Peckham said. "And from that point on, I'll duck and punch, punch and duck, until the bell rings."
"That's the way," Entienne said. "Go get 'em! I'll be here waiting when you've finished. Just keep in mind that you've been fully briefed. Information is ammunition."
Peckham went through the door into the hall and strode the few yards down to another door. He stepped through it and walked to the podium. "Good morning," he called out in what he hoped was a confident, solemn tone. He did not want to appear as if he were looking for friends among the journalists who sat in the seats to his front. "The first thing I wish to do before I take questions from you is to state that the news of the crime in Bolivia that is on all the prime-time telecasts and front pages of the nation's metropolitan newspapers is an insult to the honor and integrity of United States Army Special Forces. No American servicemen were involved in the outrage. The President of the United States categorically and emphatically denies that any armed forces of the U. S. A. had anything--directly or indirectly--to do with the crime." He paused and exhibited a stern look. "All right. Questions."
A young woman stood up. "Bennington of the Boston World Journal. Are there any American troops deployed in combat situations in South America at this time?"
"Yes," Peckham said. "But allow me to qualify that affirmative response. There is no secret that we
have several units supporting specific Latin American drug operations with the cooperation and coordination of local police and military. Many times these activities result in gun battles."
"Fremont of National Syndicated News Briefs," another reporter said. "Did the massacre mentioned in the news really happen?"
"Unfortunately, it did indeed occur," Peckham said. "The Bolivian government confirms the reports of the unfortunate incident and further acknowledges that the photographs of the victims are genuine."
Another man was called on. "Mackenzie of the Ontario People's Advocate. An eyewitness has been interviewed in the South American press. He said his wife and children were killed by the Green Berets. What is the United States government's reply to the man's charges?"
"No one from the U. S. government has had an opportunity to converse with the gentleman," Peckham said. "In fact, he has evidently disappeared from view. His veracity has not been properly challenged."
"Thompson of the San Francisco Activist Informer," a young woman said. "All the angry people in South America cannot be wrong. When the particular Green Berets who committed this atrocity are finally discovered, will the president make an apology to the world?"
"No American Special Forces troops were involved in those killings," Peckham said grimly. "We have issued that statement before, and at this point the United States government's denial of any participation or connection is final. That's it."
Dirk Wallenger of Global News Broadcasting stood up without bothering to identify himself, since both he and Peckham were old adversaries. "Was the CIA involved?"
"No," Peckham said, controlling his anger. "Did you not understand my opening statement nor the one I just this minute made?"
"I interviewed that only survivor of the murders when I was in Santiago, Chile, about a week ago," Wallenger said. "He was very convincing. The gentleman said that the killers wore U. S. Army uniforms and green berets. He also stated that they spoke English. How do you respond to those words from one of the victims?"
"A lot of people in the world speak English, Dirk," Peckham replied. "And anybody with the money can purchase a military-style green beret. Many wannabes order them out of catalogs along with camouflage uniforms and other military paraphernalia for weekends of reenactments or playing at war. I might add that the Royal Marines of Great Britain wear green berets. I believe they speak a bit of English, though I seriously doubt if the prime minister has dispatched any of them to South America to randomly travel around massacring entire villages of people. And the French Foreign Legion wears green berets too. And I'm sure there are many English-speaking legionnaires in their ranks. And one of their regiments is stationed in French Guiana in South America. But again, I have grave doubts they have been roaming the continent looking for little towns to wipe off the map."
"In that case will the president be dispatching any of the nation's armed forces to track down and capture the culprits?" Wallenger asked.
"There are no such plans now," Peckham said, "nor has Bolivia requested assistance in such an operation. And our present situation in the Middle East precludes responding to such an appeal."
Wallenger was stubborn. "But doesn't the president think this is important enough to make an effort to prove the accusations by this survivor false or at least mistaken?"
"The President of the United States is not going to dignify those ridiculous charges by addressing them in any official manner or form." He glanced around the room. "As I stated when I walked in here, no Americans were responsible for the incident."
"Anti-American demonstrations swept across South America," Wallenger said. "Our embassies have been stoned, the flag defiled, and effigies wearing green berets burned in the streets of the continent's major cities. Surely this is serious enough to--"
"Thank you for coming, ladies and gentleman, this is the end of the press conference," Peckham said.
He left the podium and exited the room, hurrying down the hall to where Arlene Entienne had been listening over the intercom to the session. "You did fine, Owen. To the point. Polite but firm. And you responded fully to each question."
"You know something, Arlene," Peckham said. "I just thought of an oxymoron: journalistic standards."
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FUERTE FRANCO
5 JANUARY
1000 HOURS LOCAL
ALL the field fortifications and bunkers were completed. The convicts piled the final sandbags around the mortar position in the center of the garrison near the headquarters complex. They stood back as the crews of the three Spanish Model L 60-millimeter mortars brought them in and set the weapons up.
The laborers had an easy time of it as they went around making final minor fixes and alterations. These were mostly done at the behest of various junior and warrant officers as they inspected the places where their units would be fighting. By midmorning the Argentine prisoners had nothing much to do but tend to the odd jobs that popped up. Consequently, they were dismissed from duty early and given permission to withdraw to their camp for a meal and a siesta.
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1400 HOURS LOCAL
A surprise formation was called for the convicts, and they were rousted from their naps to form up. They obeyed the summons with the same dogged acceptance they demonstrated for surprise searches and rousting about from prison guards.
Suboficial Punzarron, Sargento-Mayor Chaubere and Sargento Muller had arrived with a box of used Spanish Army green fatigue uniforms complete with service caps. The type of military sandals worn in Morocco were included in the issue. The convicts were immediately ordered to strip off the blue prison overalls they usually wore and change into the replacement garments.
The uniforms actually raised the morale of the hard cases among the gang. This was a sign of even more change to come. Perhaps life would indeed become better for them. They horsed around and joked as the uniforms were pulled on. It took some time for everyone to sort through the clothing to find the proper fits. Even Punzarron showed good humor as he walked around, correcting the way they had put on the service caps. Most had the headgear tipped back on their heads and a half dozen were actually wearing them sideways. When they learned to keep them straight and tipped down toward their noses, they liked the swaggering look it gave them.
A half hour later when all were dressed properly, they formed up in their usual formation. Punzarron stood to their front. "Ahora--now," he said, "you are about to become men. Real men! We are going to turn you into soldiers. Before today we simply lined you up and ushered you from place to place for your work. It is time you learned what is called drill. We will take it a lesson at a time, and before you know it, you will look dignified and impressive as you march like soldiers when you go about the garrison." He turned to Muller. "Sargento! Al frente y centro! Marche!"
Muller marched up beside Punzarron and came to a halt, stamping his feet to the ground.
"Observe how the sargento is standing," Punzarron said. "He is at the position of attention. His chin is raised, shoulders back and squared, and his hands are straight and aligned with the seams of his trousers. His heels are together with his toes turned out at a forty-five-degree angle."
The convicts took careful note of how Muller stood. "Now! Observe this!" Punzarron said. He looked at Muller. "At ease!"
The sargento smartly snapped his hands around behind his back, simultaneously grasping them together. At the same time, he moved his left foot to the left with another stamping of boots on the ground.
"Notice how marcial--soldierly--he is when he moves," Punzarron said. Once more he turned to the demonstrator. "Pongase en posicion de firmes!"
Muller whipped into the position of attention.
"Pongase en posicion de descanso!"
Muller assumed the position of at ease.
From that point on, the three Falangists ran the convicts through the drill. It didn't take them long to catch on, and they moved from "attention" to "at ease" with military smartness. The only one having trouble was Gor
do Pullini's main man Navajaso Coletti. He had always been a slow learner, and several times he reacted too late to the commands. Punzarron's good humor faded when Coletti had gotten a step behind and was standing at ease when he should have been standing at attention. The suboficial charged into the ranks and hit the convict as hard as he could. Coletti went to the ground but came up fighting.
"Calmate!" Pullini shouted at him. "Take it easy!"
Coletti pulled back his fists but glared at Punzarron. Then he brought himself to the right position. He took an additional hard slap across the face from the suboficial without reacting to it.
From that point on, the instructors put the students through the rudiments of marching. They went from "forward march" to "halt." Then "to the rear march" was introduced, and they began moving forward and back, keeping in step as Punzarron bellowed out the cadence, "Uno, dos, tres, quatro!"
Things began going better until they moved into the column and flanking movements. From that point on, all mistakes were dealt with punches and kicks from the trio of Falangist drill masters. But eventually, bruised and angry, the convicts responded quickly and correctly to the commands as the period of training continued.
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1800 HOURS
GENERAUSIMO Jose Maria de Castillo y Plato stood with Coronel Jeronimo Busch at the entrance to the convicts' camp. They watched as the prisoners marched back in a column of twos, eyes to the front, shoulders back, and in step with the cadence. Punzarron marched his charges inside, put them through a couple of "left flank,"
"right flank," "to the rear" and column movements, then halted them, facing them toward him. He dismissed them, and the tired men walked wearily to their tents to prepare their evening meal.
Punzarron reported to the two officers while Chaubere and Muller headed for the noncommissioned officers' mess bunker. Castillo was pleased. "I congratulate you, suboficial, you have shaped that scum into something resembling soldiers."