Those who wore it, p.12
Those Who Wore It, page 12
“Rivera, what do you think our …” Chat had just started to speak in a low tone when agonized screams from somewhere outside punctuated the silence. All immediately recognized the pleading voice of the major, a man now clearly in the grip of deep pain and terror.
“Damn bastards are putting him through hell, for sure.” Dooley’s words reflected each man’s thoughts.
After a few minutes of hurried discussion, it was decided Rivera would hide near the door with his knife at the ready while Chat and Dooley started a mock fight to draw the guard inside. Quinn was to post himself on the opposite side of the door from Rivera to aid in subduing the guard. That was the general idea if things went as planned.
Rivera and Quinn had just started positioning themselves when another noise from outside stopped them. All of the men heard what sounded like a bone-crushing thud followed by the sound of air escaping from a man’s lungs. Then came a scraping noise like boards being moved, only slower and more deliberate this time. As the noise stopped, the door started to swing open ever so slowly. This time, there was no lantern light, only a single, shadowy silhouette framed by what little starlight was present in the night sky behind the human figure.
A whisper floated across the dark room as a voice said in English, “Friends, I can help you. I am a friend.” The dark figure took a step inside. “Come closer to the door, my friends.”
Rivera held back in his position against the wall nearest the door, his knife poised. The voice repeated the words, this time in Spanish.
Chat, remaining hidden, responded for the group, but in English in order to test the unknown person’s level of understanding, since all of the guerillas had spoken only Spanish. “Who are you?”
The voice answered in reasonable English. “I am Rafael Gonzalez, the rightful owner of this coffee finca. I have been in hiding since these filthy criminals came onto my land three days ago. I saw them return this afternoon with prisoners.” Rafael waited for the captive men to respond.
Dooley put his hand out to feel for Chat’s shoulder. Then he moved close to the pilot’s ear and whispered, “He sounds legit. I suspect this is our best shot. I say we go with it.”
Rivera stepped in one swift move from his concealed position and caught the finca owner around the neck with his left arm. He pulled him in tight with a powerful sweep of his arm and just as quickly laid the knife along the side of the man’s head. Rivera spoke to the man in Spanish to make sure he understood. “If this is a trick, Señor Gonzalez, you will be first to die.”
The old finca owner did not struggle as he gasped in English, “If I were with these rebel dogs, why would I disable the guard and come in here so silently? You can trust me, amigos, but we must move quickly before these robber bandits return for another one from your group.”
Deciding the man was probably telling the truth, Rivera relaxed his grip slightly and half dragged him to the doorway. Looking out the open door, the Green Beret could make out a dark shape lying just outside the entrance. He weighed his options and then loosened his grip. Whispering back to the others, he said, “Yep, guys, I’m thinking Señor Gonzalez may be telling the truth.”
Gonzalez asked in clear English, “You are Americans, yes?”
“Yes, we are. Do you know these men holding us?” Chat answered.
“Of course. They are FAR guerillas, but I do not know personally any of these dogs.”
Rivera broke in. “Okay, then, let’s make a quick plan B. First, we see about our Guatemalan Army friend and then, with the help of Señor Gonzalez, we unass this AO [area of operations] muy pronto.”
Gonzalez said, “If you are speaking of the man of your group that was being tortured then I am sorry to report to you that it appears the man you are speaking about is already dead. I was able to catch sight of him a short time ago. That is why I say that we must hurry to leave now.”
Chat replied, “Well, that simplifies things quite a bit. Señor, will you be so kind as to lead us out of here?”
The group silently filed out the open door behind their liberator. The men were careful to step over the limp body of the guerilla as they exited the doorway. The pale starlight revealed a dark liquid pool below the guerilla’s head, indicating the blow from the finca owner had come with deadly force. As the men gathered just outside the door, Señor Gonzalez whispered, “He made the fatal mistake to sleep. A pity for him since now he sleeps in hell.”
“Best we drag him inside the storeroom and secure the door for appearances if anyone comes back this way soon.” Rivera moved to grab the dead guerilla’s legs as Dooley stepped forward to lift the man’s upper torso.
As Rivera secured the retaining board across the door, Gonzalez cautioned the rest of the men to follow close behind him, remaining as silent as possible. He then led the tight group away from the rebel campfires that were clearly visible several meters in the distance.
Señor Gonzalez, as Rivera suspected, was extremely familiar with the lay of the land along the mountainside known as Finca Santuario. His family had lived in this region for almost fifty years. Thus far during the ongoing civil war, he had been lucky to avoid confrontation with the roving bands of rebel fighters that had caused so much havoc in other parts of the country, but now the menace had come to his doorstep and without protection from the Federal Army, he was powerless to oppose them.
Gonzalez guided the little group stealthily through the denser foliage and then through a nearby complex of rough board buildings used for drying and processing coffee beans. Stopping just short of a narrow dirt road that led up to an old plantation-style home. Gonzalez scanned the road in both directions. When all appeared to be clear, he motioned the men across.
The little band circumvented the house via a secluded route that kept them well clear of the structure. Gonzalez signaled to the men to pause as they entered a large area of coffee bushes directly behind the big house, still several meters back from the rear patio. He motioned for the group to move closer to where he was kneeling.
As the men looked back toward the house, lantern lights from inside cast a soft glow through the windows and onto the patio, where they could see four men. The men were seated at a large patio table and appeared to be drinking and eating while conversing in low tones.
Rivera edged closer to Gonzalez. “This was your house, Señor?”
“Sí. It was a happy place for my family, but I took the precaution some months ago to move them to my cousin’s home in the city. He has professional security.” The anger was evident in his voice.
Rivera placed a hand on Gonzalez’s shoulder, acknowledging the man’s sorrow and frustration. “I am sorry, Señor. How far are we from a village where we might get some help?”
“Some kilometers from here, but not to worry as I know friends there who can assist you.”
Rivera nodded and then signaled to the group. “We best keep moving as it may not be long before the bad guys return to the storeroom looking for more victims to torture.”
The ubiquitous coffee plants provided good cover for the men as they continued to move cautiously past several small rustic huts that appeared to the Americans like housing for locals who worked the finca. The mountain air was cool, even cold, at this altitude, but Chat was sweating profusely and wheezing slightly as he struggled to maintain even their slowed pace. A stabbing pain was starting to move up his spine. The helicopter crash had obviously caused deeper injuries and his body was beginning to protest the strain. He paused to catch his breath and allow the pain to subside. Dooley and Rivera had been directly behind Chat and moved up quickly when they realized their friend had halted and was bent over slightly at the waist with hands on his knees.
Dooley was clearly concerned. “Sounds from that wheezing like you broke something besides metal when our bird impacted that mountain back there, ole’ buddy.” As he finished speaking, the crew chief slid his hand under Chat’s arm to steady the pilot.
Turning a pained look toward Dooley, Chat offered a reply between heavy breaths. “I suspect you’re right on … this one, old buddy, but … I …”
Before Chat could finish, the sounds of a man and a woman talking and laughing caused each man in the small group to freeze. The voices seemed to be coming from inside one of the ramshackle huts only a few meters away. The shabby structures had open windows with no coverings, which allowed sounds to carry, especially through the heavier night air. A moment later, a woman’s sensuous moans were clearly audible, and her voice took on a more intimate tone as she spoke to her partner.
Upon hearing the woman’s voice, Chat’s head came up and he forced himself to hold his breathing in check in order to better hear. He thought for a moment that the voice had a familiar ring. When the woman spoke again, Chat felt certain he had heard her voice before. Grabbing Dooley’s arm, Chat said, “Dooley, I know that woman’s voice from somewhere, and not that long ago.”
“Gotta hand it to you, old buddy, here you are all busted up and lost in the middle of the boonies with bad guys looking for your ass and you’re thinking about a woman. Guess you’re not hurt that bad, amigo, huh?”
“No, Dooley, that’s not it. I think that voice may belong to a woman I met the other night when we went partying in Guatemala City. We ought to see for sure, so we at least know who’s keeping eyes on who back in the city.”
Rivera had been standing close to the other two, monitoring the exchange. “Good point there, Chatman, so maybe we take a quick, very silent peek in the window and then we’re gone. Copy that, amigo?”
“Thanks, Rock. I need some support here, but with some help, I can make it to the window. Let’s do it.”
Rivera motioned the others close and then proceeded to pass on the plan. He and Chat would make a quick detour to the window of the nearest shack while the other three remained behind, concealed in the brush.
Rivera and Chat moved as stealthily as possible to cover the short distance to a spot just below the open window. Being cautious to avoid making any sound, the pair slowly raised themselves to peer over the edge of the opening and into the one-room shack. A kerosene lantern that had been dimmed cast a dull, yellow glow across the spartan interior. In the middle of the room, a man and a woman were lying naked on a small straw mat on the wooden floor. The woman was on her side with her back to the window. The man was lying on his back on the other side of the woman. Chat could not see either of their faces.
The two men outside listened intently as the woman spoke again to her companion, this time in a slow, passionate drawl while teasingly massaging his genitals. Her aroused companion was arching his back and tilting his head. Chat eased himself back out of sight. His mind flashed back to a night not so long ago in Guatemala City and an all-too-friendly barmaid at Club Henrique’s. That was it—the night of the big birthday celebration. He was certain this was the woman who had conned him out of several drinks that evening with her feigned attentions and sexual innuendos. That was the same night his prized A-2 jacket had disappeared.
Rivera continued to keep watch as Chat eased back toward the opening for a quick survey of the rest of the room. A scattered array of discarded clothes near the open door was clear evidence of the lovers’ haste to satisfy their passions. Chat’s attention fixed on one article of clothing draped over a low wooden stool. Just like that, there it was, unmistakably a leather flight jacket. He knew instantly it was his missing jacket.
Sliding silently back down from the window, Chat whispered to Rivera, “Did you see the jacket hanging over the stool? That bitch stole my A-2! How could I have been so stupid?”
He was interrupted by a hand pulling on his arm. Leaning in close to Chat’s ear, Rivera advised, “We better get moving, and, yes, I recognized the woman too, the same one you were flirting with on the big birthday night. Looks like she gets around.”
Trying to keep his voice to a whisper while containing his rising anger, Chat replied, “Exactly! Rivera, we can’t leave until I get that jacket.”
The big Green Beret put a strong hand under his friend’s arm and started easing him back to where the others were waiting. “Don’t worry, Chatman. I’m going to make all that right for you in time. If she doesn’t know we’re on to her, she will resurface at the clubs. Right now, though, we just got to get our asses back to a safe rally point. You copy that, amigo?”
Chat’s pain reminded him he was in no shape to fight a bunch of FAR guerillas. Reluctantly, he complied, allowing Rivera to help him along. “Roger that, Rock, but I won’t stop looking for that jacket; it means a whole bunch to me.”
Gonzalez motioned for the group to follow and then headed into denser foliage, away from the plantation buildings. Chat managed, for the moment, to put the throbbing pain in his spine somewhat in the background while in his mind he continued to rage about the woman and the missing flight jacket. We’ll meet again, you little bitch. You’ve got something I want back very much, and I’ve got a score to settle.
The fleeing men had been moving steadily, albeit slowly due to Chat’s condition, for the past hour and had succeeded in putting good distance between themselves and the plantation. They were now halted for a short rest. Out of habit, Rivera checked his wrist to see the time, but he cursed when he remembered the rebels had taken his watch. Looking over to Gonzalez, he asked, “Señor, any idea of the time?”
Pulling a small pocket watch from his jacket, Gonzalez answered, “It is just before one o’clock. I am leading you on a safer path, but it is maybe three more hours to Tres Marías. There is a police station and telephone.”
“Thank you, Señor. Your plan sounds good to me. We can notify our people from there.”
Quinn chimed in. “I insist nobody makes any calls until I can get a hold of my office to let them know the situation and get further instructions. That clear to everyone?”
Waiting a few seconds to let Quinn think they might actually be listening, Chat countered, “Quinn, you got your chain of command, and I got mine. Make whatever calls you want, but I’m notifying Aero Sur as soon as we get to a phone. They know by now there’s an aircraft down and will be searching everywhere.”
“Listen, Mr. Pilot, maybe you don’t understand who pulls the strings in this country. As soon as we’re back, I’m going to have a little talk with your boss and set you straight on that.”
Chat started to move forward to get into Quinn’s face, but Rivera put a hand on his shoulder and held him back. Looking directly at Quinn, the sergeant was emphatic in his reply. “Listen, asshole, I already told you back at the crash site that Chat is in charge of this escape and evasion mission until such time as we’re back in Guat City. Please don’t make me hurt you just to make my point. That clear?”
Quinn scowled at the Green Beret but was smart enough to remain silent. Sitting back, he crossed his arms and looked away.
Gonzalez decided now would be a good time to get moving again. “Please, amigos, we must make progress toward our rescue. Let us go now.”
The rest of the group with the exception of Chat signaled their agreement by standing up. Chat tried with some difficulty to ease himself up, letting out a few groans of pain while making the effort. Rivera and Dooley again stepped in to help their friend to his feet, but as Chat tried to stand, it was apparent he was in real pain now.
Just as Chat thought he was going to pass out, Rivera turned and eased his back into him while Dooley worked from the rear to hoist Chat up onto Rivera’s back. In his pained delirium, Chat only half realized what was happening. He began to feel like he was being pulled into a black hole as the intense pain blurred all other thoughts.
As Chat felt them start to move, a voice barely penetrated his remaining consciousness. “Hang in there, my friend. This ride’s on me.” It was Rivera, remembering an old debt he was now in a position to pay back.
Logbook Entry: 12
What was Lost is Found
Guatemala City, Guatemala
September 24, 1968, 1130 Hours
“Get your sorry pilot ass out of that rack, flyboy. I’m gettin’ tired of playing nursemaid to you.”
The familiar voice cut through the fog like a guiding light, and Chat turned his head in the direction of the sound.
He heard Dooley’s voice call out again. “Chatman, your welcome home party is here, good buddy. Time to wake up and greet the world.”
In his mind, Chat was straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of Dooley, but he had the feeling his body was drifting through the fog, and he was unable to direct himself. Reaching out in a flailing attempt to clear the murky cloud, his arm collided with a strong hand that gripped him securely. Opening his eyes, Chat saw Rivera standing beside him, staring down.
“Welcome back to the world, Chatman.”
“Rivera, where the hell did …”
Another familiar voice on the other side of the bed broke in. “Good to see you, my friend. Señora Magda has been missing you as well and sends her well wishes.” Dooley was standing on the other side of the bed, smiling at his friend.
Blinking several times in an effort to clear his vision, Chat whispered, “Where am I, and how did I get here?”
Dooley explained. “Well, good buddy, you’re in my hooch in Guat City, which is where you have been lying around and groanin’ for the past day and a half. At least that’s how long it’s been since the doc checked you out of the hospital and filled you up with some pain pills.”
Now it was Rivera’s turn. “And you owe us a few brewskis for carrying your sorry ass halfway across Guatemala.”
Chat had no memory of the final portion of the group’s escape from the coffee plantation. “Whoa. It all seems like a dream. I guess you got us out of the bush and … and how the hell did we make it back here?”
As Chat tried to sit up, he felt a sudden rush of pain in his back and head. Easing himself gently back onto the pillow, he said, “Something’s not feeling right here. Did the doc say anything was broken? The pain is still pretty intense.”
Dooley nodded as he helped Chat lie back down. “Yep, you’re gonna’ have to take it easy for a while, Chatman. Doc thinks you sustained a pretty good back and neck strain when we impacted that mountain. He did issue a good supply of pain pills, so I can fix you with that as needed, buddy.”
“Damn bastards are putting him through hell, for sure.” Dooley’s words reflected each man’s thoughts.
After a few minutes of hurried discussion, it was decided Rivera would hide near the door with his knife at the ready while Chat and Dooley started a mock fight to draw the guard inside. Quinn was to post himself on the opposite side of the door from Rivera to aid in subduing the guard. That was the general idea if things went as planned.
Rivera and Quinn had just started positioning themselves when another noise from outside stopped them. All of the men heard what sounded like a bone-crushing thud followed by the sound of air escaping from a man’s lungs. Then came a scraping noise like boards being moved, only slower and more deliberate this time. As the noise stopped, the door started to swing open ever so slowly. This time, there was no lantern light, only a single, shadowy silhouette framed by what little starlight was present in the night sky behind the human figure.
A whisper floated across the dark room as a voice said in English, “Friends, I can help you. I am a friend.” The dark figure took a step inside. “Come closer to the door, my friends.”
Rivera held back in his position against the wall nearest the door, his knife poised. The voice repeated the words, this time in Spanish.
Chat, remaining hidden, responded for the group, but in English in order to test the unknown person’s level of understanding, since all of the guerillas had spoken only Spanish. “Who are you?”
The voice answered in reasonable English. “I am Rafael Gonzalez, the rightful owner of this coffee finca. I have been in hiding since these filthy criminals came onto my land three days ago. I saw them return this afternoon with prisoners.” Rafael waited for the captive men to respond.
Dooley put his hand out to feel for Chat’s shoulder. Then he moved close to the pilot’s ear and whispered, “He sounds legit. I suspect this is our best shot. I say we go with it.”
Rivera stepped in one swift move from his concealed position and caught the finca owner around the neck with his left arm. He pulled him in tight with a powerful sweep of his arm and just as quickly laid the knife along the side of the man’s head. Rivera spoke to the man in Spanish to make sure he understood. “If this is a trick, Señor Gonzalez, you will be first to die.”
The old finca owner did not struggle as he gasped in English, “If I were with these rebel dogs, why would I disable the guard and come in here so silently? You can trust me, amigos, but we must move quickly before these robber bandits return for another one from your group.”
Deciding the man was probably telling the truth, Rivera relaxed his grip slightly and half dragged him to the doorway. Looking out the open door, the Green Beret could make out a dark shape lying just outside the entrance. He weighed his options and then loosened his grip. Whispering back to the others, he said, “Yep, guys, I’m thinking Señor Gonzalez may be telling the truth.”
Gonzalez asked in clear English, “You are Americans, yes?”
“Yes, we are. Do you know these men holding us?” Chat answered.
“Of course. They are FAR guerillas, but I do not know personally any of these dogs.”
Rivera broke in. “Okay, then, let’s make a quick plan B. First, we see about our Guatemalan Army friend and then, with the help of Señor Gonzalez, we unass this AO [area of operations] muy pronto.”
Gonzalez said, “If you are speaking of the man of your group that was being tortured then I am sorry to report to you that it appears the man you are speaking about is already dead. I was able to catch sight of him a short time ago. That is why I say that we must hurry to leave now.”
Chat replied, “Well, that simplifies things quite a bit. Señor, will you be so kind as to lead us out of here?”
The group silently filed out the open door behind their liberator. The men were careful to step over the limp body of the guerilla as they exited the doorway. The pale starlight revealed a dark liquid pool below the guerilla’s head, indicating the blow from the finca owner had come with deadly force. As the men gathered just outside the door, Señor Gonzalez whispered, “He made the fatal mistake to sleep. A pity for him since now he sleeps in hell.”
“Best we drag him inside the storeroom and secure the door for appearances if anyone comes back this way soon.” Rivera moved to grab the dead guerilla’s legs as Dooley stepped forward to lift the man’s upper torso.
As Rivera secured the retaining board across the door, Gonzalez cautioned the rest of the men to follow close behind him, remaining as silent as possible. He then led the tight group away from the rebel campfires that were clearly visible several meters in the distance.
Señor Gonzalez, as Rivera suspected, was extremely familiar with the lay of the land along the mountainside known as Finca Santuario. His family had lived in this region for almost fifty years. Thus far during the ongoing civil war, he had been lucky to avoid confrontation with the roving bands of rebel fighters that had caused so much havoc in other parts of the country, but now the menace had come to his doorstep and without protection from the Federal Army, he was powerless to oppose them.
Gonzalez guided the little group stealthily through the denser foliage and then through a nearby complex of rough board buildings used for drying and processing coffee beans. Stopping just short of a narrow dirt road that led up to an old plantation-style home. Gonzalez scanned the road in both directions. When all appeared to be clear, he motioned the men across.
The little band circumvented the house via a secluded route that kept them well clear of the structure. Gonzalez signaled to the men to pause as they entered a large area of coffee bushes directly behind the big house, still several meters back from the rear patio. He motioned for the group to move closer to where he was kneeling.
As the men looked back toward the house, lantern lights from inside cast a soft glow through the windows and onto the patio, where they could see four men. The men were seated at a large patio table and appeared to be drinking and eating while conversing in low tones.
Rivera edged closer to Gonzalez. “This was your house, Señor?”
“Sí. It was a happy place for my family, but I took the precaution some months ago to move them to my cousin’s home in the city. He has professional security.” The anger was evident in his voice.
Rivera placed a hand on Gonzalez’s shoulder, acknowledging the man’s sorrow and frustration. “I am sorry, Señor. How far are we from a village where we might get some help?”
“Some kilometers from here, but not to worry as I know friends there who can assist you.”
Rivera nodded and then signaled to the group. “We best keep moving as it may not be long before the bad guys return to the storeroom looking for more victims to torture.”
The ubiquitous coffee plants provided good cover for the men as they continued to move cautiously past several small rustic huts that appeared to the Americans like housing for locals who worked the finca. The mountain air was cool, even cold, at this altitude, but Chat was sweating profusely and wheezing slightly as he struggled to maintain even their slowed pace. A stabbing pain was starting to move up his spine. The helicopter crash had obviously caused deeper injuries and his body was beginning to protest the strain. He paused to catch his breath and allow the pain to subside. Dooley and Rivera had been directly behind Chat and moved up quickly when they realized their friend had halted and was bent over slightly at the waist with hands on his knees.
Dooley was clearly concerned. “Sounds from that wheezing like you broke something besides metal when our bird impacted that mountain back there, ole’ buddy.” As he finished speaking, the crew chief slid his hand under Chat’s arm to steady the pilot.
Turning a pained look toward Dooley, Chat offered a reply between heavy breaths. “I suspect you’re right on … this one, old buddy, but … I …”
Before Chat could finish, the sounds of a man and a woman talking and laughing caused each man in the small group to freeze. The voices seemed to be coming from inside one of the ramshackle huts only a few meters away. The shabby structures had open windows with no coverings, which allowed sounds to carry, especially through the heavier night air. A moment later, a woman’s sensuous moans were clearly audible, and her voice took on a more intimate tone as she spoke to her partner.
Upon hearing the woman’s voice, Chat’s head came up and he forced himself to hold his breathing in check in order to better hear. He thought for a moment that the voice had a familiar ring. When the woman spoke again, Chat felt certain he had heard her voice before. Grabbing Dooley’s arm, Chat said, “Dooley, I know that woman’s voice from somewhere, and not that long ago.”
“Gotta hand it to you, old buddy, here you are all busted up and lost in the middle of the boonies with bad guys looking for your ass and you’re thinking about a woman. Guess you’re not hurt that bad, amigo, huh?”
“No, Dooley, that’s not it. I think that voice may belong to a woman I met the other night when we went partying in Guatemala City. We ought to see for sure, so we at least know who’s keeping eyes on who back in the city.”
Rivera had been standing close to the other two, monitoring the exchange. “Good point there, Chatman, so maybe we take a quick, very silent peek in the window and then we’re gone. Copy that, amigo?”
“Thanks, Rock. I need some support here, but with some help, I can make it to the window. Let’s do it.”
Rivera motioned the others close and then proceeded to pass on the plan. He and Chat would make a quick detour to the window of the nearest shack while the other three remained behind, concealed in the brush.
Rivera and Chat moved as stealthily as possible to cover the short distance to a spot just below the open window. Being cautious to avoid making any sound, the pair slowly raised themselves to peer over the edge of the opening and into the one-room shack. A kerosene lantern that had been dimmed cast a dull, yellow glow across the spartan interior. In the middle of the room, a man and a woman were lying naked on a small straw mat on the wooden floor. The woman was on her side with her back to the window. The man was lying on his back on the other side of the woman. Chat could not see either of their faces.
The two men outside listened intently as the woman spoke again to her companion, this time in a slow, passionate drawl while teasingly massaging his genitals. Her aroused companion was arching his back and tilting his head. Chat eased himself back out of sight. His mind flashed back to a night not so long ago in Guatemala City and an all-too-friendly barmaid at Club Henrique’s. That was it—the night of the big birthday celebration. He was certain this was the woman who had conned him out of several drinks that evening with her feigned attentions and sexual innuendos. That was the same night his prized A-2 jacket had disappeared.
Rivera continued to keep watch as Chat eased back toward the opening for a quick survey of the rest of the room. A scattered array of discarded clothes near the open door was clear evidence of the lovers’ haste to satisfy their passions. Chat’s attention fixed on one article of clothing draped over a low wooden stool. Just like that, there it was, unmistakably a leather flight jacket. He knew instantly it was his missing jacket.
Sliding silently back down from the window, Chat whispered to Rivera, “Did you see the jacket hanging over the stool? That bitch stole my A-2! How could I have been so stupid?”
He was interrupted by a hand pulling on his arm. Leaning in close to Chat’s ear, Rivera advised, “We better get moving, and, yes, I recognized the woman too, the same one you were flirting with on the big birthday night. Looks like she gets around.”
Trying to keep his voice to a whisper while containing his rising anger, Chat replied, “Exactly! Rivera, we can’t leave until I get that jacket.”
The big Green Beret put a strong hand under his friend’s arm and started easing him back to where the others were waiting. “Don’t worry, Chatman. I’m going to make all that right for you in time. If she doesn’t know we’re on to her, she will resurface at the clubs. Right now, though, we just got to get our asses back to a safe rally point. You copy that, amigo?”
Chat’s pain reminded him he was in no shape to fight a bunch of FAR guerillas. Reluctantly, he complied, allowing Rivera to help him along. “Roger that, Rock, but I won’t stop looking for that jacket; it means a whole bunch to me.”
Gonzalez motioned for the group to follow and then headed into denser foliage, away from the plantation buildings. Chat managed, for the moment, to put the throbbing pain in his spine somewhat in the background while in his mind he continued to rage about the woman and the missing flight jacket. We’ll meet again, you little bitch. You’ve got something I want back very much, and I’ve got a score to settle.
The fleeing men had been moving steadily, albeit slowly due to Chat’s condition, for the past hour and had succeeded in putting good distance between themselves and the plantation. They were now halted for a short rest. Out of habit, Rivera checked his wrist to see the time, but he cursed when he remembered the rebels had taken his watch. Looking over to Gonzalez, he asked, “Señor, any idea of the time?”
Pulling a small pocket watch from his jacket, Gonzalez answered, “It is just before one o’clock. I am leading you on a safer path, but it is maybe three more hours to Tres Marías. There is a police station and telephone.”
“Thank you, Señor. Your plan sounds good to me. We can notify our people from there.”
Quinn chimed in. “I insist nobody makes any calls until I can get a hold of my office to let them know the situation and get further instructions. That clear to everyone?”
Waiting a few seconds to let Quinn think they might actually be listening, Chat countered, “Quinn, you got your chain of command, and I got mine. Make whatever calls you want, but I’m notifying Aero Sur as soon as we get to a phone. They know by now there’s an aircraft down and will be searching everywhere.”
“Listen, Mr. Pilot, maybe you don’t understand who pulls the strings in this country. As soon as we’re back, I’m going to have a little talk with your boss and set you straight on that.”
Chat started to move forward to get into Quinn’s face, but Rivera put a hand on his shoulder and held him back. Looking directly at Quinn, the sergeant was emphatic in his reply. “Listen, asshole, I already told you back at the crash site that Chat is in charge of this escape and evasion mission until such time as we’re back in Guat City. Please don’t make me hurt you just to make my point. That clear?”
Quinn scowled at the Green Beret but was smart enough to remain silent. Sitting back, he crossed his arms and looked away.
Gonzalez decided now would be a good time to get moving again. “Please, amigos, we must make progress toward our rescue. Let us go now.”
The rest of the group with the exception of Chat signaled their agreement by standing up. Chat tried with some difficulty to ease himself up, letting out a few groans of pain while making the effort. Rivera and Dooley again stepped in to help their friend to his feet, but as Chat tried to stand, it was apparent he was in real pain now.
Just as Chat thought he was going to pass out, Rivera turned and eased his back into him while Dooley worked from the rear to hoist Chat up onto Rivera’s back. In his pained delirium, Chat only half realized what was happening. He began to feel like he was being pulled into a black hole as the intense pain blurred all other thoughts.
As Chat felt them start to move, a voice barely penetrated his remaining consciousness. “Hang in there, my friend. This ride’s on me.” It was Rivera, remembering an old debt he was now in a position to pay back.
Logbook Entry: 12
What was Lost is Found
Guatemala City, Guatemala
September 24, 1968, 1130 Hours
“Get your sorry pilot ass out of that rack, flyboy. I’m gettin’ tired of playing nursemaid to you.”
The familiar voice cut through the fog like a guiding light, and Chat turned his head in the direction of the sound.
He heard Dooley’s voice call out again. “Chatman, your welcome home party is here, good buddy. Time to wake up and greet the world.”
In his mind, Chat was straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of Dooley, but he had the feeling his body was drifting through the fog, and he was unable to direct himself. Reaching out in a flailing attempt to clear the murky cloud, his arm collided with a strong hand that gripped him securely. Opening his eyes, Chat saw Rivera standing beside him, staring down.
“Welcome back to the world, Chatman.”
“Rivera, where the hell did …”
Another familiar voice on the other side of the bed broke in. “Good to see you, my friend. Señora Magda has been missing you as well and sends her well wishes.” Dooley was standing on the other side of the bed, smiling at his friend.
Blinking several times in an effort to clear his vision, Chat whispered, “Where am I, and how did I get here?”
Dooley explained. “Well, good buddy, you’re in my hooch in Guat City, which is where you have been lying around and groanin’ for the past day and a half. At least that’s how long it’s been since the doc checked you out of the hospital and filled you up with some pain pills.”
Now it was Rivera’s turn. “And you owe us a few brewskis for carrying your sorry ass halfway across Guatemala.”
Chat had no memory of the final portion of the group’s escape from the coffee plantation. “Whoa. It all seems like a dream. I guess you got us out of the bush and … and how the hell did we make it back here?”
As Chat tried to sit up, he felt a sudden rush of pain in his back and head. Easing himself gently back onto the pillow, he said, “Something’s not feeling right here. Did the doc say anything was broken? The pain is still pretty intense.”
Dooley nodded as he helped Chat lie back down. “Yep, you’re gonna’ have to take it easy for a while, Chatman. Doc thinks you sustained a pretty good back and neck strain when we impacted that mountain. He did issue a good supply of pain pills, so I can fix you with that as needed, buddy.”
