Siege of Lightning by R.J. Pineiro

Author:R.J. Pineiro [Pineiro, R.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Auspicious Apparatus Press
Published: 2019-04-29T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MAMBO

Discipline is the soul of the army. It makes small numbers formidable; procures success to the weak and esteem to all.

—George Washington

CANAL ZONE, PANAMA

The day was warm and humid, the sky clear. Firmly clutching a modified Colt Commando submachine gun, First Sergeant Francisco Ortiz moved through the dense forest slowly and warily. Every calculated step was preceded by a careful scan of the heavy foliage around him as he checked for anything that did not belong in the woods. An irregular noise, boot prints, branches broken at an unnatural angle.

Nothing.

Satisfied, he moved once more in a deep crouch, softly feeling the terrain with the tip of his boot before setting it down. The strain on his slim but muscular legs was enormous but still bearable. Ortiz belonged to the 7th U.S. Special Forces Operational Detachment Delta, one of the elite squadrons made out of volunteers from the Green Berets, the 82nd Airborne, and the Rangers, trained specifically for tropical jungle warfare. The squadron of over a hundred men was divided into easily deployable platoons.

Ortiz’s platoon followed his footsteps fifty feet behind. Fourteen others depended on how well he did his job. Ortiz was the eyes and ears of his platoon, code-named Mambo.

Ortiz sensed something foreign, but wasn’t sure what it was. He stopped, raised his left hand in a fist, and silently dropped to the ground.

Which of his senses had detected it? Had he seen, heard, or smelled something? Ortiz wasn’t sure, but he felt certain that there was something out there that didn’t belong. He waited a few more seconds before slowly, almost imperceptibly, rising back up to a deep crouch.

There it was again. This time he decided it was a sound, almost masked by the swaying branches of a nearby rosewood tree. Ortiz smiled. Whoever was out there was good, but not good enough to get by trained ears. Ortiz had worked hard at developing each of his senses to levels of equal sensitivity. Most jungle warriors had one sense they depended on more than the others. The problem with that, Ortiz knew, was that it imposed limitations on their abilities to adapt to different battle conditions. At night, even though he wore night-vision goggles, Ortiz could also rely on sounds and smells. An enemy standing still at night in the forest would be very difficult to spot, even with the Sopelen TN2-1 goggles Ortiz would be wearing. But the enemy could make a slight noise, or his body give out an odor that could be detected by Ortiz’s nostrils. Ortiz tried his best to avoid becoming too attached to mechanical enhancements constantly used by other point men because, in the end, he knew one day he could find himself in a situation where it was just him, his hunting knife, and the forest against the enemy. No fancy electronic gear to protect him. Ortiz knew he would be prepared if the day ever came. In his mind there was no other way. A true jungle warrior

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