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The path through the jungle was overgrown but passable. In a few weeks, no stranger would ever know it'd been there, even though Pembroke's men cleared it just six weeks earlier. The jungle reclaimed man's work fast, especially in the rainy season with every 3-inch cloudburst.
Pembroke stepped into the clearing. Tree cover had been left overhead so little direct sunlight burst through. A passing plane, even a helicopter, wouldn't notice any change in the jungle. It was a supply area complete with ammunition, diesel fuel drums, spare parts, and food. Logistics---that was the key to success. It had been pounded into his head time and again in Cuba until he accepted it as an 11th commandment. In the past year, he had come to appreciate that education even more. They never lost a skirmish against government troops.
On the opposite side of the clearing, the undergrowth again closed in. Only an experienced eye would note the path that Pembroke was heading for, Pilar close behind him. For perhaps twenty yards the trail was like a rabbit furrow. Then it opened into the water. Camouflage had been introduced so that a passing fishing boat would have to approach right to the edge to see the missile boat nestled against the small pier. It reminded him of old photos of PT boat lairs in the Solomons more than seventy years ago.
Pembroke's eyes followed the boat's clean lines. Some of his men were lounging in the stern while others on the central missile launchers were making minor repairs. Then he caught sight of the Asian man sitting on top of the pilot house, a black beret jauntily cocked over his right eye.
"Who the hell invited you?" Pembroke growled loudly enough for some of the men to hear.
"No one, Colonel. My orders are absolute." The Spanish was heavily accented. It was spoken by a man who knew the language well enough to communicate but had little interest in the niceties of perfecting it. "Would you like to review them, or have you already received a copy?"
"I haven't received anything," Pembroke said, remaining where he'd halted when he saw the Chinaman.
"The authorities back in Fortaleza del Pueblo have determined that an army colonel requires the expertise of a seasoned naval veteran for a mission of this caliber."
Captain Second Rank Wen Guanyu could have been considered technically junior to Colonel Pembroke but he never let the thought cross his mind. He was a career naval officer with service in the Yellow Sea Fleet and the Red Dragon Eastern Fleet. After graduation from the PLA National Defense University, he was sent to the Yellow Sea for destroyer duty, where he eventually commanded a small escort as a very junior officer. Fascinated by the possibilities of small, high-speed boats, he requested and was granted an odd transfer to the Eastern Fleet and amphibious ships. He cut his teeth with the Naval Infantry, assisting in developing new tactics. This culminated in his directing landing operations in Djibouti. For his successes in Africa, he was one of the few officers in the entire Chinese Navy allowed to wear the distinctive black beret with the anchor logo on the left side and the red star on the front. Today he also wore the Naval Infantry's black battle fatigues.
"I hope you're aware that I'm senior to you," Pembroke said, seething. "This is my mission and I will give the orders." He started directly back into Wen's demonic almond eyes. The man was of medium height and stocky. His face was Han and straight black hair peeked out from under the beret. The only distinguishing feature was an aura of brutal hardness.
"No problem, Nicolas, none whatsoever. I'm just along for the ride, as the Americans say. All I am is an advisor....as always."
Wen was more than an advisor and Pembroke knew it. These Chinese Black Berets had been sent to Cuba almost two years before to teach commando tactics to the Cuban Revolutionary Armed Forces. His specialty was missions just like this one—night attack. Hit from one side with ground troops. Draw the enemy off guard. Then attack with heavy weapons from the rear, in this case, from the sea. Wen was so good he could command a Naval Infantry battalion using tanks and artillery in addition to his rifle companies. Yet his knowledge of guided missiles and torpedo boats made him even more effective. He was sent to Fortaleza del Pueblo to teach Suarez's men how to fight in the islands and Central and South America. So far he'd done quite well. Two Central American countries were now avowed partners of China and he'd scared the hell out of a couple of other tiny island nations.
Pembroke hated the man. To him, Wen had no loyalty to anything but the military. When one of his men in Pembroke's class asked Wen if he could adapt to any other country's service, the answer had been shocking. "Certainly. Wherever I was offered the best opportunity to practice my skills. Perhaps if the Americans wanted me and paid enough and offered enough action, I'd go with them." He'd smiled, leaving them to wonder if he meant it. "But I am unaware of any other country that can provide me with the action that I want. I am happy with my motherland...I am happy with you. I'm happy fighting." Colonel Pembroke still found that attitude reprehensible. He couldn't imagine killing men for other than a patriotic cause.
"I've been waiting for you, Nicolas. It's boring as hell in this jungle, waiting in this heat for something to happen....and nobody to talk to. I'm glad you're here at last."
"I'm glad to, Wen...." He rolled the man's name slowly with his tongue. Grambling hated to be called by his first name in front of his men. "I don't need to see your orders. I'm sure they're right." He looked Wen square in the eyes. "Of course, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed that I won't be taking my men in alone."
"Pretend I'm not here. I'll try to keep out of the way. If I see anything that needs doing, I'll help out. Make sense?"
"Yes." You piece of shit, he added to himself. "Let me know if you need anything."
Wen eyed Pilar appreciatively, nodding to her. "Good morning."
"No!" Pembroke bellowed. "She's mine.....mine! She's off-limits to you. Got it?"
''Of course....Nicolas."
Someday, Pembroke thought, I'm going to beat the shit out of him if someone else doesn't get to him first. It wouldn't be easy. No man wore that black beret without earning it, and anyone outside of the Naval Infantry earned it the hard way.61Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6WjpNHWMJm
