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Post by Webster on May 31, 2018 0:03:49 GMT -5
....They say the world doesn’t stop just because you go on vacation........unfortunately, someone forgot to mention that to private investigator Matthew Little. Arriving at the Caribbean island of Isla Apuro for a long-deserved vacation away from the city of Velocity, he and his girlfriend are soon drawn into the midst of a revolution, one that will leave its’ marks not just on him but on their future as well.......
Chapter 1
****mid-day, St. George International Airport, St. George, Isla Apuro(early June 2010)****
It was as the plane was landing that I first woke up after leaving Miami. After departing from Velo City, Kelsey and I had flown cross-country to Miami, stopping over just long enough to switch flights for the trans-Caribbean hop to St. George. Looking out the port-side window, I could see the town of St. George off in the distance, the vibrant colors of the nearby hillsides clashing with the small-town sprawl against it. Over the intercom the pilot was speaking his usual post-landing spiel......”and as we approach the main terminal here in St. George, we’d like to thank you for flying American Airlines and we hope you have a pleasant stay here in Isla Apuro.”
After a few minutes, the plane finally reached the main terminal, which was an understatement of sorts as it wasn’t really a terminal as it was a rolling gangway platform, with the terminal a couple of hundred feet from the runway. Once the plane stopped and the gangway came up to the door, it was time to exit the airplane. “So, where is the terminal?,” Kelsey asked.
Pointing towards the airport’s main building, which looked about as large as Zero Degrees’ back home, I replied, “Somewhere over there, along with baggage pickup, customs, passport control, all the fun stuff. At least there’s one good thing about Isla Apuro, though?”
“And that would be.....,” she asked.
“No TSA agents to worry about once we get here,” I replied; that got me a jab on the shoulder for that insightful piece of wit. Walking down the gangway, I added, “Just think, Kelsey. We got two weeks of sun, sand and.......,” getting an oof for my suggestion. Eventually, we made our way through customs, through baggage control and walked through the main gate towards the innumerable number of taxis lining the airport road. Suddenly, we heard a voice call out from down the road. “Matt! Hey, Matt!”
I looked over and saw some kid waving towards us; in his hands was a small, cardboard sign that read, "EIC, Matt & Kelsey". I thought, okay, who back at Zero Degrees had the stones to call ahead and let Wolf know we were coming....... I started to chuckle at who the usual suspects back in Velo City could've been; Kelsey looked over and wondered why I was laughing.....then she saw the sign and laughed as well.
It took me only a few moments before I recognized the kid holding the sign. “Well, if it isn’t the Rhino himself,” I said, shaking his hand and lightly bopping him in the head with the sign. “How’s it going, Chris?”
“I’m doing good, Matt. Mr. Parker asked me to pick y’all up and take you to his place up in the hills.” Up in the hills was a large hacienda’ outside of St. George owned by Colorado entrepreneur and business mogul Jonathan Parker. Jon was, like me, a member of Exotic Ice Customs, so I felt comfortable with us staying there rather than in St. George proper. After grabbing our luggage and tossing it in the back of the Hummer Rhino drove, we climbed aboard and headed up to the hacienda.
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Post by Webster on May 31, 2018 0:04:11 GMT -5
Chapter 2
***late evening, Parker’s hacienda***
Evenings in the Caribbean could be described as almost like being in Paradise. The night sky was clear with the stars twinkling in the sky, while off in the distance one could imagine the ocean waves crashing across the beaches along Grand Anse and Little Anse. One good thing about staying at the hacienda’ was the privacy. Being up in the hills overlooking St. George, one could see into the town proper without the tourist crowds coming around. We all sat outside along one of the haciendas’ broad patios, glasses of bourbon and rum on nearby tables. As I looked out towards the ocean, I asked, “So, Wolf, how did you ever find out Kelsey and I were coming to Isla Apuro anyway? I have to ask.....”
“Well, you’d have to ask Ravyn back in Velo City about that, but suffice it to say you two picked one hell of a time to vacation here, that’s for sure.”
“What do you mean, we picked one hell of a time for a vacation........”
“Well, in case you haven’t heard, rebel activity up in the north’s increased four-fold over the past month; its’ getting to the point where most anyone with any sense has packed up and come south. In case you didn’t notice it on the drive up here, St. George is getting a bit overcrowded.”
“I’ll say,” Kelsey chimed in. “When we were at the airport, there were more people leaving than arriving–“
”And it’ll get worse. There was an unconfirmed report that a commuter plane was attacked leaving Pearls Airport, near Grenville on the east coast. The plane made it to Martinque, but they shut Pearls down faster than the temperature can rise back in Sin City.” That brought a chill to the conversation; if the rebels could shut down Pearls......... “Any chance they could attack St. George?”
“Possibly, but the military’s got the roads blocked halfway between the north coast and St. George. Then again, you’d never know that the way El Presidente speaks about Isla Apuro on the radio,” Parker said. El Presidente was the nickname for strongman Ferdinand Arroyo’ de Rojas, who had ruled Isla Apuro for the past couple of decades. “Say, Matt, I got a letter down at the post office in St. George today that was addressed to you, from a Hermano Gustavo Rodriguez–“
”Hermano? Hermano?!? What was in the letter?”
“Haven’t opened it, my friend. It’s in the guest bedroom on one of the cabinets.” Finishing the last of his rum, he got up out of the beach chair he had been sitting in.
“I’ve got a few things to attend to before I retire for the night, so I’m going to head back inside. Catch you tomorrow.” As he walked back inside, I thought about the letter Hermano had written. The last time I'd been in Isla Apuro was 18 months ago and it seemed the rebellion or whatever was going on had intensified. First thing tomorrow morning, I thought, I’m going to call Slick back in Velo City and have him find out what exactly was happening. As my thoughts continued to swirl, I felt another presence next to me. Kelsey had gotten up from her chair and sat down next to me on mine, putting her arms around me but her nervous expression said more than any words could’ve said. “What's wrong?,” I asked her calmly yet with a nervous tinge to it.
“What's going on around here, Matt?,” she asked. I was right; she was very nervous after hearing everything that had said this evening and for once, I didnt have a ready-made response. Finally I just looked over her and said, “I don’t know, babe. I just don’t know.........” My voice trailed off as I looked back out towards the ocean. for once, I really didn’t know what was going on. That, however, would soon turn into an understatement of epic proportions. Just what was going on in Isla Apuro? And what in the world could be in Hermano's letter to me? As I continued to hold Kelsey close to me, I thought to myself, just take things day-by-day. If anything, I've got to find out what's going on, but at what risk? I continued to hold Kelsey long into the night, neither of us making a move but just lying back on the beach chair, our thoughts a jumbled mess to the outside world but even more confusing to one another.
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Post by Webster on May 31, 2018 0:04:30 GMT -5
Chapter 3
***next morning, Parker’s Hacienda***
As was my habit most mornings, I was usually awake at the first hint of daylight. I could see sharp glints of sunlight through the curtains along the window, the occasional bit of dust floating effortlessly around. Kelsey was lying next to me, her warm, sensuous body a welcome contrast to the chill in the air.....a chill brought about by Hermano's letter. I had read the letter the night before and still couldn’t believe what he had planned. If the letter was indeed from him, then the rebels under his command, the Provisional Revolutionary Front(PRF), were indeed on the cusp of overthrowing El Presidente. His plan was audacious to say the least but I wondered, why let me know about it? Putting the thought away, I grabbed the satellite phone and dialed a number from memory. A couple of rings later someone answered in a somewhat sleepy tome. “Hullo?”
“Mike? I didn’t wake up you up, did I?”
“No, Matt, its’ only four hours time difference between Velo City and Isla Apuro. Just be glad Sarah didn’t answer the phone instead of me. What’s up?”
“Nothing much; just woke up a few minutes. I need to joust that brain of yours, Mike.”
“Shoot.”
“Remember back in January our crew came to Isla Apuro to help out someone named Hermano Rodriguez?”
“The rebel leader? Yeah, I remember; I also got my *** shot off by one of El Presidente’s guardsmen!”
“Well, I did tell you to run faster, right? Anyway, how soon can you get the gang assembled and down here?” I read Mike the letter Hermano had written; he whistled softly in the background. “You sure? I thought we were out of the–“
”How soon?”
A few moments of silence ensued before Chevalier answered. “What’s the sat phone’s number?” I reeled off the number of Rog’s sat phone and waited for an answer. “Give me six hours to talk to everyone; I’ll call you back at 2pm your time, Matt.”
“Fair enough.” 2pm Atlantic Daylight Time in Isla Apuro was 10am Pacific Daylight Time in Velo City. Setting down the satellite phone, I picked up my Rolex GMT Master watch and set the watch for both Isla Apuro and Velo City time. Walking over to the window, I looked out upon the verdant tropical landscape and thought, Okay, buster.......just what have you gotten yourself into now?
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Post by Webster on May 31, 2018 0:04:49 GMT -5
Chapter 4
***mid-afternoon, St. George, Isla Apuro***
Mike’s late, I thought to myself as I sat in a lounge chair along St. George’s Grand Anse beach, sipping on a rum-n’-coke, jotting down a few notes and simply admiring the view.....and what a view it was. Not very many places can boast of a waterfront beach in the shadow of a town or city, but St. George had it in Grand Anse. The beach stretched for at least a few miles to the north and to the south of St. George. Setting the drink and note pad down for a moment, I sat up and leaned forward, my elbows resting on my knees as I felt the sun’s warmth heat its’ way into my skin. I could feel the sun burning itself into my shoulders; it felt good. For a few minutes I allowed my mind to drift away; it was during this that the satellite phone rang. Picking it up, I answered, “Hello?”
“Matt, its’ Mike; I said I’d call back at 2pm. Where you guys at?”
“On the beach, Mike. I’m sitting here enjoying a drink; Kelsey’s out sightseeing back in St. George. What’d you find out?”
“Good news and bad news, Matt.”
“Good news first.”
“I got the rest of the crew assembled; barring any delays, we should be there in a couple of days. We’ll have the grand suite with us,” he added, which meant they would be bringing weapons with them. “And the bad news, Mike?”
“Isla Apuro’s in the news Stateside, and it ain’t pretty. That plane getting shot at up in Grenville was the lead story on most of the news channels; on top of that, it looks as though the FAA’s gonna shut down commercial traffic between Miami and St. George. Note I said commercial traffic; we’ll still get there, though; they haven’t as of yet shut down all air traffic.”
I sighed audibly. No commercial traffic meant both passenger and cargo flights. In essence, Kelsey and I were stuck in St. George for the immediate time being. “In addition, you two watch yourselves. Rumor has it El Presidente’s bought himself a ton of mercs’ to protect himself and the island. Guess he doesn’t trust his own Guardsmen, huh?” If that was the case, then things were rapidly getting worse or Hermano’s rebels were gaining the upper hand over El Presidente. “I gotta’ take off for now; stay safe, alright?”
As he hung up, I sat on the side of the lounge chair and looked around. Sliding a pair of docksiders’ on, I got up and began walking off the beach, notepad in one cargo pocket, sat phone in another. After about a minute of walking in the loose sand, I finally reached the highway and walked over to where I had parked one of St. George’s most ubiquitous items, the ever-present island dune buggy. Climbing in, I noticed a piece of paper in the passenger seat with a small rock on top to keep it from blowing away. Picking up the paper, I read it; it was from Hermano, of all people......... “Amigo. I hear you and your lady friend have arrived in Isla Apuro. I hope you got my letter; several of my compatriots risked their lives sending it. Meet me in Antoine Lake as soon as it is possible for you to do so; we must talk. Hermano.”
I whistled for a brief moment as I folded the paper up and placed it in a cargo pocket. Antoine Lake was clear on the other side of Isla Apuro, well past the government’s roadblocks and close to the village of La Poterie on the northeast coast. Starting the dune buggy up, I drove off and headed back towards St. George.
***late-afternoon, St. George, Isla Apuro***
Okay, now what?, I thought to myself. After driving around St. George for a while, Kelsey and I were headed back towards the hacienda when we hit a roadblock, complete with several Guardsmen armed and in a not-so-charitable mood. Calling over to one of them, I asked, “What’s going on?”
After what seemed like an eternity, one of the Guardsmen walked over. “There is a protest up ahead; it is not safe for you to travel that way. Please turn around,” he said as another guardsman pointed his FN-FAL towards us. Raising my hands up in a “okay, whatever” expression, I turned the dune buggy around and headed back down the road. After getting out of sight of them, I turned the buggy onto a side street and methodically drove around the roadblock.......right into the path of the protest! Pulling over, I got out of the dune buggy and motioned for Kelsey to do the same. As we walked over to a nearby building, she asked, “What’s wrong, Matt?”
Running over to a nearby street corner, I peeked around the building; down the road we had been on was the roadblock, now with additional soldiers. Looking back in the other direction, I saw what looked like several hundred protesters marching down the road, waving red protest flags and numerous signs saying “Down With Tyranny!” and holding pictures of former Isla Apuro leader Gustavo Rodriguez. They’re walking right into a trap, I thought. Running back to the dune buggy, I told her, “There’s a protest underway, babe, and from the looks of it, its’ going to get very bloody, very quickly?”
“What’s about to get very bloody, very quickly?,” another voice said. We both turned around to see a short, rather foppish man, notepad and camera with him.
“Trevor, what in the hell are you doing here?” Kelsey was drawing a blank, so I explained who Trevor was to her. “Kelsey McNeal, meet Trevor Koen, freelance journalist and number one pain in the ***.” I had worked with Trevor once before; in fact, it was during the last time I had visited the island, the reward being that we both nearly died from the experience. “Like I was saying,” he continued, “what’s about to get–“
Grabbing him by the arm, I dragged him over to the one corner, pointed towards the guards, then pointed to the protesters. “Oh my God,” he thought out loud. “They’re going to get–“
”Oh, you think, Sherlock?” Dragging him back to the dune buggy, all three of us got in and drove off as fast as possible. As we were driving away, I looked over at Kelsey and changed subjects. “So, how was your day, hon?”
“Other than seeing so many roadblocks throughout St. George, it wasn’t that bad,” she replied.
“What roadblocks?”
“You should see the heart of St. George, Matt; roadblocks everywhere.” After several minutes of negotiating the narrow streets in the area, we hit the main road back to the hacienda. Eventually we made it back to the hacienda.
Parking the dune buggy next to Rhino’s Hummer gave me an.......well, interesting idea. “Trevor, remember the last time we were in Isla Apuro? Those fake documents you made that allowed us to leave the island?”
“Yeah, why?”
“How soon would it take you to make, say, three sets of travel docs.” Explaining what I had in mind, he gave me a mischievous grin. “Give me a day to get everything in order, okay?”
Calling over to Rhino, who was standing near the hacienda’s main entrance, I said to him, “Chris, I want you to help Trevor with something, okay?” Nodding, he and Trevor ran inside the hacienda. Standing near the entrance, I thought to myself, hope this plan works. As I stood there, Kelsey walked over and asked, “Now, what have you got in mind now?”
I explained the note that had been left on the dune buggy’s seat and the plan I had in mind. “Think it’ll work?,” she asked.
Doing an ‘either-or’ expression with my hands, I replied, “It either works and we meet Hermano or it doesn’t work and we get a couple of eight-ball hemorrhages for our efforts.” The sarcasm wasn’t lost on her as we walked inside the hacienda. Either way, our vacation was rapidly turning into something entirely different.
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Post by Webster on May 31, 2018 0:05:06 GMT -5
Location Shots...... Jonathan "Wolf" Duell's hacienda overlooking St. George, Isla Apuro
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Post by Webster on May 31, 2018 0:05:20 GMT -5
Chapter 5
When I write my book on being a world-class private investigator someday, Rule Number 69 is going to be........”When using forged documents, try not to be too creative in picking the names to go on the documents.” Rule Number 70 is going to be, “Never let certain freelance reporters pick the names either!”
***north along Rte.1, Isla Apuro***
After hanging around Parker's hacienda for a day or so(which seemed in hindsight a very good idea considering the violence in St. George over the same period of time), Trevor finally developed three sets of forged travel documents; when he handed Kelsey and I a set each, I looked at them, whistled and said, “Trevor, does your mother know what you do for a living?” He grinned and replied, “No,” to which I responded, “Will miracles never cease then........” All four of us(myself, Kelsey, Trevor and Tsar) piled into the Hummer and we headed up north.
Now, to say the roads outside St. George aren’t well-maintained isn’t an understatement so much as it is close to the absolute truth. After a mile or so or relative smooth asphalt the road started to get bumpy and rough with Texas-sized potholes every little bit. The plan I had come up with was interesting.......a ways' up the road, the government had put up roadblocks on every major route, ostensibly to keep the guerrillas from moving further south but in reality was to keep refugees from moving south as well.
When we got up to the roadblock, we’d hand over the forged documents and, if everything went according to plan, we’d pass right through their lines. At least, that was Plan A. If it didn’t work, there was always Plan B.........if the papers didn’t work or if the guards started to get suspicious, Rhino, laying in the back of the Hummer, would pop up and shoot the guards at the roadblock. Trying to break the monotony, I asked Koen, “Okay, where did you come up with the names on the travel docs? Look through the local phone-book or something?”
“No; just picked three names from memory that I’m certain no one will recognize.” I rolled my eyes at that one. Kelsey picked up on it. “What’s so funny, Matt?”
Laughing now, I replied, “Look at the names on the travel documents. Look at them carefully.” As she did, her eyes grew as big as saucers. “Incredible. Just incredible,” she said, biting hard and trying hard not to laugh. Trevor looked at her and went, “What’s the big deal? It’s not like these guards know about North American motorsports--"
”Trevor, you’d better hope these guards are idiots. For starters, they might confuse you with Tomas Scheckter, but what guard in his right mind is going to confuse Matt with Johnny Rutherford or me as.........Matt, remember the drivers who won the Rolex 24 at Daytona back in January? One of them was a Swiss race car driver if I recall......."
"Yeah, I think I do.....," I said, trying to remember who the five overall winners were. "Let's see, there was....." Then it dawned on me who she was referring to..........
“Trevor, take a real careful look at Kelsey, okay. Now, Kelsey, look at the name on the travel doc he wrote up for you and tell me what the name on it is.” She took one look at the name, rolled the travel doc into a tight bundle then bonked Koen over the head with them. I was biting my lip, trying very hard not to laugh at the thought that Trevor, who knew almost nothing about racing, had used the name of one of the 2010 Rolex 24 overall winners on Kelsey's travel document. “Come to think of it, hon, you do look a lot like Cyndie Allemann, you know.......” That got me a bonk on the head. “No, really, Kelsey, you do.....,” which got me another bonk for my wit. Trevor looked at me rather oddly and added his own two cents to the conversation. “The way you two fight, Matt, I’d swear you and Kelsey were married.” That got him a swat across the head from both of us.
Before I could say anything else, he pointed up ahead. “Uhh, guys.........isn’t that one of those roadblocks up ahead?” I looked and slowed down; there was a roadblock up ahead, manned not by any of El Presidente’s Guardsmen but by two of those mercs’ Mike Chevalier had warned me about a few days back. Slowing down as we approached, I looked at Kelsey and Tervor. “Just act natural, alright?” Pressing down on a foot mike, I whispered to Rhino, “Get ready, Chris.” A quiet sound of two pistols being cocked and ready to fire filled the earpiece I had on. Finally, we reached the roadblock; the two mercs’ stood tensely next to it, MP5s’ at the ready. The closer of the two spoke first. “I’m sorry, but this road is closed up ahead; you’ll have to turn around.”
“I’m sorry; I didn’t know that, sir. But we have permission from St. George to investigate all these refugee claims as part of an OAS investigation–“
”OAS, sir?,” the merc asked with a Flemish accent.
“Yes, OAS. Organization of American States. You see, the OAS has received reports of atrocities in the villages to the north and we’ve been asked to investigate them on behalf of the organization.”
“I see. Sir, would it be alright if I called down to St. George and confirm with them, Mr....”
“Rutherford. Yes, you can call them,” I said, tapping the foot mike several times. As if on cue, Chris popped up out of the back of the Hummer and fired at the two mercs, hitting one almost immediately and the second one a couple of seconds later.
Jumping out of the Hummer, I grabbed one of the two pistols and proceeded to shoot both mercs in the head, killing them as I said quietly, “but I’d prefer if you didn’t call them.” Handing the gun back to Tsar, I had him help me carry both bodies into the jungle-side along the road before taking the radiophone the mercs had with them and tossing it into the brush with them.
Walking back to the Hummer, I calmly proceeded to start the Hummer back up and the four of us headed further up the road, towards Antoine Lake and the rebel strongholds around La Poterie. As we drove further along, I reached down and opened a cargo pocket, making sure Hermano’s letter and his note were still there. Satisfied they were, I closed the cargo pocket and kept my eyes on the road; there was still a long way to go and the last need I needed was to make a mistake and wreck. Then again, if Hermano’s plans were what I thought they were going to be, wrecking Wolf’s H2 Hummer on an island road was the least of my worries.
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Post by Webster on May 31, 2018 0:05:34 GMT -5
Chapter 6
(excerpts from A HISTORY OF ISLA APURO by South African freelance journalist Trevor Koen)
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Post by Webster on May 31, 2018 0:06:14 GMT -5
Chapter 7
***evening, Antoine Lake, northeast Isla Apuro***
It was a long drive, but as the last rays of the evening shone in the distance, we saw, just ahead of us, a sign saying ‘Antoine Lake’. Antoine Lake was a small freshwater lake about a mile or so north of the village of La Poterie, right in the heart of PRF territory. La Poterie was a small fishing village; it was also Hermano’s hometown and that made it a perfect rendevous spot......if only there had been someone there to meet them. Instead, while the village showed signs of life, the area around the lake was quiet. Too quiet, I thought to myself as the four of us got out of the Hummer. While Chris and Trevor hung back by the Hummer, Kelsey and I walked a little ways’ down the road, looking for any signs of traffic or any activity. “Where is everyone?,” she asked.
“Beats me; the rebels control this area, so there should be more people around. But its’ late evening, so my guess is everyone is inside for the night.” Looking around some more, I added, “but there’s always some traffic, even in a small village such as La Poterie.” As I was saying this, two large deuce-and-a-half trucks rounded a corner. Flying from each of them was a large red flag, signifying them as rebel-owned trucks. They approached slowly, flashing their lights at us. Snapping my fingers at both Trevor and Chris, I turned back around as a wiry individual wearing fatigues and carrying an AK-74 got out of the passenger side of the lead truck and walked over to us. “Senor’ Little, I presume?,” he said with a slight lilting accent.
“Yes, that’s me,” I said, taking both the note and letter Hermano had written out of a cargo pocket and handing them to the rebel. After looking carefully, he handed them back to me and said, “So you are the one Hermano’ speaks of. It is an honor and pleasure to meet such a distinguished person,” the man said, shaking my hand vigorously. Turning a mite red with embarrassment, I returned the handshake and said, “Is Hermano nearby? We just drove all the way up from St. George; capped two of El Presidente’s mercs at a roadblock a while back and we’d like to get off of the road if that’s possible.”
“I understand what you mean. It is insulting to Isla Apuro that that ******* doesn’t trust his own Guardsmen but has to bring in outsiders to oppress our people, an oppression that will soon end! But first, we must get you and your friends to safety. If you’ll come with us,” he said, pointing to the back of the lead truck, motioning for us to get in the back.
“Lead the way,” I replied, as the four of us followed him to the back of the truck. Climbing up into the truck, I helped Kelsey up first, then the two of us helped Trevor and Chris into the truck also. Once we found our seats, the rebel guard signaled for the driver to pull forward, which he did with a bone-jarring thrum. After a few moments, the truck lurched forward and began rolling down the road, passing through the village. As we continued on, Trevor leaned over and asked, “Where exactly are we headed, Matthew?”
“We’re going to see Hermano,” said the driver. We looked at the driver, who seemed to be on the edge of seventeen and who looked barely tall enough to see over the steering wheel. “We’ll be at our basecamp in a few minutes,” he added, redirecting his concentration on driving the heavy truck down the dirt roads. As we rode along, I said to Trevor, “That answer your question?”
He shrugged and sat back, while Chris must’ve fallen asleep next to him. How was a mystery to me. Meanwhile, Kelsey sat next to me, her arm around me, more for comfort than anything else. “Who exactly is this Hermano, Matt?,” she asked pensively.
“Hermano Gustavo Rodriguez, to be exact,” I replied. “His father was a major political leader around the time Isla Apuro gained its’ independence from Great Britain; unfortunately, he didn’t live long afterward during the post-independence, post-civil war period. Hermano is also the leader of the PRF, the Provisional Revolutionary Front, which may be on the verge of overthrowing the de Rojas regime. On a personal note, however,” I added, taking off my shirt and turning so that she and the others could see the Swamp Fox tattoo, located near my right shoulder blade, “we’re also both members of the Swamp Fox fraternity. If you were to look in the Recruit Training logs at Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island, in one of the recruit training battalions in 1981, you would find the name of Hermano Gustavo Rodriguez,” adding with a sly grin, “just as if you looked in the 1993 logs, you would find the name of Matthew Justin Little also.”
I sat back, watching the stunned looks on Trevor and Chris’s faces. “What?,” I snorted sarcastically. “Yeah, that’s right. And I’ll tell you this, fellas'. I bet ya’ the first thing he’ll ask me is–“ I didn’t get to finish that thought, for we had arrived at our destination. The truck lurched to a stop, its’ wheels seemingly digging into the dirt and gravel of the improvised road. Moments later, the rear latch was unhitched as the four of us climbed out, all under the watchful eyes of numerous rebels, all armed with AK-74s’. As we got our feet under us, we heard a loud voice call out from afar, “Matthew!”
We turned around to where the voice had come from; over towards the entrance of what looked to be a subterranean building stood several people, including a short, muscular man in his late 40s' who looked to be their leader. Walking over to the group, I needed only a moment before recognizing him, goatee and all, as Gustavo Hermano Rodriguez.
“Hermano!” I said, just as the two of us tried to bear-hug the other. Eventually Hermano gave up and I set him back down. “Well, we made it up here.” Introducing the three others standing next to me, Hermano welcomed us to his headquarters, adding, “You’re just in time to witness the revolution! In three days’ time, we make our final assaults on the de Rojas regime and, if all goes well, they will be no more!"
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Post by Webster on May 31, 2018 0:06:52 GMT -5
Chapter 8
***(outside St. George, Isla Apuro)***
There are times, I thought to myself, where I am glad I once served as a Marine.......this was one of those times. For most of the past two days, Hermano, his deputy Sarita, along with the four of us and about 50 other rebels, had walked through the heart of the island, right down the middle of the Grand Etang’ Forest Preserve, avoiding several run-ins’ with De Rojas’ Guardsmen and mercenaries in the process. Amazingly, not once did anyone ever complain about the trip.
If they had complained, especially Trevor, I would’ve broke out the stories about my recruit training at Parris Island, including the three days known universally to Marines as “the Crucible”. Eventually, all of us made it rather unscathed to a somewhat familiar location.........John Parker’s hacienda outside St. George. When we stepped onto the broad expanse of land where it was located, I broke out in laughter. Everyone looked at me like I was delirious. “Hermano, let me ask you something......if this was going to be where we were going to end up after the past couple of days, then why have us meet you,” pointing back to the northeast, ‘”there when you could’ve met us,” pointing at the hacienda, “down here?”
Hermano looked at me for a couple of tense moments before answering. “We had to know it was you, Matthew. If you hadn’t made it to our basecamp, we’d known something was wrong. Bah.....,” he said, dismissing my concerns. I didn’t blame him, though. As we rested, one of Parker’s bodyguards ran towards us with a satellite phone. “Mr. Little?”
I raised my hand; I was still sitting on the ground, resting my back on a forty-pound rucksack. The man ran over and handed me the sat phone. “Yes?”
“Matt, its’ Mike; where ya’ been hiding?”
“Here and there, Mike. What about you guys?”
“Well, if you’d look off towards the western shore, you might see us arriving.” Getting up, I ambled over to the rear of the hacienda, looking through a set of high-power binos’ towards the coast. I looked down towards the southern end of the beach..........nothing. As I looked off towards the northern end of the beach, I caught a glimpse of several people climbing off two long, silver go-fast boats docked about a mile or so north of the hacienda. I smiled as I watched them off-load a bunch of items from the go-fast boats. “Okay, Mike, I see you and a couple of others; who’d you bring?”
“Well, besides myself I’ve got the whole crew with me. Marquis, Frech, J.R. and Mike Smith–“
”What took you so long?”
“We had to take the long route, Matt. We took off from Velo International, flew all the way to Miami, then flew all the way out to Martinque and then,– thank Lee Brinson for this one when you get back to Velo City, Matt– loaded everything onto those two silver Fearless boats you see along the shoreline.” As he kept talking, I looked further up the coast and saw trouble, in the form of three jeeps loaded with Guardsmen about a mile and a half up the coast. “Mike, you got company coming; you armed?”
“To the teeth, Matt.”
“Hang on; I’m coming down there.” Tossing the sat phone back to Smith’s bodyguard, I grabbed a Makarov PMM out of the rucksack I had and yelled over to Hermano, “Give me a couple of your guys; my people are about to get a nasty surprise in a few minutes.” Calling over to some of the others, Hermano ordered six of them to follow me down to the beach. As the six of us were jumping into a dune buggy, I felt someone’s arm grab mine. I turned around. Kelsey was standing there, her face alight with worry. “What is it?”
“Mike Chevalier and his people are down on the beach and they’re about to get some unwanted visitors–“
”I’m going with you,” she said. I looked straight at Kelsey, then firmly said, “No!! Stay here, Kelsey.” Looking away for a brief moment, I could see that night back at the club a year before.........”Kelsey, stay here, okay? For my sake?”
“Matt, why?”
“‘Cause the last time someone I loved went with me to a gunfight, she didn’t make it back and I won’t lose someone special like that again,” I said, quickly kissing her on the lips before turning back around and firing up the dune buggy. How the seven of us managed to fit into that vehicle is a miracle, but the trip down to the beach was quick.
As we approached Chevalier and the rest of my crew, I could see they were already taking fire from the guardsmen, so I punched the accelerator down even harder and drove like a bat out of hell down to the beach. Hitting the brakes when we got there, we piled out of the dune buggy and took up firing positions behind the two boats; Mike and my friends were already firing away at the guardsmen so I ordered Hermano’s rebels to open up also. “Okay, Mike, what next?”
As the bullets whizzed by both of us, he said, “We gotta’ get up to that hacienda,” pausing to fire several rounds at the guardsmen. Two shots hit a guardsmen; he fell down, sprawled out on the beach with the rounds hitting him in the thigh. As he leaned forward, Frech squeezed off another round that caught the top of the guardsman’s head. “But first, we’ve got to get off this beach!”
“Ya’ think, Sherlock?” I yelled, letting a couple of 9mm rounds off as I spoke. For about a half-hour the gun-battle raged, 13 of de Rojas’ Guardsmen armed with MP5s while my friends and I, along with Hermano’s group of rebels, were armed with various other weapons. Looking over towards the dune buggies gave me an idea. “Smith, Marquis, over here!” Crawling from behind one boat to the other, they managed to avoid getting hit. “When I give the signal, all of us are going to make for the dune buggies; give us some cover, okay?” As they nodded, I yelled over to one of Hermano’s rebels what my plan was; he nodded and passed the word down. As the gunfight continued, I waited for the guardsmen to reload. When they paused for a second, I yelled, “Run now!”
All of us save for Smith and Marquis bolted for the dune buggies; they followed soon after. Bullets whizzed by in a staccato zing as all of us piled into the vehicles and took off for the hacienda. Driving like possessed madmen, we made it back to the hacienda. Down below, the guardsmen were withdrawing from the beach, taking their dead and wounded with them. As we roared back onto the hacienda grounds, I could feel the adrenalin rush through me in waves. Holding one hand up, I could see it shaking as if suspended above an earthquake. Closing it into a fist, I got out of the vehicle and asked if everyone was okay. “Yeah” and “I’m fine” permeated the air as Chevalier and I walked back to the others.
“That was cutting it close, Mike,” I said, trying to relax.
“No joke,” he replied, pausing to look at a bullet wound that had grazed his left arm. Calling over one of Hermano’s men, I pointed to Chevalier’s arm and he got to work, cleaning the wound and bandaging it. “So, what next?”
“Well, on our way to the beach, we picked up some radio traffic. Apparently, Hermano’s rebels have seized Pearls Airport, Grenville and pretty much everything north of Grand Etang’. St. George is in panic mode, also; they see the handwriting on the wall and are making out like rats on a sinking ship.” As he was finishing, one of Parker’s guards ran out of the hacienda and motioned to both me and Hermano. Wondering what the hell was happening, we ran into one of the hacienda’s offices, where a flat-screen projection TV had been set up. “What’s going on, Wolf?”
“Just watch,” was his reply. The three of us stood in his office, watching a press conference from Washington. As we watched, Hermano leaned over and whispered, “They're coming to intervene in our affairs, aren’t they?”
“Sounds like it, but if they’re really sending in the Marines, it ain’t going to be to either prop up de Rojas or to help you, my friend. Most likely, they’re coming to evacuate Americans from the island and protect the embassy; anything else is secondary to that. Just tell your people to stay out of the Carentage section of St. George and you should be alright.” Carentage was where the two-story brownstone building that housed the United States Embassy was located. “If the Marines left Morehead City an hour ago according to the press conference, that means they’ll be offshore in.......,” sneaking a glance at a nearby wall clock, “two, three days tops. Which means,” turning to Hermano, “you guys will have to take St. George now.”
“What do you think we’ve been massing rebels near there for, Matthew? To watch the beautiful sunsets?,” he said with a smart-alecky tone. “Besides, in only a few more hours, we will begin our final assault on the city. Come with us, Matthew! Witness the revolution!”
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Post by Webster on May 31, 2018 0:07:04 GMT -5
AP NEWS BREAKS...........
AP News--Atlanta, Ga..............Rebels Take Grenville, Pearls Airport; Washington Orders Marines to Isla Apuro
..........in what is being described as a lightning-fast assault, rebels of the PRF seized the town of Grenville in the east-central region of Isla Apuro. As the rebels entered the town, numerous red flags of the PRF were seen being waved, not only by townspeople but by members of the island’s Military Guard, many of whom are said to have defected to the rebel cause. Meanwhile, the nearby Pearls Airport fell without a shot being fired. Elsewhere on the island, officials with the U.S. Embassy have begun evacuation efforts, asking all Americans currently living or visiting on the island to report to the embassy grounds..............
...........in Washington, officials at the Defense Department reported that “all available steps will be taken to ensure the safety of Americans in Isla Apuro and to protect American interests in that particular part of the Caribbean”. To emphasize the point, Secretary Gates has ordered the deployment of at least one Marine Expeditionary Unit(MEU) to the island; reports from Morehead City are that two amphibious ships, the Iwo Jima and the Trenton, have been dispatched to the island nation to assist in evacuation efforts. The unit in question, the 22nd MEU out of Camp Lejeune, consists of one reinforced marine battalion and one air squadron consisting of helicopters, Harrier jump-jets and Osprey tilt-rotor aircraft. The 22nd MEU and its' amphibious group is expected to arrive off the coast of Isla Apuro within the next 48 to 72 hours...............
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Post by Webster on May 31, 2018 0:07:21 GMT -5
Chapter 9
***(night-time outside St. George)***
After several hours’ rest at the hacienda, Hermano and I sat down near one of the rebel trucks and talked about what exactly was going on and what would happen; it was then that he told me what his plans were for finishing the revolution his father had started over 30 years before; the attacks on Grenville and in the north were only the preliminaries. The attack on St. George........”over the past few days, Matthew, we’ve been massing around the city; soon we will strike–“
”That’s all good and well, but what if they’re not successful?”
“They’ll be successful, my friend. We have too much riding on it for us to fail.”
“Ah, the old ‘we shall either stand together in victory or hang separately if we fail’ philosophy, right?”
“Indeed, my friend.” As we sat outside the hacienda, activity still buzzing around us, he looked over at me with what seemed like an odd but sly look on his face. “What is it, Matthew? Something troubling you, my friend?”
Looking over at Kelsey for several long, agonizing moments, I turned back to Hermano. “It’s nothing, Hermano. Nothing that can’t wait.......”
Before Hermano or I had a chance to continue, one of Hermano’s rebels ran over to him; they spoke for a few moments then he turned around to me. “Our people are in position, my friend. You wanted to witness the revolution; now’s your chance!” As he got up and started giving orders to his rebels, I walked over to where my people. “Mike! Mike!”
Startled, he turned around. “What is it, Matt?”
“We’re going, now. Get armed up and ready to go. And get those boats off the beach, okay? Something tells me we’re going to need them.”
“I’m on it,” Chevalier said, yelling to Smith and the others. As he spoke, I began to walk back to where Hermano and his rebels were located; as I walked, Trevor and Chris joined me. “So, do you think the end is near for El Presidente?,” Trevor asked me.
“Either that or we’re all doing this for nothing,” I quipped. Eventually, all of us were ready to go; as all the vehicles began to leave the hacienda, I thought to myself, ‘This had better work, Hermano. This had better work.’
Hermano’s plan for defeating de Rojas were elegant yet brutally simple. Round 1 had been taking the northern third of Isla Apuro; round 2 had been seizing Grenville and Pearls Airport. Round 3 was going to be the taking of the capital, St. George, as fast as was humanly possible. Speed and violence of action were key. If Hermano’s people took too long, de Rojas’ Guardsmen might be able to repel the attacks.
But I wasn’t thinking of these things as we rode down towards St. George, using the backroads to avoid detection. Instead, I was thinking of more personal things as I reached into a pocket and pulled out a large ruby that Hermano had given me the last time I had been on the island. Looking at it for a moment, I thought, I need to get this stone sized and set into a ring to....to........
Memories of what happened the year before flashed through my mind, but I thought to myself, if we make it through this, I'm going to propose to Kelsey....... Putting those thoughts aside, I put the stone back in a cargo pocket and looked out along the lush beauty of the island countryside. I couldn’t help but to think about what everyone with us was about to undertake.
Turning back to the rear of the truck, I could see several rebels sleeping, their youthful expressions betraying the seriousness of the situation ahead. They look like some of the Marines I served with in the Beirut Battalion in the Adriatic, I thought, turning back around.
After another twenty minutes or so, the vehicles began slowing down; I looked around to get a look at the surroundings. Right where we should be, I thought, as the vehicles came to a stop outside, I jumped out of the passenger side, rifle at the ready. It felt good to be carrying a weapon again, but if everything went according to plan, I wouldn’t be using it.
As I stood there, I knew throughout St. George were trucks and dune buggies bearing members of the PRF who would seize key installations in the city. Our little group, consisting of myself, Hermano, Mike Smith, Chris and about a dozen rebels would have the hardest job.........capturing El Presidente’s personal residence, located along the waterfront. As luck would have it, located behind the residence were several small go-fast boats, not as big as the two silver Fearless boats I had seen earlier, but close enough. Now all we had to do was wait..............
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Post by Webster on May 31, 2018 0:07:40 GMT -5
AP NEWS BREAKS............
Excerpts from AP News on the continuing trouble in Isla Apuro
................(1)Rebels Preparing to Seize St. George; (2)Evacuations Set to Begin Soon
(1)Updating the current news coming from Isla Apuro. According to credible sources, rebel forces are beginning to mass throughout the St. George, ostensibly in an effort to convince the de Rojas government to leave peacefully, but rebel leaders deny such a claim, saying that they are fully prepared to attack St. George and force the ouster of what has been described as the Caribbean’s last strongman. Estimates are of up to a thousand rebels in and around the city’s borders......................
(2)Meanwhile, evacuations of American and other nationals is set to begin today at the Carentage. According to U.S. Embassy officials, over 3,000 Americans and an estimated 5,000 foreign nationals have arrived at the embassy complex and the harborfront nearby, awaiting evacuation. Embassy officials have stressed that the evacuations will begin once the leading elements of the 22nd MEU arrive off the St. George coast. In the meantime, both Canada and Great Britain have ordered naval assets to head for Isla Apuro to join with the American presence soon to arrive as the situation continues to deteriorate.......
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Post by Webster on May 31, 2018 0:07:52 GMT -5
Chapter 10
AP News...............Rebels Seize Key Points Around St. George
.........according to officials at the U.S. Embassy in St. George, several areas of St. George have fallen to rebels of the PRF; these include the city's television and radio facilities, along with several schools and city offices. Meanwhile, evacuations are set to begin at the Carentage; embassy officials estimate that over 6,000 American and other nationals are currently awaiting evacuation from the island...........
***(early morning, St. George)***
Off in the distance, the sun could be seen slowly rising as the fires from several places in St. George brought up columns of black smoke; parts of the city looked for all intent and purpose like funeral pyres. Whether that was in any of our minds’ I had no idea; all I knew was that between us and the Presidential Palace was 200 meters of cobblestone streets and who knew how many Guardsmen or mercenaries. After discussing the situation with Hermano, we decided to split into two groups. Hermano, Mike and half the rebels would be in one group while myself, Rhino and the remaining rebels would be in the other group. Grabbing a set of pocket binos’, I did a quick scan of the palace, notice the absence of any guards. “That’s odd,” I whispered to myself.
“What’s odd?,” one of the rebels asked.
Handing him the binos’, I pointed out the lack of guards. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is supposed to be El Presidente’s palace. If so, where are the guards?” The rebel laughed at my suggestion but I had made my point. Getting the binos’ back, I looked a second time, then signaled over to Hermano’s group. Nodding, we crept forward, using the buildings as cover; one group would move forward while the other group watched and vice versa. Eventually all of us reached the front gates of the palace; strangely, we were the only ones at the front gate. I looked over at Hermano, who shrugged back in a “Where is everyone?” manner.
Right as he did, though, I saw several guards run out of the palace towards the nearby docks, where El Presidente was thought to have several go-fast boats hidden away. Pointing over to them, I signaled for Hermano’s people to follow me. As his people watched, I got up, tested the strength of the front gate and slowly, carefully, climbed over the gate. As Rhino was doing the same, one of the guards saw him and opened fire; he missed Rhino, but it was enough to cause him to fall from the gate rather awkwardly. As he was getting his bearings again, I opened up on the guard, firing several well-aimed shots at the man. Two of the rounds found their mark; the guard spun and fell to the ground. Looking over at Rhino, I asked the kid, “You alright? Can you walk?”
“Yeah, I think so,” he muttered in pain. “Think I twisted my ankle, though.” As he was talking, two of Hermano’s rebels had climbed the gates and joined us; I told them to watch Rhino while I scouted ahead. By now, the sun was beginning to climb in the eastern sky, casting some early shadows on the gates next to us. Satisfied that he was in good hands, I knelt down and low-ran over to a nearby building, using the binos’ to look around. Not seeing anyone, I low-ran to another corner, again looking around.
Right then, I saw him.........Isla Apuro’s dictator, Ferdinand Arroyo de Rojas, next to three guards near a dock hidden from view of the main gate. As I watched, Hermano, Mike Smith and at least three rebels made their way over. Handing him the binos’, I asked Hermano if he recognized the man in the middle of the group we were looking at. “I see him......El Presidente’! By the looks of it, Matthew, he is running like.....how do you say, like a scared chicken?”
“Yeah, he’s running. But where? And for that matter, how?” Just as I said it, though, one of El Presidente’s guards started throwing around tow lines off the dock and began firing up one of the cigar boats. “Here’s our chance, Hermano. Just stay close to me, everyone, and rush the docks!” When everyone acknowledged what I said, I added, “On three. One..........Two...........THREE!!”
The six of us ran towards the dock, firing at the guards as we ran pell-mell towards them. As we got closer, the guards managed to free the last of the tow lines and El Presidente shot out from the dock in a 25-footer, an Outlaw Pirana. As he sped off on the water, we shot the last of the guards. Running over, I climbed onto the second Pirana and started yelling, “Someone, cut the tow lines! Cut the ****ing tow lines!” As they were doing this, Hermano asked, “What are you doing, Matthew?”
“What does it look it, Hermano! I’m going to go chase down El Presidente and bring him back here!”
“You are braver than I thought, my friend!” Hermano shockingly replied as the last of the tow lines were cut. Revving up the engine, I gunned the throttle. Just as I began to move away from the dock, someone jumped onto the boat. I looked over and thought to myself, How the hell did she get down here? as she took off the helmet she’d been wearing. Looking over again, I asked her, “How’d you manage to get down here, Kelsey?”
“Simple. I switched places with one of Hermano’s rebels back at the hacienda,” she replied nonchalantly. As she said that, she sat down in the co-driver’s seat next to mine as I gunned the throttle to full and took after El Presidente. As we headed off after him, the same thoughts I had from the hacienda began to enter my mind. I shunted them aside and thought, I’ll ask her after we catch El Presidente.’
Coming back to the present, I said to Kelsey, “Get on the radio and call for assistance. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will hear us.” Off in the distance, El Presidente’s boat seemed to be gaining distance, but I thought, if I don’t catch him..........to paraphrase the old Spartan saying, “Either I’m coming back to Isla Apuro with El Presidente, or Kelsey’ll return to the island with my body strapped to the boat!” Another thought came to mind, though..........how in the hell do I manage to get myself into these chases?
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Post by Webster on May 31, 2018 0:08:18 GMT -5
Chapter 11
***(SW coast of Isla Apuro)***
The sun was beginning to climb ever higher in the tropical sky as the chase began. El Presidente was running for his life in one Outlaw Pirana while Kelsey and I were in another Pirana a couple of hundred yards behind. As I kept at it, I kept thinking, ‘Hope you know what you’re doing, buster!’ for I had as about as much experience piloting a go-fast boat as I did riding a motorcycle. I also knew that, under the circumstances, this was most assuredly not the time to worry about whether or not I knew how to drive the boat.
As Kelsey got on the radio to call for assistance, I kept one hand on the wheel while I looked through the binos’ and tried to guesstimate the distance between us. If there was one good thing about being on the open water, it was that I could close the distance between our boats without having to go straight at El Presidente. As I began to maneuver towards El Presidente, I asked Kelsey if she had gotten a hold of anyone. “Not yet,” she said as she continued to broadcast over the radio for assistance. Turning back around, I tried to gauge the distance between our boats when de Rojas began making several sharp S-type turns ahead of our boat in an effort to shake us off of him. Although I was beginning to catch him, I started making similar turns, yelling over to Kelsey, “Hang on, babe!”
We were now engaged in a watery version of a dogfight, El Presidente trying his darnedest to lose us while we were trying to reel him in. It was an intricate cat-and-mouse game. Every time he’d make a move, I’d counter with one as well. Slowly, slowly I began catching up to his boat. There was only one problem......even if I caught up to him, how was I going to get over to his boat and stop him? “Kelsey, see if there’s anything we can use to grapple onto El Presidente’s boat; a grappling hook, rope, anything.......” While she frantically searched, I kept trying to close the distance between our boats.
Suddenly, El Presidente’s boat hit a wave the wrong way. Instead of continuing it slowed down and began drifting aimlessly. Within thirty seconds we had caught up to him and pulled alongside him. Looking over, I saw that he was dazed but still conscious. Grabbing the grappling hook, I told Kelsey to grab the wheel and keep us as close as possible. “Why?,” she asked.
“So that I can get the hook caught on something on the other boat,” I replied. “The sooner I can do that, the sooner I can climb over, subdue El Presidente, and start towing this damn boat of his back to St. George.” Twirling the hook in the air for a couple of seconds, I tossed it towards the other Pirana; the first attempt didn’t even make it to the boat’s interior. Reeling the rope hook back in, I twirled it a few more times and heaved it over. Clang went the hook as it hit a piece of metal and caught. Testing the line to see how secure it was, I waited ‘til the boats were virtually touching each other, than jumped in the ocean water and swam to El Presidente’s boat. Pulling myself up and over the boat, I approached El Presidente, wary not to lose focus or concentration. I needn’t have bothered; he noticed my approach and turned wearily around as if to say, “You got me.” “I........I..........am I under arrest, senor? ,” he asked in a disbelieving tone.
“Not by me, but I suspect the people of Isla Apuro, not to mention a couple of governments would like to have a word with you about the events of the past three decades,” I said to him. As the two of us stood on his boat, facing each other like it was a Liddell-Couture grudge match, Kelsey whistled over to me. When I turned around, she yelled over, “I finally got someone, Matt!”
Puzzled, I asked, “Who?”
Asking again where they were from, Kelsey replied, “It’s an Osprey from the Trenton, Matt! The Marines are coming!,” she said exuberantly, fist held high in celebration. I was pleased as well, yelling for her to toss over my binos’. As she did, I thought I could faintly hear in the distant sky the quiet whisper of a helicopter, but I thought, “Isn’t the Osprey a tilt-rotor aircraft.......?”
Then, off in the western sky, it appeared. Slate-gray in appearance, it grew in the sky like an angry wraith, its’ rotors beating the tropical air in front of it as it flew above us. Eventually, it flew over us, its’ presence a blessing for us........not so much for any assistance, but it meant that, over the horizon, about 1100 Marines were nearby. I reached over for the radio on El Presidente’s boat. Switching the radio over to a common guard frequency, I radioed to it as I tracked it with my binos’. After talking to them for several minutes, I grabbed the grappling hook that tied our boats together; unhooking it for a moment, I crawled forward along the bow and re-hooked it to where a tow-line would go if it were docked; when I re-hooked it, I gave a brief tug on the rope to check for any slack but there wasn’t any noticeable slack. After making sure de Rojas was restrained to the boat, I swam back over to the other Pirana and crawled onboard, dripping wet from ocean water and feeling exhausted after everything that had happened.
“That was ninja, what happened today,” I said to Kelsey as we headed back to St. George, with El Presidente’s boat in tow. “Huh?,” she replied.
“I said,” looking at her with a smile, “that was ninja what’s happened today. We helped Hermano take the presidential palace, bring down a government and capture El Presidente’. You could say we were, I don’t know......witnesses to a revolution,” leaning over to give her a kiss.
After I sat back in the co-driver’s seat, she looked over at me and added, “You know, Matt, I keep thinking.............what on earth is everyone back at the club going to say when we tell them what our vacation was like?” I stared at her for several seconds before laughing. She soon joined in and I’m almost willing to bet our laughter could be heard all the way back in St. George.
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Post by Webster on May 31, 2018 0:08:36 GMT -5
REUTERS-AP NEWS Reuters News: Marines Arrive in Isla Apuro Marines of Lima Co., 3/2 of the 22nd Marine Expeditionary Unit land southwest of St. George International Airport, St. George, Isla Apuro, during evacuation and security operations on the island in response to events on the island. A UH-1N from HMLA-269 flies along the amphibious assault ship USS Iwo Jima as it departs for the Carentage, St. George, Isla Apuro. Evacuations began late in the afternoon as both CH-53 Sea Stallion helicopters, UH-1N support helicopters and MV-22 Osprey tilt-rotor aircraft flew into St. George under guard of AH-1Z Cobra gunships and AV-8B Harrier II jump-jets.AP News Reports, St. George, Isla Apuro............after over 30 years, one of Latin America's final dictatorships is at an end. According to news reports from Isla Apuro, former strongman Ferdinand Arroyo de Rojas was officially handed over by the provisional government to representatives of the U.S. Department of Justice, where de Rojas was presented with several indictments for drug trafficking and other related crimes. Reports are that de Rojas is currently en-route to a federal detention facility in Miami, where he will await arraignment on the indictments in question. Meanwhile, a sense of calm has arrived in St. George as both U.S. Marines from the 22nd Marine Expeditionary Unit, Canadian Forces personnel from the 31st Brigade Group and soldiers from Britain's 16th Air Assault Brigade began patrolling the streets of the capital. Reports from the ground are that casualties so far are very light, with sporadic reports of gunfire still coming in from isolated parts of the city.........................In international news, the U.S. State Department officially recognized the provisional government of Hermano Gustavo Rodriguez. In a brief statement, State Department Spokesman Kevin Trapman said that, "while we are relieved and happy to see a new government take root in St. George, we are hopeful that the new government will respect the rights and liberties of all Isla Apuran' citizens". Meanwhile, evacuations continue in St. George. Talking to reporters at the Carentage, the commander of the 22nd MEU, Col. Richard Ralobban said to the AP reporters, 'Evacuations are continuing at a steady pace. We estimate that they should be complete within the next couple of days and then we will begin peacekeeping operations throughout the island in cooperation with our British and Canadian counterparts.'.......... |
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