During the late '70's and 80's, the United States became embroiled with several low intensity, high per diem, conflicts in Central America.  One of the countries that we paid particular attention to was El Salvador.  El Sal, as we savvy GI's called it, was a nice little country comprised of nice little people who were made a little jumpy by the fact that they seemed to have an earthquake, every couple of hours.  Earthquakes will do that to people... make them jumpy, that is.

 Now during the aforementioned unpleasantness, the nearby country of Honduras became a principle, strategic, player in El Sal's problems.  Most of the Honduran's didn't understand why they had assumed such a pivotal role in the El Sal conflict, as they didn't give a hoot for what happened in El Sal in the first place.  This was because they still had some hard feelings about a certain soccer game that was played in 1969.

 Confusing?  I thought so!  Perhaps, a little history lesson will clear this all up.  Perhaps, not.....But just try and stop me!

 Back in 1969, El Salvador and Honduras were scheduled for a three game series.  The game was soccer!  This should have been a friendly little rivalry and a good game to see.  However, anyone that has been to Central America will tell you that soccer is a not a game but, a form of regional madness!  No soccer game is ever friendly!

 The first game in the series was played on Honduran soil, in the capital city of Tegucigalpa (known as Tegoose, to us savvy, hip, GI's).  On the morning of the game, adoring Honduran futebol fans spread roofing nails along the route that the visiting Salvadoran team would take from the hotel to the stadium.  This prank had the expected result of, flattening the visiting team's tires and forcing them to run to the stadium.  Walking to the stadium was not an option!  The route was lined with Honduran practical jokers, who thought that they would invent a new game: one that involved throwing bricks at the visiting team!

 An exhausted Salvadoran team arrived at the stadium and promptly, lost the first match.  The traditional, after game riot broke out and the stadium was burned to the ground.  Miraculously, the El Sal team made it to safety and under the cover of darkness, escaped to their own country.  The next morning, it was easy to tell just who, had attended the game....They were the people with the bandages and splints!  A typically standard soccer game!

 The next game in the series was played in the Salvadoran capital, San Salvador.  The visiting Honduran team was put up in the best of hotels, which was promptly set on fire!  They were then moved to a lesser hotel and were serenaded throughout the night by Salvadoran fans.  Being on fire is an exhausting experience but, the less than melodic strains emanating from the amateur artists, combined with the hourly earthquake, really took the competitive edge out of the visiting team.  They lost the game and the traditional fight afterwards!  It was reported that the after game festivities, set new hospital records in San Salvador!

 The third game was played in the neutral location of, Mexico City.  National pride was at stake during this game.  The stadium was filled to capacity.  All of Central America was listening to this game!  Fields were left unattended.  Factories stopped production.  The game began!

 This game exceeded the "No Holds Barred", bare knuckled brawls that were the usual fare for soccer fans.  The violence was magnificent!  The press in glowing detail reported each violation of the rules and the commentary was slanted to whichever country was reporting on the game!  Fights broke out in bars, thousands of miles away!  El Salvador won this game in the final seconds of play.  An outraged Honduran team charged the officials with accepting bribes and cheating to throw the game to El Salvador!  Fans took to the streets in an unbridled display of soccer exuberance!  Spectators, mauled each other in the stands!  Women were raped!  People were trampled and a couple of people died during the melee!

 Outrage reached a critical level and even involved the governments of the two countries.  Within days, war was declared.  Both sides gained and lost territory during these skirmishes and the UN stepped in!  The disputed border territories were then set aside as no man's land until the World Court would hear the case and decide on where the new borders would be set.  This would happen with the usual speed of the World Court and the case is scheduled to be heard in the year 2135, barring any delays.

 This created a government free zone that neither side could patrol so, the communists moved in took control of this area and squeezed out the Mafia before the mob could set up the first casino!  Because the communists took over the territory in such a rapid manner and because the Mafia did not have time to set up a casino,  the guerillas were pretty much starved for entertainment.  After a few years, they invited their fellow communists, from the nearby country of Nicaragua, to help them with their problems and perhaps, participate in a friendly soccer game!  Nicaragua decided to send them some troops but, nixed the soccer idea.  Instead, they sent troops armed with playing cards and a good copy of, "Hoyle's Rules Of The Games."

 Now this is what brings us up the importance of Honduras to the internal strife in El Salvador.  Nicaragua, does not share a border with El Sal.  It does share a border with Honduras.  In the mid '80's, the traffic of Nicaraguan soldiers, traveling to El Salvador to become guerillas, was staggering!  In order to use the cards that were sent with them they had to play with the Honduran soldiers that were guarding the frontier, bordering the disputed zones because, the poor farmer living in the disputed zone, did not have any money.  They briefly toyed with the idea of playing cards with the El Salvadoran guards, at their portion of the frontier but, it seemed that the El Sal government had some regulation about playing cards with the enemy. Whenever  the guerillas came by for a friendly game of poker, the El Sal's began shooting at them.  The guerillas, assuming that the El Sals were still, really jumpy from the daily earthquakes, decided to move the poker parties to the more laid back Honduran outposts.

 The most cooperative, laid back and remote outpost happened to be near the area of Marcala, Honduras.  Marcala is in the southwestern mountain area at an elevation that gives eagles, nosebleed problems.  It is approximately 255 miles from anything remotely resembling civilization and its main product is coffee.  Coffee strong enough to give Juan Valdez the caffeine shakes!  The Honduran military unit assigned to the area was billeted in the town of Marcala (in something called a Quartel) and the outpost was a few miles away.  The only way to get to the outpost, from the Honduran side, was by mule train.  The Honduran troops used to love being assigned to the outpost duty as, they had a small shack erected there that was just the perfect size for hosting poker games.

 Unfortunately, one of the poker players drank too much coffee and due to an overabundance of caffeine, became angry at losing a hand at the poker party.  Getting angry at a poker game is a bad idea.  It is especially bad when all of the participants are armed.  A minor fracas, similar to another incident that happened at a place called the, "OK Corral", erupted.  The end result was that poker game was interrupted, somebody grabbed the money from the table and a couple of people got shot.  This was nothing compared to mayhem of a soccer game but, the US State Department heard about this and the incident got blown all out of proportion!  The National Security Council convened and briefed President Reagan and Vice President Bush.

 NSC Advisor:  "Mr. President, we have a new development with the guerillas in El Salvador."

 George Bush:  "El Salvador?  What part of Bosnia Hercegodadavida is that?"

 NSC Advisor:  "El Salvador is a part of Central America sir.  See here," pointing to the map.  "It's just south of Guatemala."

 President Reagan:  "You remember, George.  Ollie North showed us a film clip about that place, yesterday.  The people there do a lot of dancing; don't they?"

 NSC Advisor:  "Uhhh, sir, they weren't dancing.  They were trying to keep their balance during the earthquake."

 President Reagan:  "Which earthquake was that?"

 NSC Advisor:  "I think it was the two o'clock earthquake, sir.  Anyway, it looks like the Nicaraguans are importing card sharks into the region."

 President Reagan:  "Well, we can't have that!  They don't even have a decent casino yet.  Get SOUTHCOM on the phone!"

 SOUTHCOM (Southern Command) decided that the best way to combat this new threat was to send a gazillion US Army troops to Honduras.  Most of these troops were sent to the city of Comyagua, where a vast task force was assembled.  To the remote areas, Special Forces deployed from the 7th Special Forces Group in Panama.  My team was selected to deploy to Marcala.  We were selected for this mission because we were the most highly trained, intelligent and capable of all the teams assigned to Panama.  Additionally, we were renowned throughout Special Forces for our ability to play poker!  The “B” team, which consisted of Major Trumble, Sergeant Major Kenny McMullin and a radio operator, joined our “A” team on this operation.  They felt that it was necessary to accompany us because, quite frankly, they were getting bored in Panama.

 While training the troops from Marcala, our senior engineer, Dan Hernandez, noticed that the water supply to the Quartel and the village could stand some improvement.  The original water lines were old, leaky and could not possibly support an increase in usage should the area decide to make any improvements such as, adding a casino.  Dan drew up the plans and materials list to improve on the water supply and submitted the request and justifications to the task force in Comyagua.  The task force approved the request and acting much faster than the World Court, sent the needed materials to us by helicopter.

The helicopter delivered the supplies, promptly departed and managed to blow the roof off of one of the local hovels.  This created a new set of problems; maneuver damage.  Dan surveyed the damage, determined that he could fix the roof with another fifty dollars in materials and fired off another request to the task force.  The villager was pleased that we were going to repair the damage and planned a big poker party, to be held under his new roof.

 Task Force Bravo, perhaps tiring of inactivity in the town of Comyagua, did not approve of our request.  Instead they assembled two helicopters full of Psyops Officers, Finance Officers, Engineer Officers Legal Officers and a few, miscellaneous NCOs, none of whom spoke Spanish and sent them to Marcala, to do great things.

 The troops from REMFs  (Rear Echelon Main Force) from Task Force Bravo landed in the middle of Marcala without notifying the Colonel of the Quartel of their intentions.  This is a serious breach of protocol as the Colonel regards his area as an autonomous region and nothing should happen in his area without his approval.  To make matters worse, we were not informed of the landing and could not offer the Colonel an explanation for this invasion.

The REMFs surveyed the damaged roof, produced fifty pages of legal documents, took a dozen pictures of the village girls and two pictures of the roof, handed the owner of the house a check for five hundred dollars, hopped back into their helicopters and flew away.  All of this happened before we could get from the Quartel to the village, only a quarter of a mile away.

 The Colonel was upset!  Five hundred dollars was more than he made in an entire year!

The poor villager was upset!  The nearest hardware store was 255 miles away!  He would never be able to get his mule to Comyagua and back before the rains came.  Furthermore, his party plans were ruined!

We were upset!  Five hundred dollars was an outrageous sum.  We could rebuild the entire village, complete with a first rate casino, for five hundred bucks!

 The REMFs were very upset!  When they left the village, one of the two helicopters developed a serious problem and had to make a forced landing near the frontier outpost!

 The guerillas were upset!  The landing helicopters interrupted the poker game with the Hondurans!

 We had to go and rescue the boys from Task Force Bravo.  This made us feel a little better.  With any luck, the pissed off guerrillas, would kill them before we got there.

 The guerrillas decided not to cooperate.  We arrived at the landing site and found 14 very nervous officers and two scared NCOs.  The helicopter crew thought that they could make some temporary repairs to the crippled bird and maybe manage to limp back to the Quartel.  They could get parts flown in the next day and fly back to homebase.  In the meantime it would not be safe to have any passengers, so the REMFs had to walk back with us.  We took the REMFs in hand and began a fast forced march back to Marcala.  The boys from Comyagua were motivated to keep up with us.  They were afraid of the guerrillas and our horror stories during the march added to their endurance during the long trek. We returned to Marcala with 16 exhausted and terrified non-combatants in tow!

 The Honduran Colonel was still upset.  He ordered that the REMFs be housed in one building and not be allowed to move about the camp.  We decided to give them an additional scare and gave them a security briefing with instructions to remain in their quarters, should we come under attack during the night.  If it became necessary to escape and evade one of the team members would come for them and escort them to safety.   The helicopter crew decided that it was best for them to sleep in their choppers.  I briefed them on a route to safety if the guerrillas attacked.  They did not speak any Spanish and were afraid that the Hondurans may open fire on them.  I told them to shout, “Soy Americano!” as they ran up the hill.  In order for them to remember such a complicated phrase, I instructed the crew to remember the words, “soy sauce” as a mnemonic.  We put task force boys to bed and joined the Colonel for a few drinks.

 The Honduran Colonel kept a well stocked bar and was a good host.  He was however, disturbed by the events of the day and seemed to be in a bad humor.  Major Trumble tried to put him at ease but the Colonel wanted an accounting from the Remington Raiders that had invaded his domain.  The Colonel's frustration is what gave birth to what was described in the press as the “Massacre at Marcala”.

 Trumble asked Captain Johnson, our “A” team commander, and me if  there was anyway that we could make the REMF’s uncomfortable during the night.  We liked the idea!  Our brains hummed with creative activity!  We had only a couple of days left on this assignment and a lot of training munitions left over.  Would it be possible to put this to use?  Of course it would!  Besides, using ammo to create noise is a lot more fun than serenading the REMFs throughout the night!  Our team sprang into action.  Tonight, the camp would be attacked!

 Rick Cantrell and Hernandez took charge of planting demolitions and other noise makers in the wires along the perimeter.  Rick also insured that all of the camp's machine guns were positioned so that they were pointed to safe areas, shooting over the village and into the mountain jungles.  The T&E mechanisms (that little doohicky that keeps a machine gun from jumping all over creation) were locked in place so that they could not be easily moved.  The Junior Demo Man, Sergeant Guise, broke out the artillery simulators and cached them in strategic positions.  Captain Johnson and I briefed the junior Honduran officers while Major Trumble knocked down another drink.  The Hondurans got excited and added some of their own improvisations to the plan.  The Colonel sat back in his chair and grinned evilly!

 Finally, everything was in place.  All we had to do was wait for the proper time to spring into action.

The quietest time of the day is usually around 3 AM.  Coincidentally, this is the same time that the enemy always picks to start an attack.  In Marcala it was 2:59 AM when the Colonel walked to the center of the camp, raised the muzzle of MP-5 into the air and fired a long burst into the silent night!  The junior officers heard the signal and woke the troops!  The troops ran to their defensive positions.  Artillery simulators exploded in the compound!  Hernandez fired off the demo that he positioned in the wire!  The junior officers fired their weapons into the air and directed the troops to action!  Around the perimeter, Honduran soldiers fired weapons and shouted!  Some, pretended to be wounded and screamed for the medics!  I ran to the quarters that housed our guests, banged on the door and told them to stay down!  Grenades were rolled down the hills near the crippled helicopters and exploded harmlessly in the perimeter wire. The soldiers at that portion of the perimeter open fire with live ammo and shot rounds into the air.  Machine guns sent a stream of tracers arcing over the helicopters and into the inky blackness of the mountain jungles. The angry “WHUMP!” of mortars echoed through the camp as illumination rounds were lofted into the air!

A terrified American crew chief tore up the hill screaming at the top of his lungs, “Soy sauce Americano!  Soy sauce Americano!!!!!”   Sergeant Guise grabbed the crew chief and his equally terrified partner and hustled them to the barracks that housed the rest of the boys from Comyagua.  The crew chiefs dove through the door, low crawled on the floor, joined their task force compatriots quivering under the beds and rendered a rapid fire accounting of the carnage, death and destruction that awaited outside the door!

 An enthusiastic group of soldiers staged a fire fight just 20 feet from our guest's quarters.  They were magnificent!  They screamed in horror and moaned in misery just as they had learned to do from attending numerous soccer games!  The attack was believable! The REMFs soiled their undergarments and wet the floor! It went on like this for more than two hours!

 Eventually, the training ammo and a good portion of the camps basic load were expended.  The firing trickled down to the odd rifle shot and occasional simulator, punctuated at intervals by a mortar fired illumination round.  Everything quieted.  We waited an additional 15 minutes and went to check on our guests.  They were peeking through small cracks in the windows and doors when we entered.  I carried a large urn of freshly made, double strength, Honduran coffee into the room.  Major Trumble told them to forget anything that they had seen or heard.  “This operation needs to be kept quiet,” he said.  I passed around the coffee and told them to keep drinking this to stay awake.

 “Why do we need to stay awake?” they asked.

 “Just in case they come back”, I answered.

 “Why did they attack here?” chorused the group.

 “You don't need to know what is going on here!” I said.  “Just be ready if it starts up again!”

 The task force boys began gulping the coffee!  We decided to get some sleep.  The Colonel was laughing so hard that his sides hurt!  Justice had been served.

 We arose after a very brief sleep.  Mike Hamilton and Berthoud, our medics arranged some of the troops about fifty meters from the chopper pad and dressed them up with bandages and moulage kits to simulate wounds.  The troops sole duty that day was to lay down until the helicopters left the area.  About 30 “wounded and dying” Honduran soldiers were assembled.  Another company of troops donned civilian clothes and were positioned in, around, under and through the perimeter wires.  From a distance, they looked just like dead sappers!

 Piles of empty wooden crates were gathered in makeshift bonfires on the edge of the cantonment area.  These burned quickly and then smoldered, filling the air with the smoky evidence of destroyed structures.  The phony battle scene was completed just minutes before the helicopter, ferrying repair parts, landed at Marcala.  Kenny McMullin led the crew chiefs to their crippled birds and stood by while the broken parts were replaced.  The crew nervously eyed the assembled wounded being tended by Hamilton and Berthoud.  Repairs were quickly made and the rest of the REMFs were led in the most direct route to their transportation home.

 The helicopter rose into the air and circled the camp.  From the open crew door, we could see cameras pointed and knew that the aftermath of the battle was being documented.  The pictures would not be clear; The photographer's hands were shaking from a caffeine overdose! The REMFs would not heed our admonishments to keep quiet.  War stories and embellishments of personal heroism would fly from their mouths at the clubs in Comyagua tonight!

 We settled back into our normal routine, cleared the camp of evidence, and prepared for our last full day at Marcala.  The medics wrote up the exercise as a lesson plan on dealing with mass casualties and triage techniques, put it into the training folder and called it a good day of training!

 The next morning I sent Cantrell and Guise, with the trucks, to Palmerola Air Base in Comyagua.  They were to be our ground party and meet the helicopters when we arrived there later that afternoon.  No sooner had the trucks left the gate than we started getting traffic on the SAT-COM radios.  Task Force Bravo called and wanted a sitrep (situation report).  We responded that we were all packed up and were awaiting our transportation.  A confused voice from TF-B told us to stand by.  A minute later, the commander of TF-B was online and asked for a sitrep. We gave him the same report.  The commander then told us to report to him as soon as we arrived at Palmerola.  Five minutes later, LTC Pete Stankovich, our battalion commander, called.  We told him that everything was fine.  Pete demanded to know about the attack on our positions.  We pleaded ignorance.  Pete told us not to talk to anyone unless we had lawyers present.  Ten minutes after that, Task Force Bravo was back on the horn.  They wanted us to confirm the recommendations for the valor awards that the REMFs had submitted.  We began to sweat!

 The calls kept coming.  The CID called.  The Military Intelligence people called.  The US Embassy informed us that they were evacuating!  Things were getting out of hand.  We closed down the radio at 2:30 that afternoon.  Our transportation had arrived.

 Meanwhile, back at Palmerola, Cantrell and Guise had arrived.  They no sooner stepped out of the trucks when somebody shouted, "That's them!"

 One hundred news reporters stampeded towards the ill-fated duo!  They tried to run away but they were cut off just short of the door to one of the quonset huts.  One hundred microphones were thrust at their faces!

"Tell us about the attack!" demanded one reporter.

"How many Americans were killed?" asked another.

"Is it true that Sarin Gas was used?" queried the CNN representative.

"If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?" a lisping bimbo from one of the major networks asked.

 In desperation, Cantrell pointed behind the assemblage and shouted,"Hey! Is that Walter Cronkite?"

 The newsmen all turned in the direction that Cantrell pointed!  The duo made use of this distraction and bolted to safety!  They ran into a building and straight into a contingent of MPs!  The MPs took them to the CID and began an interrogation.  Every government agency that had initials in their names were present.  The questions came in rapid fire succession!  Guise and Cantrell played dumb.  This was something that they were good at!  They had lots of experience from observing Sergeant Major Ivanof, a former member of the 7th Special Forces Group who was renowned for his lack of intellect.

 The questioning continued, unabated until we landed.  The CID, CIA, FBI, DIA, DOJ and the YMCA all sprinted towards us!  We ran away!  Cantrell and Guise ran to the nearest NCO club and hid!  We all arrived at the task force commander's office.  The commander asked us what was going on and what the heck happened in Marcala.  We played dumb!  We also knew Ivanof.

"Just what are you talking about, Sir?" we asked in four part harmony.

 The commander then asked about the guerilla attack.  "Huh, Sir?" we simultaneously chimed.

The commander then produced several 8X10 glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each describing the scene of the battle of the century!

"This was just a training exercise, Sir!  There was no real attack!"

"Then explain this?!" the commander asked, as he handed us fifteen recommendations for the Silver Star and one for the Distinguished Service Cross. "And explain all of these bodies!" he demanded as he pointed to the blurry photos with the circles and the arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one, describing the battle of the century.

 At this, Hamilton brightened!  He reached into our foot locker and produced the lesson plan describing the mass casualty and triage training that he and Berthoud had conducted on that fateful day!  The commander read the lesson plan.  he then passed it on to the other government agencies to read.  The CID, CIA, FBI, DIA, DOJ and the YMCA all read the documents.

"Let's get the REMFs!" shouted the the CID.  As one group, they all sprinted from the office and started a search for the wannabe heroes.

 We made our escape to the club and joined Cantrell and Guise.  We were all on the next plane out, headed for Panama!

 We never heard what happened to the "REMFs from Task Force Bravo" but, rumor had it that they were shipped to the island of Diego Garcia.  A place so remote that they do not have any casinos, earthquakes, soccer games, nor any good coffee.

 As for us, we spent a couple of weeks back in Panama then headed back to Marcala, Honduras.  There, we taught the locals to build roulette wheels and to figure the house odds but, that is another story!
 
 

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