The Return of the Marines Trilogy Page 10

  “This is happening in India, and we expect India to handle the situation. And we have full confidence in your government’s abilities to take care of the situation.”

  She didn’t mention that she knew there were Indian government agents in the mob, and that they probably had a hand in what was going on. Let the government have an out should things go downhill.

  The ambassador seemed somewhat surprised at her response, but he recovered quickly.

  “Thank you for your confidence, Madam Vice-President. We’ll take care of this, peacefully, and without further bloodshed. The criminals who instigated this will be caught and prosecuted. And it is our fervent desire that our two great nations remain the close allies we are.”

  Vice-President Wright leaned over and punched her intercom button. “David, can you come in here, please.”

  She looked up at the ambassador and said, “Mr. Ambassador, I hate to cut this short, but you can imagine that I have a lot to do. And I imagine you do, too. Please give my regards to the prime minister and let him know the US trusts his abilities to manage this unfortunate incident.”

  David came in the door.

  “David, please escort the ambassador back to his car. Make sure we get him all the assistance he needs. And make sure State has someone over at the Indian embassy to facilitate communications.”

  She held out her hand, and the ambassador took it. He looked closely into her eyes for a second as if trying to read her mind.

  “Thank you, Madam Vice-President. I trust we’ll have good news for you soon.”

  He turned around and walked out of her office.

  She watched him leave. Hopefully, the Indian Office of External Affairs would read into her comments and understand that the US was not willing to risk direct action. Much hinged on whether Kaiyen Lin was right. If the Indian government was actively involved with this, or even passively supported it, then President Eduardo might pay the price. And if the Indian government was not involved, and if they successfully rescued the president, well, nothing much would change and it would be back to the status quo.

  The president was not an evil man. Naive, maybe, misguided certainly, but not evil. Under normal circumstances, Vice-President Wright would never wish him harm. But she knew the nation would be safer and more secure if she was president, and if another nation helped that come to pass, then who was she to deny destiny?

  Chapter 15

  Tuesday Evening, Phuket, Thailand

  Lieutenant David Littlehawk watched the sun finally disappear into the sea. There was no “green flash,” just the last bit of orange winking out. An audible sigh arose from the several hundred Thais and farang vacationers at the Promthiep Cape lighthouse who gathered for the show each evening.

  It had been a pretty good day, all told. His first day ashore in several weeks, and it was in Phuket, Thailand, one of the US Navy’s favorite destinations. Good food, great weather, cheap cold beer, pretty and willing girls—what could be better? David had gotten a late start, renting a motorcycle in Phuket Town, then riding over to Patong Beach. Technically, he should have a liberty buddy, but no one else wanted to go exploring by bike, so he had left alone. He had gotten a good massage on a beach mat right on the water by an older, heavyset lady named Nok. It had felt so good, he had extended the massage from one hour to two, then had wandered over to one of the open-air restaurants for some lunch. Many of the restaurants offered American or European fare, but he wanted Thai. He had learned to like Thai food while a ROTC student at Oregon State, but this was different. The Lard Na was thick with sauce (looking sort of like flat noodles covered with snot), and the Moo Ga Pow was bitingly spicy. Good, more authentic perhaps, but not what he had gotten used to at the Thai Thai Kitchen in Corvallis.

  He had gotten back on his bike, fought through the traffic in Patong town, then started up the long hill to ride over to Karon and the beaches to the south when he saw some elephants right at the side of the road. The elephants had benches on their backs, so he had stopped to look. These elephants, with no trees left to haul, made a living for themselves and their mahouts by giving rides. Then feeling like a million different levels of tourist, he had actually paid for a ride into the jungle. Surprisingly, a fighter pilot now used to being at sea, the animal’s rolling gait had almost made him sick. As the elephant lurched up and down some washed-out jungle gullies, his stomach threatened to rebel, But the sun, the butterflies fluttering around, and the rubbery feel of the elephant’s skin under the heels of his New Balances made the experience rather exotic. A man at the side of the road come out to take a photo of him on the back of the elephant, and after the ride, he was offered the photo for $10. Feeling even more like a tourist, he actually bought it. He knew it was kitschy, but still, he found out he really wanted it.

  His guidebook had mentioned Rawai as a good place for seafood, (another taste he had acquired at school), so after getting lost only twice, he made it to the beach where open-air restaurants lined the shore. Walking into the closest one, he picked out fish and crabs by pointing at them, then he sat on the pillows scattered around some tables, which were offered instead of chairs. It surprised him that they did not offer beer. He ordered a cold Coke and looked out over the turquoise waters until his food came. He hadn’t told them how he wanted his fish and crabs prepared, but he liked what turned up. He had no idea what it was, but the crab was in some sort of curry sauce, and the fish was steamed with vegetables. He slowly ate his meal, smiling at the young Thai toddler who came up to stare at him. The toddler did not smile back, but just stared at him.

  After the meal, he got back on his small bike and puttered up to Promthiep Cape to watch the sunset. While sitting on the stone wall around the lighthouse, waiting for the sun to dip into the water, two Thai teenage boys came up to him, mentioning “India” amidst a torrent of Thai, pointing at him and mimicking shooting rifles. This rather surprised him. He didn’t really think his Native American features were that pronounced, and for non-Americans to recognize those features seemed rather far-fetched. And for them to act out what must be the cowboy role seemed somewhat rude, something out-of-character for Thais. Feeling uncomfortable, he merely ignored them and looked out over the Andaman Sea.

  The sun got large and red as it slowly dipped into the sea. Young Thai lovers, no more than schoolchildren really, sat leaning against each other, watching the sun set. Tourists of all stripes wandered around, cameras in hand, or sat on the stone wall quietly watching. He had heard that there was an audible snap and a flash of light as the sun slipped over the horizon, but he never saw nor heard anything like that. The sun merely slipped away. The only sound was the communal sigh from the gathered throng.

  As the crowd slowly dispersed after the sun set into the sea, LT Littlehawk got back on his bike and started up the coast for Patong, anxious to sample the infamous Thai nightlife. He had planned on hooking up with a few guys from the squadron at a bar they had picked out at random from the internet.

  He made his way up the coast, past several small beach towns and up the hill, then down the long grade into Patong. He rode up the beach road and was surprised not to see several thousand sailors taking over the place. He felt odd parking his motorcycle at the beach side of the walking street before walking up towards Annabell’s. The street was not deserted; just no sailors were in sight. There were the expected calls of “Welcome, sir,” as the girls (and not a few guys looking like girls) gave their hopeful plugs to come in and sit down at the various bars lining the street.

  Walking into Annabell’s, he sat down and ordered a Singha from one of the short-skirted waitresses. As he waited, he scanned the bar for his compatriots. The bartender caught his eyes and motioned him over. She was an attractive woman, older than the average waitress, but with long black hair, a slender body, and a refined face. He shrugged and got up, walking over to her.

  “You Loo tenna Little Hawk?” she asked pausing between the two parts of his name.

  Somewhat su
rprised, he merely nodded. She reached under the bar and handed him a folded piece of paper.

  Chickenhawk,

  Get your ass back to the boat. We’re pulling out at 2100. Look at the news and you can figure out where.

  Gopher

  He read the note twice. He automatically looked up at the television over the bar, but it had a soccer game on. He glanced down at his watch.

  Shit! It was 2030!

  He sprinted out the bar and down the street, knocking down one pot-bellied tourist who had already had a good start on the night’s drinking. The man’s challenges faded behind him as he ran to his bike. Fumbling with the key, he finally got the bike started and he tore down Beach Street, almost crashing head first into a taxi before he remembered that the Thais drove on the left side of the street.

  Please let me make it on time!

  He held the throttle wide open as the bike huffed its way up the mountain behind Patong, trying to will it to make some speed. Cresting the rise, he tore down the other side, cutting inside pick-ups and buses, passing wherever he could find a few inches to spare. Trying to follow the signs in to Phuket Town, he made one wrong turn and had to double back. Near a shopping mall, there was a line of cars waiting o at the light—he worked his way to the front, then scooted across the 4-lane road in front of him against the red light.

  Entering the town, he knew the port was off toward the right, but knowing that and navigating through the winding streets were two different things. Finally, he saw the bright lights of the port and drove up, blasting through the gate much to the consternation of the guard there who yelled Thai pleasantries as he sped through. Tearing around a group of warehouses, he looked up to see the Reagan moving out, several miles out to sea already.

  His heart sank. Slowing down, he drove up to the landing where the liberty launches had been bringing in and taking back passengers. There was a knot of sailors there, perhaps ten or twelve, all in civvies. Two sailors in uniform, a lieutenant (jg) and a third class petty officer, were there as well, clipboards in hand.

  He walked up to the two in uniform.

  “Name?” the petty officer asked.

  “LT David Littlehawk.”

  The sailor wrote it down before saying, “OK, if you can wait here, sir. We’re gathering everyone who missed the ship. We’ll get you put up for the night, then we’ll get word on what’s going to happen with you next.”

  “What is going on, anyway? Why the sudden departure?”

  “You haven’t heard, sir? The Indians have taken over our embassy, and they’ve got the president prisoner. We’ve got to get him back.”

  He turned away as another sailor asked him a question.

  LT David Littlehawk, F-35C pilot, had missed movement when his training and skills might be needed. He stared at the Reagan and sat down on the edge of the pier, watching his future sail away.

  Chapter 16

  Tuesday Evening, US Embassy, New Delhi

  “Gunny, something’s happening!”

  PFC Ramon stood with the major and the president, looking at the television. Gunny and Loralee rushed over to the screen too see for themselves. The satellite shot showed movement near the gate and what looked to be uniformed and armed men pushing back the crowd and then several of them climbing the wall.

  “Finally, the Indian police. It’s about time,” the president said, soundng almost petulant.

  They watched as about half a dozen men made it over the gate, collected themselves, then started walking, not toward the embassy, but approaching the consulate building. The CNN talking heads were giving all sorts of reasons they might be doing this, but the group in the embassy ignored most of the commentary. Gunny McCardle sprinted out of the room and down the passage to Post 1, arriving just as the call from Post 2 came in.

  “Gunny, the Indian Army is here, and they want to get in the consulate. What do I do?” asked SSgt Harwood over the landline.

  “Hold them off for a second and get Ambassador Tilden there. I don’t know who is actually senior for the foreign ambassadors, but get him anyway. And get the senior US State guy there. See what they want. The consulate is still US soil, but if the Indian government is finally moving to help, then we don’t want to piss them off.”

  “Roger that!”

  Major Defilice and PFC Ramon came down the passage together. The major looked at the gunny, eyebrows raised.

  “The Indian Army is here, but they want into the consulate. I don’t know why they aren’t coming here,” Gunny Mac told him.

  “Do you think we should meet them, Gunny? We’ve got the president here and our wounded.”

  “I don’t think so, sir. You saw them on the screen. They walked right past the bodies in the courtyard. And they went right to the consulate. I told SSgt Norwood to get Ambassador Tilden there to find out what they want and what they’re going to do.”

  He turned and sat down on the jutting shelf that served as the post’s desk. The group of them sat there staring at each other, wondering what was going on. The tension kept mounting. After five minutes or so, which seemed like an hour, the landline rang again.

  “Gunny,” came SSgt Harwood’s hushed voice. “The Indians told Ambassador Tilden and Ms. Parker that they’re going to evacuate the consulate. Ms. Parker told them they got to get rid of the mob, but the Indians say the situation is too delicate. Ms. Parker is pissed, and she asked about Ambassador Tankersly and the president, but the Indians keep telling them they need to evacuate first, then they can try to deal with the crowd. Oh, the Ambassador and Ms. Parker are going back inside now.”

  Gunny felt a sense of foreboding. He could see in his mind the photos of the Embassy takeover in Tehran in 1978, the photos of the blindfolded Marine security guard being led down the steps. The photos were part of a series of classes at Security Guard School, and all Marines had the images embedded into their psyche.

  If the consulate was vacated, that meant the embassy grounds would be empty, and except for Sgt Niimoto, the only thing between the president and a hostile crowd was his group of Marines, an army major, an elderly woman, and an Indian servant of unknown loyalties. The doors to the embassy building were pretty solid, as were the lower floor windows. Then he thought of the access tunnel. If he knew about it, then certainly some Indians knew about it. Feeling paranoid, he got back on the landline.

  “SSgt Harwood. They don’t have a choice, and neither do you. They’re going to have to evacuate. Everyone. And it won’t be long. I need you and Chen to go down to the access tunnel and block it somehow. Jam the hatch, then put some furniture or something in front of it. No need advertising where the hatch is. Do it quick, because they’re going to want you to evacuate, too. When they tell you to leave, do it. Help keep everyone calm.”

  “What about the post? We can’t leave it unmanned,” he protested.

  “Mark, the situation has radically changed. You’re going to have to leave the post anyway, so do it now. Flash the computer, then lock it up and leave.”

  “Roger that, Gunny. We’re on it.”

  “Give me a report when you’re done, then get out with the rest. Wherever you end up, there will be somebody in charge. Get word back to Quantico where you are, then wait for further orders.”

  Big Mac looked at Little Mac, gave a sigh, then turned around to go back down the passage and report to the president, with Defilice and Ramon in tow.

  Chapter 17

  Tuesday Morning, HQMC, Quantico

  Colonel Lineau looked at his S3, Lieutenant Colonel Stephanie Cable and asked, “You understand what I want, right?”

  LtCol Cable hesitated a second before answering, “Yes sir, but are you sure you want to do this?”

  LtCol Cable was a hard-as-nails triathlete and an outstanding operations officer, excelling at managing the training and operations of the far-flung Marines around the world. She was dual-hatted as the Staff Judge Advocate, and she was letting the conservative side of that billet make her urge caution.r />
  “Yes, colonel, I am sure. It is my prerogative as the Commandant to place my Marines wherever I deem fit so they can best perform their duties. And I think that place right now is Thailand. And, if you can remember, we have dead Marines in India right now, and more in harm’s way. You are to go to N3 and act as our liaison there. When I or the XO contact you and tell you to do something or cough up some assets, you are going to get it done. Period. I don’t care how you get the Navy to play along, but that is what we pay you the big bucks for. Understood?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “OK. Get going.” As she turned around as started hurrying down the passage, he called out after her, “Stephanie, we are counting on you.”

  He turned to his S1, Captain Amir Mahmoud and asked, “How are we doing on personnel?”

  Capt Mahmoud immediately replied with, “We have 63 Marines and Doc Hollister on their way to Andrews in POVs. Captain Krieg is in charge. We’re the only ones left here, and we’ve got the duty van ready to take us.”

  Capt Mahmoud never seemed to use notes, but he always had figures at his beck and call, so Colonel Lineau took his words as gospel.

  “The detachments at Bangkok, Phnom Penh, Hanoi, Jakarta, Kuala Lumpur, Vientiane, and Singapore had been told to quietly get available Marines to U-Tapao, but we don’t yet know how many that will be,” the captain continued.

  “Well, keep me informed as those numbers come in. Four, is everyone armed?”

  Major Jesus Roberto, the S4 answered up, “Sir, everyone who has left is armed, and we’ve got three mount-out cases of ammo, grenades, C4, and some extra weapons. I’ve got a list here of what we have.” He handed it to the commanding officer before continuing. “All those weapons are going in the POVs like you directed. I just hope nobody gets stopped for speeding on the way up to Andrews. This is a major, major breach of regs. I know why we are doing it, sir, but the Maryland Highway Patrol might not be so understanding.”