The Return of the Marines Trilogy Read online

  Ron Mason was a florid-faced man, and Jennifer Wright often thought his soft, pudgy body would be far better suited to sitting around a double-wide in his underwear, drinking beer, and complaining about how the refs stole the game on Sunday. The fat rolls around his eyes gave him a squinty look, as if he was rather dense. But his grooming and clothing were impeccable. His full head of grey hair was flowing and precise, his fingernails manicured, and his suits were superbly made and matched with the finest silk ties and gold cufflinks. Many people could not get beyond the seeming disparity between his unremarkable physical appearance and his fashion-conscious attire, and they often underestimated him. The vice-president did not. She knew that Ron Mason was an inordinately crafty, manipulative, intelligent, and possibly dangerous man. She hadn’t had too much contact with him before, but as she thought about it, perhaps it was time to cultivate a somewhat closer relationship with him.

  “Gentlemen! Ladies! As I just briefed you, President Eduardo is doing fine, at least as well as can be expected. And with Secretary Pitt due to arrive within a few hours, I am sure this whole situation will be defused.”

  The vice-president had initially balked at letting Pitt go to India, and she used his security as an excuse. But the secretary could be quite persuasive, and it occurred to her that this could be a win-win for her. If the secretary could somehow find an ending to the stalemate and get the president home, well, she was the one in charge, and she would get the credit for guiding the nation through the crises. And if things did not turn out so well for the president, well, at least she could show she was a woman of action, and she had spared nothing in her attempts. And it would discredit Pitt, one of her rivals in the game of White House power-mongering. Of course, if it came to that, she would have already won that game, and it would be now her task to lead the nation forward, forward in the right direction.

  “Dr. Ryan, you had mentioned that several other nations and the Vatican have been able to get audiences with the External Affairs Minister. What have we had reported back to us from these meetings?” she asked, looking expectantly towards Kathleen Ryan, the Deputy Secretary of State.

  “Yes Madam Vice-President. As you know, we haven’t been able to get an audience, nor any of our principal allies, nor the UN. The Arab League evidently met with the PM, but we’ve heard nothing back on that yet. The assistant secretary for the league has promised to give us a report. The Vatican and a few national representatives have been able to meet with the Minister . . .”

  As the good doctor droned on, the vice-president smiled inwardly while keeping her face attentive to what was being said. Yes, this was turning into being a win-win.

  Chapter 31

  Wednesday Afternoon, The USS Reagan, The Indian Ocean

  The last Osprey was being towed to the elevator as Col Jeff Lineau shouldered his pack and started walking over to the base of the island where he could see Josh Conners waiting for him. The surprisingly stiff breeze blew across the deck with the tang of salt giving it a clean sort of smell. Sailors in various brightly colored vests ran back and forth while directing the Ospreys and the Marines. One sailor in a red vest almost ran him down as he approached his old roommate.

  He rendered a crisp salute, which was returned, then put out his hand and shook the admiral’s offered hand. “Good to see you Josh.”

  “Welcome to my little kingdom,” Admiral Conners said, turning to indicate a waiting captain, a slight, trim man with only a hint of grey around his temples. “Jeff, this is Mike Carter, this tub’s skipper. He’s a ROTC guy,” he said with a laugh, pronouncing the acronym as “rotzy,” “but OK for all of that.”

  The captain stuck out his hand. “I don’t hold it against the Admiral that he decided to go to a trade school instead of a university, so I guess I can’t hold it against you,” he said with a smile.

  Jeff took the hand and was surprised by the particularly strong grip.

  “And you went to . . . ?”

  “THE Ohio State University, thank you very much,” he replied, with an emphasis on the “The.”

  “I thought you said you went to a university? Last thing I knew, ‘THE’ Ohio State University was just a football trade school.”

  All three laughed.

  “I’ve been telling him that for the last five months, but it doesn’t seem to sink in,” Conners said.

  “Begging the admiral’s pardon, and with utmost respect, of course,” Capt Carter said with faux humility, “but at least we can field a competitive team, a national championship team at that. And I can’t even bet with you during March Madness because some school I know can’t even get invited to the dance.”

  The twinkle in his eyes and easy smile showed this was an ongoing jibe.

  And without a real comeback, the admiral clapped the skipper on the shoulder and said, “Some day, Mike, some day! You just wait. Our turn will come.”

  Rear Admiral Conners looked out at the Marines gathering alongside the edge of the flight deck.

  He turned to Col Lineau and said, “Jeff, why don’t you get your men below for a few minutes and have your staff meet up in the ship’s CIC conference room. We’ve been going over a few possible scenarios, but we really need to run these by your guys.”

  “Yes sir. I’d like to get my men fed, but we really need to do some egress drills. Most of my Marines have never seen any military tactical bird, much less an Osprey.”

  “Sounds good. Mike, please have the Chief take care of the colonel’s men. Then meet us up in the conference room,” the admiral said.

  “Yes sir. I’ve got a boat to run.”

  The ships CO moved off while Jeff motioned Norm Ricapito over.

  “Admiral, this is LtCol Norm Ricapito. With my XO flying, Norm will be my second-in-command for our ground task force.” The two men shook hands.

  “Norm, tell the Sergeant Major to get the men below decks and fed,” Col Lineau said before pausing. “No belay that. I am going to need Mike up with me. Have the Master Guns get them below deck, have a piss call, get fed, and then go to the hangar deck and practice getting on and off the Ospreys. I want this to be second nature to them. Then get my staff up to the conference room.”

  He looked up at the admiral as LtCol Ricapito walked off to relay the orders. “What’s the situation?”

  “Same as before. Basically nothing. No one is doing anything. One of your Marines has been released, I’ve been told. He went out with the diplomats and is on his way to Cairo if he isn’t already there.”

  “Are we still getting the sitreps?” he asked his old friend.

  The admiral smiled and said, “Yes, your Gunny Cassel seems quite adept at making sure there are Marines providing “security” for the comms. I guess the powers that be decided to keep everything at that young man’s apartment. But your Gunny seems to hear everything, and within a few minutes, she sends us a pretty detailed summary of what’s happening. Then a couple hours later, we get a sanitized version of the same through DOD.”

  “Well, I’m glad it is Gunny Cassel there. She has a way about her. If she wasn’t a Marine, I’m sure she would be doing hard time somewhere,” he said as they both laughed.

  Col Lineau changed tack and asked, “Any chance we’re going to get an OK to do anything? An official OK?”

  “Doubt it. The Army Rangers are not being allowed to play, so it looks like we’ll have to wait and see.”

  Both men stared over the bow of the Reagan. There was a subtle change in the feel of the ship, almost a sense of urgency. The wind across Col Lineau’s face started to pick up. He looked back, and he could begin to see a huge rooster tail in back of the mammoth vessel. The flight deck had to be seven or eight stories high, so how could he possibly see a rooster tail? The wind across the deck started to buffet him. He looked back at the Admiral.

  Josh Conners leaned in so he could be heard, “This is one fast bitch when she wants to be.”

  “I guess so!” Jeff said in amazement.

 
; The ready group commander turned to walk through a hatch into the bridge tower as the Commandant of the Marine Corps followed.

  Chapter 32

  Late Wednesday Afternoon, US Embassy, New Delhi

  Sergeant Anthony Niimoto was thirsty, very, very thirsty. Drinking was pretty much all he could think about. He had even unlocked the access to the cupola and climbed down into the bell tower’s base to try and find something to drink. He had found a first aid kit which had some cough syrup, and he had drunk that, but that seemed to make him even thirstier. He was still searching when voices inside the tower somewhere below him made him scurry back up the ladder and securing the cupola hatch with a piece of rebar.

  It came to the point that he was dreading, but finally, he took the empty cough syrup bottle and peed in it. The urine looked dark and foreboding, but with surprisingly little hesitation, he drank it. The warm, bitter liquid going down his throat did little to assuage his thirst, but the logical part of his mind told him all liquid was good for him. He was surprised that he didn’t gag it right back up.

  He peeked over the wall again to the huge group of Indians who seemed camped outside the wall. He wondered what would happen if he just walked down the tower and into the crowd. Would they even know who he was? Would they assume he was an American, or could he pass himself off as from an Asian country? Could he make it to the Japanese or British embassies, and would they even let him in the gates considering they were most likely on high alert as well?

  He settled back and looked up, lost in his thoughts. The bell was actually quite pretty in the late afternoon sun. It had a deep burnished gold hue. He wondered for the thousandth time just what its purpose was, why it was even there. When the power was cut off to the embassy and consulate the night before, the bell tower stayed powered up, so obviously, it has its own power source. Why would a simple bell tower have its own power? It didn’t make sense.

  At the very apex of the tower was a small rubber-looking pulley contraption. Sgt Niimoto sat up to get a better view. From that wheel-like piece of equipment hung a cable, which came straight down to the bell. Sgt Niimoto moved over for a better look. Now he could see a small cable running from the apex down along the curved ceiling of the belfry to one of the many boxes adorning one side of the wall. He hadn’t noticed this before as it was painted with the same paint as the tower walls. In bright daylight, it would have been rendered practically invisible. But in the fading afternoon light, the shadows made it stand out some.

  He followed the cable down to a small box, a non-descript grey metal compartment. Alongside the box was a red-handled lever, like a large switch. He knew he should leave it alone, but curiosity overcame him. He sidled up to the box, put his hand on the lever, and slowly pulled it.

  There was a click and the bell started to lower with some groans and squeaks. Sgt Niimoto slammed the handle back up and the bell stopped with a jerk, slowly swaying from side to side. He waited for some hue or cry to show that the bell’s movment had been seen or heard by someone. Nothing changed. Everything remained quiet.

  He grinned. Well, he had figured out one thing about the tower. If he ever got back up here with any of the other Marines, he would have fun showing them that.

  He crawled back to his position and settled in for the long night.

  Chapter 33

  Early Wednesday Evening, US Embassy, New Delhi

  “Thank you, Mr. President for taking the time for this.”

  It had taken a little convincing, but finally the president had agreed to rehearse a quick movement from the admin office to the vault below decks. Gunny had actually wanted to move the president there now, but he had declined to move. So at least in three tries, they had been able to rehearse a move and had gotten it down to a minute-and-a-half before the president thought that had been enough rehearsing. Gunny wanted to go through the whole thing again after dark, but he doubted the president would be up for it. Besides, there was no natural light going down the stairwell or on this level, only the emergency lighting, so doing it at night wouldn’t make that much of a difference.

  After the third rehearsal, the president merely grunted and walked down the passage to the stairwell going up. Gunny motioned to Sgt Chen and LCpl Steptoe, who hurried to catch up and accompany the president back to the admin office. Gunny wiped his brow. Without the air conditioning going, it was getting pretty hot and sticky in the building. He could feel his t-shirt sticking to his back. Like most of the others, he had taken off his uniform blouse and left it above decks.

  PFC Ramon was another Marine who has taken off her blouse, and her sweat was soaking her t-shirt. She was still in the vault, and as what seemed to be the norm now, she was talking to MAJ Defilice. Her damp t-shirt did little to conceal her compact torso and the rather significant bra that served to support her breasts. While speaking, she absent-mindedly reached to pull at the edge of the left bra cup, pulling it out slightly while shrugging her shoulders as if to settle things better. Gunny looked away guiltily.

  Gunny looked back to check on the progress of Loralee down the passageway, but Drayton had her arm and seemed in earnest conversation. He followed them and made his way up the stairwell, around the corner, and back down toward the admin office.

  The president had already sat down on the couch to which he had laid claim and was making some notes on a pad of paper. Gunny slung his weapon and started to sit down when he caught eyes with PFC Van Slyke, who had been left behind in the office during the movement rehearsal and who was now standing behind LCpl Wynn. Van Slyke slowly shook his head as a lump formed in Gunny’s throat. He hesitantly walked over to the desk on which Wynn lay and looked down on her. There was no doubt that she was dead. The labored look on her face while she fought for life was now relaxed and pallid. Her fight was over. Gunny reached over and took her hand.

  “Gunny, shouldn’t we stage some of this food in the vault? MAJ Defilice thinks it might save some time if it comes to that,” PFC Ramon said, crowding up behind him.

  “There isn’t any air circulation in there, and it’s hot, so any of this we bring down there, if it starts to spoil, it’ll be pretty ripe,” he responded flatly, still holding LCpl Wynn’s hand.

  “But what if we take some now and . . .” she came around him and saw LCpl Wynn. As she stopped talking, the others seemed to notice for the first time and came around to stand around the desk.

  “Is she, you know . . . ?” the president asked after walking over and looking over PFC Van Slyke’s shoulder.

  “Yes sir, she’s dead. She couldn’t fight anymore. If we could have gotten her to a hospital, I think they could have saved her. Keeping her here, we killed her,” Gunny said bitterly.

  Loralee spoke up, “You know that wasn’t possible, Gunny. We’ve been trapped in here, and we couldn’t have gotten her out. They killed her, not anyone in here.”

  “But what if we had just taken her outside and left her there, I bet they’d have taken her and got her to a hospital,” he protested.

  Gunny Mac barely even knew LCpl Wynn yet. He didn’t know her parents’ name, if she had a boyfriend, what she liked to eat, how she felt about things. But she was in his unit, and he felt an overpowering sense of responsibility for her. She was part of his family, part of his very essence.

  “Bullshit. They were the ones who shot her, after all. No telling what they might have done to her or if she’d be held hostage at another place. You did what you had to do, and any blame lies on them. Not you. You know that, and we don’t need you wallowing in self-pity now. You need to do your job,” Loralee said, looking at him with piercing eyes.

  Gunny Mac looked back at those eyes. She was right, and his intellect knew that even if his heart did not.

  “Chen, Van Slyke, go relieve McAllister and Rodriguez. Steptoe and Kramer, go relieve Saad. Mr Dravid, if you can lead the way to the reefer?”

  He reached down and put his arms around LCpl Wynn’s still body and lifted her up. He had always heard th
at dead bodies seemed heavy, but she seemed very light in his arms.

  Chapter 34

  Wednesday Night, US Embassy, New Delhi

  Sgt Anthony Niimoto was dreaming of lemonade, ice cold, in pitchers. He could feel the cold cascade down his throat, fill his stomach. He could feel the very cells of his body swell up as the lemonade poured directly into them.

  A commotion beneath him finally broke through his consciousness. He slowly dragged himself up and peered over the edge of the cupola wall to see four men dragging some sort of pressurized tank over the embassy wall as the crowd watched and buzzed in anticipation. Two men made it over and sat waiting as two others straddled the wall and slowly lowered the tank into the others’ waiting arms. The receiving men grunted and almost dropped the cylinder before setting it on the deck. The other two climbed down and together, the four men walked over the main doors of the embassy, pulling the cylinder on a small, wheeled stand.

  Sgt Niimoto dialed the embassy. PFC Fallgatter picked up the other end.

  “Fallgatter, get me Gunny,” he said.

  As he waited for the Gunny, he watched three of the men point and gesture at the door while one seemed to work on the cylinder. With only the running lights providing illumination, it was hard to make things out clearly.

  “This is Gunny, what do you got, Tony?”

  “Gunny, there’re four men with a cylinder at the main doors. It looks like some sort of welding or cutting set-up. I think you need to get over there.”

  “Shit! Really? Can you see what they are actually doing?” Gunny asked.

  “I can’t see yet, but it doesn’t look good.”

  “OK, I’m going now. Pick me up on the Post 1 phone. Gunny, out.”