The Return of the Marines Trilogy

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  Gunny was surprised and a little embarrassed to feel a small lump form in his throat while he said that.

  “I am sorry sir, but I need to check on the watch.” He turned away and walked out of the office.

  The president just watched him go.

  Chapter 26

  Wednesday Afternoon, Ministry of External Affairs, New Delhi

  Dr. Amarin Suphantarida, Thailand’s ambassador to India, waited outside the office of the Indian External Affairs Minister. Dr. Amarin, or “Pui” as he was known by his friends, had been in Thailand for a family matter and was returning aboard the daily Thai Airways flight between Bangkok and New Delhi when the embassy was attacked. Given that he wasn’t part of the diplomatic corps at the embassy, given Thailand and India’s close economic relationship, and given Thailand’s good relations with the US, others, within ASEAN in particular, and the UN in general, thought he might be a good choice to try and jump start some action to rectify the situation.

  Pui wondered now if he was such a good choice. Shortly before arriving, he had taken a call from Richard Case, the US ambassador to Thailand and a good friend. Pui and Rick had served with their respective missions at the same time in Cairo and London, and they had formed a close relationship based on mutual respect and a similar taste in sports, food, and movies. Now, both were ambassadors, and Rick was even assigned to Thailand. Rick’s call was short and sweet and probably unauthorized. Rick told him that Thailand was being used as a staging area for a small number of US combat troops who may or may not be going to the region. Pui had known about the Reagan already. At a dinner with Rick and his wife two nights earlier, they had mentioned the carrier group and talked about 10,000 young men taking liberty in Phuket and the potential for incidents neither government wanted. But combat troops being transported via Thai soil? And why hadn’t his own government informed him of this?

  He made a sort of mental sigh, with nothing showing on his face as he sat on the hard seat. For perhaps the first time in years, he wondered if he had made the right choice in joining the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. It would have been so easy, as the eldest son, to take over his family’s sprawling industrial complex in Chonburi, making auto parts for Toyota. But that fateful day upon his graduation from Chulalongkorn had sealed his fate.

  Even now, so many years later, a feeling of awe flowed through him as he remembered that moment, that turning point in his life. Pui had sort of expected he would in fact take over the family business, and he had gone to Chulalongkorn without any different aspirations. As one of Thailand’s “hisos,” (short for High Society), he had his life mapped out for hard work and even harder play. He studied, managed to achieve passable grades, and was ready to move on. At his commencement, though, the King himself gave the commencement speech and presented the diplomas. The King spoke about the importance of serving society, serving Thailand, and not just serving oneself. Pui was pondering the King’s message when he was in line, waiting to receive his diploma. As he walked down the stage, both excited and nervous on being so close to the King, he concentrated on not tripping or looking like a fool. He made it to the King and went into a deep wai. As he came up and reached for his diploma, he caught the King’s eye. The King smiled and simply said “Thailand needs you.” Taken aback at actually being addressed, he paused a moment, then deeply wai’ed again before hurriedly walking off the stage.

  Oddly, he felt a sort of rapture, a sort of spiritual uplifting. Some casual questions with other graduates seemed to indicate that the King hadn’t spoken directly with others. Pui wondered if he was somehow being singled out. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure this had to be the case. So right then and there, he dedicated himself to the public service.

  With the typical Thai respect for education, he was able to convince his father that he needed to get some higher degrees. His father was willing to let him delay his entry into the world of business for that, so Pui earned his masters at Boston University and his doctorate at Oxford. It was after his doctorate that he told his father he was joining the government. And not only that, he was not joining one of the revolving parties of power and becoming a member of Parliament or the Senate, but he was joining the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. His father at first actually forbade it, but when Pui told him about the King’s words, he relented. He had two more sons, after all, who seemed more than eager to make money for the family.

  So Pui, as a rich mid-level bureaucrat with an actual talent for the job, rose up through the ranks despite no real party affiliation. He earned a reputation as an honest broker. Now he wondered how honest he was going to be with the Minister. Should he or should he not mention the combat troops?

  “Mr. Ambassador? The Minister will see you now,” A young woman in a conservative brown suit said as she held open the door for him.

  Pui sighed a little once more before standing up and walking into the Minister’s office.

  Chapter 27

  Wednesday Afternoon, US Embassy, New Delhi

  Sgt Niimoto was thirsty, real thirsty. He could smell the street stalls that some enterprising entrepreneurs had set up to feed the mob, and his stomach rumbled, but his thirst was becoming overpowering. He had once read where shipwrecked people sometimes drank their own urine, but he was not quite to that point yet. Give him time, he chuckled to himself, and he might be there.

  Thinking back to his Psych 101 class and old Maslow and his Hierarchy of Needs, Niimoto now understood it on a more base level. Given the choice of Astral Humphrey, last year’s Playmate of the Year, naked and willing, right there with him, or a tall, cold glass of water, he thought he might take the water, although maybe Astral would hang around a little, too, given the present situation. He sure wouldn’t mind both.

  The crowd’s undercurrent of noise shifted some, so Niimoto peeked over the edge again. A group of civilians were coming over the ladder and into the courtyard. He grabbed the phone and rang up the embassy, getting Little Mac.

  “Hey, we’ve got some activity here. It looks like 10 or 12 men are coming in. What do you want me to do?”

  “Wait one. Let me get Gunny,” she said.

  Tony Niimoto could hear her tell someone to go get Gunny , then the sound of running footsteps fading away. He watched the men mill around for a few moments until Gunny Mac got on the phone.

  “Sgt Niimoto, what do you got there?”

  “Hey Gunny. There’re about twelve guys over the wall. All civvies. None look armed, but wait, there’s one soldier coming over now, too. What do you want me to do?”

  “Hold off right now. Just watch them. I’m getting the rest ready.”

  There was a pause as Sgt Niimoto could hear him tell someone to get the rest of the Marines there ASAP before coming back on the phone.

  “If they start shooting or something, or if you see us shooting, then take them out. Take the soldier out first, then anyone else. If they don’t do anything, then you don’t do anything,” Gunny ordered.

  “Aye-aye, Gunny.” Sgt Niimoto settled down to watch them.

  The group seemed to confer for a few moments, then most of them started for the embassy. Sgt Niimoto brought up his weapon and tracked them through the scope. The Indians walked up to the main hatch first and seemed to be inspecting it, touching it and obviously pacing its width. A few other men started walking alongside the walls of the embassy trying to look into windows. The soldier hung back, sort of covering the others, although his weapon was still at sling arms.

  This took about fifteen minutes before one man called the others back together. They conferred for a few moments, gesturing at the hatch a few times, before they started to move back to the wall. One by one, they climbed the ladder up and over the wall and moved out into the crowd. The soldier was the last one over.

  The phone’s light flashed (he had disconnected the ringer).

  “This is Gunny. Did they all leave?”

  “Yes, Gunny. They’ve all left. They cased the place out pretty we
ll. It looks to me like they are trying to see what it will take to blow the emergency doors.”

  “Yes, to me, too. I sent Kramer to the Cultural Affairs’ office windows, but he couldn’t see much from his angle. But that’s what is seems like to him, too. Oh well, I guess we don’t need a crystal ball to see what’s happening.” He paused, then asked, “How are you doing, Tony? You OK up there?”

  “Well, I sure wouldn’t mind some water here. Hell, I would even drink one of those Thums Up piss-water cola things you like so much,” he said with a quiet laugh. “But I’m doing OK.”

  “OK, I’ll run one up to you next chance I get. All you have to do is clear all those Indians away from the embassy. You want diet or regular?”

  “Well, gaining weight might be the least of my worries now, so let’s go with regular.”

  “You’ve got it, Tony. Take care up there, and keep your eyes on things. We can’t see much from our vantage, so we’re counting on you.”

  “Any word on some sort of rescue here?”

  “I wouldn’t bank on it. If the Indians are planning anything, I don’t see how we can do anything about it in time.”

  “OK, then, it will just be up to us. Semper fi, Gunny.”

  “Semper fi, Tony, semper fi.”

  Chapter 28

  Wednesday Afternoon, U-Tapao Air Base, Thailand

  The C-17 slowly turned off the taxiway and onto the runway to leave U-Tapao. It had barely taken on enough fuel to reach Okinawa before starting its departure. Col Lineau shaded his eyes with his hand against the setting sun to watch it leave. The Globemaster had done its job in getting them there and could really do nothing else, but he still felt a small pang of abandonment. Well, he was pretty well committed now, so it was time to march forward.

  He had spent the time aboard the C-17 with his principal staff trying to make contingency plans, which was difficult as they had no idea of what they might possibly face. But it seemed to make sense that the unit be broken into platoons and a headquarters section, sort of an old rifle company, albeit smaller. With the staff he had on hand, he decided that LtCol Norm Ricapito, the Camp David Det CO, would be the platoon commander of 1st, Maj Roberto the 2d, Capt Dave Kreig (the S-3 A) the 3d, Capt Mahmoud the 4th, and 1stLt Stacy Hoins the security force/reserve. Stacy was kind of a sports stud, an All-American at Princeton in field hockey and track, but she was so new and young! He thought about using Major Kristen Rogers, Norm’s XO as a platoon commander, freeing up one of the other captains to take the security force, but he thought he would need someone of some rank to stay behind on the Reagan should something actually take place. Norm also had a Captain Steve Kyser as his training officer, and Steve was one of the up-and-comers in the Corps. He would have given Steve a platoon without hesitation, but the young captain was off to Cancun on his honeymoon, so it was 1st Lt Hoins into the breach. He had assigned Master Guns Chung to be her platoon sergeant. He kept the sergeant major, Doc Hollister, LCpl Luc as a radio operator, and PFC McNair as a runner with him in the headquarters section.

  If LtCol Tammy Dews, his Security Battalion CO, made it from Nairobi, he would put her in charge of the second team, sliding the other commanders over one and Stacy out of a position. But the commercial flight schedules didn’t match up well, and as he stood here at U-Tapao, it didn’t look like she was going to make it in time.

  The Marines were lined up in sticks at the front of the hangar, getting used to their new organization. And the Ospreys, four of those beautiful birds, were sitting there, ready to go. Tye Saunders was there, going over a checklist with what looked to be two Coastguardsmen and a civilian, so he figured those must be the pilots. There were several groups of Marines from the regional embassies—he recognized Gunny Jasper from the Singapore embassy and Sgt Williams from the Malaysian embassy, among others. But there were also about a hundred or so military men in civvies lounging around, with a couple of them up and talking with his Marines. One seemed to be rather adamantly arguing with Capt Mahmoud who seemed to be equally as adamant in trying to ignore him. Col Lineau shouldered his pack and marched over the tarmac to see what was going on.

  Capt Mahmoud was asking SSgt Boyles for a separate manifest for each bird, trying hard to ignore the tall gent who was attempting to get a word in edgewise. Col Lineau stepped up and grabbed the man by the upper arm.

  “May I help you?”

  The man spun around and took in the eagles on his collar. He came to attention. “LT David Littlehawk, sir. I am from the Reagan, with VFA 41. If you are going to her, I really need to get back on board.”

  He looked at the young man and could see the eager hope in his eyes, but also the fear of being left behind. Jeff could understand that, but he didn’t see how he could help. “I am sorry Lieutenant, but we are full on boat spaces. I’ll have to leave some Marines behind as it is, so I don’t think I can drop one of them so you can make it back to your ship.”

  “You don’t understand sir, I am a fighter pilot. I have to get back,” he said, sounding desperate.

  “And my Marines are riflemen. Your point is?”

  He felt some sympathy for the young man, but to infer that fighter pilots were somehow more important than others was something he had hated since his Academy days.

  “You’re a pilot?” Jeff turned to see Tye Saunders had walked up.

  “Yes sir!”

  “What do you fly?” Tye asked.

  “The Lighting II, sir.”

  “Have you ever flown an Osprey, by chance?”

  The lieutenant’s face fell as he said, “No sir. But I did fly the simulation at Pensacola in our platform orientation package.”

  He looked up hopefully.

  “Any other pilots with you here?”

  “One sir. LT Shefield. He’s a Viking pilot.”

  The XO looked to the CO and said, “Sir, we don’t have any co-pilots. I sure would rather have someone in the right seat who has actually flown something than leave the seat empty.”

  Jeff turned back to the Navy lieutenant and said, “Well son, today is your lucky day it seems. Go get that other pilot, if you please, and report back to LtCol Saunders. We’re leaving here in less than fifteen minutes, so make it snappy.”

  A huge smile broke out on LT Littlehawk’s face as he came to an even straighter position of attention, then he shouted “Aye-aye, sir!” before wheeling around and running off to the back of the hangar.

  “Everything look OK, Tye?”

  “Yes, sir. The birds look fine. Those Indonesians take care of their war toys. We are still short two co-pilots, but on a straight flight to the ship, I hope it won’t matter.”

  Master Gunnery Sergeant Chung walked by with Sergeant Lipsz in tow. “Master Guns, any confirmed location on the Reagan yet?”

  The Master Guns gave his clipboard to Sgt Lipsz and pointed him toward the Ospreys.

  “Yes sir. I just confirmed it with the Air Force major from JUSMAG there. The Reagan is more than halfway to India, about 900 miles from here. She’s steaming at 25 knots with her ‘mechanical problem.’ ” He raised his hands and used the double finger quotation hook as he said the words “mechanical problem.”

  “OK, that’s good. That is what, about two-and-a-half hours from here?” He looked up at the XO.

  “Maybe closer to three hours, sir.”

  “OK, three hours.” He turned back to his Ops Chief. “Master Guns, please ask the JUSMAG major to see me.”

  Master Gunnery Sergeant Chung nodded and moved off, shouting, “What are you pussies waiting for? I told you to be on those goddamn birds in five minutes, what, seven minutes ago? What the fuck are you waiting for, a fucking invitation?”

  The XO suppressed a smile. “That’s our Master Guns!”

  Yes it is. I’m just glad he is on our side.”

  They both chuckled. “You better get to your birds. I really do want to be off the ground in ten minutes, if at all humanly possible.”

  “Aye-aye, sir,” LtCol Sa
unders said as he came to attention and rendered a salute.

  Col Lineau returned it just as smartly. Jeff watched the Marines start to file into the Ospreys as a major in Air Force fatigues walked up to him.

  “Sir, I’m Maj Paulson with the JUSMAG.”

  He held out his hand. Jeff had automatically started the move for a salute, but he stopped it and took the proffered hand instead.

  “Col Jeff Lineau.”

  “Uh yes, sir, we know. Admiral Conners personally called our boss, COL Smith, and told us to help you as well as babysit his lost sailors. You’re going to the Reagan, right?” he asked, positively beaming with excitement.

  “Major, I hope you understand that I am not at a liberty to tell you anything right now.”

  “Oh I know sir, we can’t tell anyone. But what with the president and everything, you are going over there, right?”

  “Once again Major, while we appreciate your help here, I really can’t say anything.”

  “OK, I understand sir.”

  Then he gave Col Lineau a wink, an actual, drawn-out wink. Jeff didn’t really know what to do, it was so out of his comfort zone. So he ignored it.

  “I just wanted to ask you to help some of our Marines get back to their stations. Capt Mahmoud, my S1, he’s the short guy over there by the first Osprey, has the list, but I think it’s about twelve Marines who have to be left behind.” He hesitated before adding “And Major, needless to say, this whole evolution is rather sensitive. This has all been done back channels, so-to-speak, so we would like to keep it quiet. I’m sure you understand.”

  “No problem with your Marines. We’ll take care of them. Your captain has already given me the list. And we’ll keep all of this hush hush. But you do know the ambassador knows all about this, right?”

  Jeff’s heart jumped. He really did not want anyone at State to know exactly what was going on. He did not want anyone to be able to counter any possible action. Better to act first and apologize later.