She turned to her small team and gave a quick command, then led them into the embassy. They all knew where the ladder going down below was, but knowing on paper and in real life can sometimes be a little different. As they rushed in, they veered to the left somewhat before spotting the ladder and rushing to it, a few rounds pinging around them from the gun battle going on down the long passageway there.
Colonel Lineau was right on their heels. As he rushed in, the Sergeant Major caught his eye, sitting on the deck, back up against the bulkhead, holding his left forearm while one of the Reagan’s corpsmen worked on the biceps. He had chosen come in with Major Roberto’s team and had evidently taken a hit. His anger was a palpable force, and as he rushed by, Col Lineau knew the Sergeant Major would not let something like that keep him back.
He rushed past the shattered Post 1, not taking the time to look in, and dashed into the ladderwell just as some rounds came bursting up. He ran through the opening, dragging LCpl Luc with him and to the steps leading up and out of the line of fire. One of the lieutenant’s Marines was just standing there, rounds pinging around. He grabbed her by the body armor and swung her out of the way as well.
Leaning over the rail, he looked down to see the lieutenant, the master guns, and two Marines standing almost elbow to elbow on the landing below, exchanging gunfire with a handful of men standing at the bottom of the ladder. Almost in slow motion, he could see the master guns stagger, then one of the other Marines as well. But with their body armor stopping the rounds, neither went down, and the gunmen at the bottom of the fell one by one until none were firing back.
Colonel Lineau vaulted down the steps with the other two in tow. He had to leap over another Marine, Cpl Smith, who had taken a hit to the leg before he could join the other four rushing to the bottom. There were several dead gunmen there and a table blocking the way, which had to be straddled. On the other side, there were several dead Marines: Sgt Chen, PFC Ramon, and that was probably PFC Fallgatter. There was a rather large military-looking man (secret service?) and another civilian there. There was barely enough time to let all of that register. They rounded the corner and saw three gunmen, rifles in hand, at the far side of an ajar door to what had to be the vault. His heart sunk. Were they too late? His gut told him that the president and any others were in there, and from the gunmen’s attitude, it did not look good.
As they came into sight, one gunman saw them and tried to scramble into the vault to get out of the line of fire, but as one, the now seven Marines opened up, and the three men had no chance. They were cut down where they stood.
Ten Marines from Capt Mahmoud’s team came stumbling down the ladderwell behind them. With a tremendous sense of loss, Col Lineau moved forward with the others to look into the vault, knowing what they would see.
Chapter 53
Thursday Morning, US Embassy, New Delhi
Two rifles appeared around the edge of the door, firing wildly in. The rounds ricocheted around the vault, but no one was hit. All four of them fired on the rifles, but seemingly none of them were hit either. This happened twice more before one of the rifles dropped on the floor. Gunny didn’t know which one of them had hit it.
Some fingers came around the edge of the door and started pulling it open wider, but this time, a round hit the target, sending a piece of the finger flying off to land on the deck, clearly in view of those inside. They could hear shouts of pain.
The inside of the vault was becoming full of smoke, and the bitter acrid smell was getting overwhelming. Loralee’s M18 started to waver, and she finally slid down to take a knee. She looked up apologetically and coughed.
There was an increase of incoming, and PFC Van Slyke grunted, slapping the back of his butt. But he kept upright, returning the fire. His magazine emptied, and with a calm collectiveness, he slipped in another mag. It was hard to see, but it looked like several people rushed past the door to the other side. His ears were ringing so much that he didn’t trust Van Slyke to respond to words, so Gunny pushed Van Slyke over to the left a bit to give him a better angle to fire at anyone coming from that direction.
There was another increase in the volume of incoming fire, and the three of them shot wildly out through the door. He didn’t think he was hitting anything, but he couldn’t stop. He was at his end game. Smoke obscured his vision. As he changed his magazine at the same time as the president, PFC Van Slyke held up his hand. The firing had stopped for a moment. OK, they needed to use their ammo smarter. They slowly aimed out the door, waiting for a real target.
PFC Van Slyke shifted his point of aim further to the right and fired off a double tap burst.
“Shit!” a voice rang out in English.
It was immediately followed by a different voice “US Marines, US Marines! If you are American, we are here to rescue you. Identify yourselves!”
Gunny couldn’t believe he heard right. His ears were ringing, but the words were unmistakable, and the accent sounded right. In fact, it sounded like Master Guns Chung!
“This is Gunnery Sergeant McCardle. We are holding our fire,” he shouted as he put out a hand to push down the muzzle of the president’s weapon.
A head peaked in. It was the master guns.
“Is the president here with . . .” he started before seeing the president standing there, unshaven, dirty t-shirt, and holding an M18. Nonplussed, he said, “Mr. President, can you come with us please? We have a flight ready to take you out of here.”
Marines came in and helped the four of them out.
Colonel Lineau was there himself, and he caught the Gunny’s arm, asking “Anyone else in there?”
“Just SSgt Child, sir, in back of the rack there, on the deck. He’s hurt pretty bad and isn’t conscious. I think that’s all.”
A tremendous wave of despair and fatigue washed over him. His det, his Marines. Only Van Slyke and he made it. And Child, if you could count that as “making it.” How could he explain his failure to keep his Marines alive?
His mind was a blur as they were hustled down the passageway to the ladderwell. Marines were already picking up the bodies. One Marine he didn’t recognize picked up PFC Ramon, her limp arms swaying lifelessly as the Marine moved. Tears came to his eyes.
“Them too,” he told them, pointing out Drayton and the major.
SSgt Pierce, from the KL det, simply nodded.
In a daze, he made it up the ladder, assisted by someone who didn’t register with him. They got up to the entrance, and he could see the damage inside Post 1. Two other Marines were at the glass, looking inside with somber expressions. Marines were moving about with a sense of purpose. Major Roberto came out of the passageway leading toward the ambassador’s office.
Gunny Phelps from Quantico was there, and he gave Gunny McCardle a thumbs up. He saw the president then, and rushed out shouting to someone. They half-dragged the president to the opening in the door, finally getting him to release his M18.
Gunny Phelps came back and spoke to Major Roberto. “It’s clear sir. I think we need to go now.”
“Roger that, Gunny. Get that bird down.”
Gunny Phelps turned to what looked like a sailor in a yellow jacket, like they had on carriers and said, “Petty Officer Martin, bring her in.” He looked out the opening at someone else. “You two, cover him!”
Gunny Mac leaned against the bulkhead. His mind was floundering, like it was stuffed with cotton. He sat there alone despite being surrounded by Marines. He could hear a loud noise growing from outside. A Marine poked his head through the opening.
“It’s landing now!”
A half-a-dozen Marines surrounded the president and moved him outside. Not knowing what else to do, Gunny Mac followed, but stopped as he got through the opening. A huge Osprey was landing, “US MARINES” emblazoned on its fuselage. Gunny Mac hadn’t seen one of them for years. The Marines ran the president down to the bird and up the ramp. Others pretty much carried Loralee to the bird. She raised an arm and waved to him as she w
as carried up the ramp. Other Marines poured in. The sailor in the yellow jacket waved two ping-pong paddle-like signals, and the Osprey fairly jumped into the air. Another Osprey started to come in for a landing. Colonel Lineau stood next to him, watching the president leave.
Gunny turned to him and said, “Colonel, we’ve got three Marines in the reefer in the ambassador’s pantry. We’ve got three Marines somewhere above deck. And we’ve got Sgt Niimoto up in that bell tower. All of them come with us. We’re not leaving anyone behind.”
Without pause, Colonel Lineau called up LCpl Luc and another Marine. “McNair, go tell those SEALS to bring Sgt Niimoto’s body with them. Luc, tell Colonel Ricapito to bring the Marines in the reefer and whoever is above decks. He may have already found their bodies, but they come with us.”
A second Osprey landed in the courtyard. Colonel Lineau looked at him. “You two get on that one. I want you out of here.”
“Begging the colonel’s pardon, but no sir, I need to stay until all my det has been loaded on board. I need to know that they’re going back to the US for their families.”
The CO put his hand on his shoulder and nodded. He gestured to PFC Van Slyke, who was being attended to by a corpsman. The two made the walk together, the corpsman still working on him as they moved, and boarded. An orderly line of Marines formed up and quickly got onboard. The yellow-jacketed sailor waved his magic wands and the Osprey took off, a small windstorm buffeting those left.
Half of the remaining Marines left their positions on the wall to begin to form again. LCpl Luc came running up to the CO.
“Sir, Colonel Ricapito has the three Marines from the reefer and will have them on the roof in three mikes. They’ve found the other three Marines, too. They are ready to take off as soon as your bird leaves.”
“Thanks, LCpl Luc. You get ready, you and McNair. Stick on my ass. I don’t need you two wandering off,” the colonel said.
A third Osprey landed in the courtyard, and Gunny could see another coming in to apparently land on the roof of the embassy.
PFC McNair came running up, saying, “The SEALS, they are coming down now, but they said there are no Marine bodies up there.”
Gunny looked up in confusion, then a little anger.
“Bullshit! I spoke to him just a little while ago, right before this place got hit. He is up there!”
Or could the blast have knocked him out of the tower? Or even burned his body up? He looked at the bodies lying about the courtyard. None seemed too terribly damaged from outward appearances, so no, his body had to be still around somewhere.
Master Guns Chung walked out and called to the CO. “Colonel, we’ve got to go. There is some movement over the wall, maybe a force coming here.”
“We’re not going without Tony!” Gunny shouted, running into the courtyard, around the Osprey and through Marines starting to board.
LCpl Luc ran after him. They ran into the broken hatch to the bell tower and almost collided with a group of four SEALS coming down.
“You, come with me!” gunny orders, his tone brooking no argument.
The six of them crashed up the steps and finally through the broken hatch into the cupola. Gunny looked about in desperation.
“Uh, just what are we supposed to be doing here?” It was the SEAL lieutenant, looking perplexed.
“We’ve got a Marine here, and we’re taking him back,” Gunny said with certainty.
He looked around, then over to the edge where he could see out over the embassy wall. He couldn’t see a body on the ground there.
“We told the other Marine, there’s no one here. No body, nothing.”
He rushed over to the other side. He could see nothing on the ground there, either. He could see an Osprey on top of the embassy, Marines boarding. He could see the Osprey below him in the courtyard, almost everyone evidently onboard, the colonel standing there looking up at him, gesturing.
“Sorry, but we’re leaving,” the lieutenant said, his SEALS starting to move out.
Gunny looked back into the cupola. Despair struck out at him, almost a physical blow. Then he noticed something was out of place. He couldn’t figure it out for a moment, but then it struck him. The bell. It was flush on the deck. He wondered how that happened. Did the blast do that? He moved up to it. A small tangle of rolled cotton was coming out from under the bell, ragged and torn.
“Get back here! Now!” he shouted as he started to push at the bell, to tip it over, but it was too heavy. LCpl Luc started to help.
The four SEALS exchanged glances, then rushed over. The six of them moved to one side and tried to push it up. The bell tipped, then fell back down with a thud.
“OK,” one of the SEALS shouted, “on my command, heave, then you Marine,” he pointed to LCpl Luc, “stick your radio under the edge. Then we can grab it. OK, HEAVE!”
The bell tilted up six inches, and LCpl Luc was able to jam his useless radio under the edge. The six men lowered it onto the radio, shifted their grips, then grasped under the edge of the bell. With one concerted heave, the bell came up and over to crash on its side up against the cupola wall.
Lying on the deck where the bell once covered, Sergeant Anthony Niimoto looked up in a daze, a small medical canister on his chest slowly feeding oxygen around his face with a soft hiss, a medical kit open beside him.
“Hey Gunny,” he croaked out, “do you have anything to drink?”
Chapter 54
Saturday Morning, The Whitehouse, Washington, DC
The President of the United States of America sat in the chair in front of his desk in the Oval Office and looked at the three others there. This was the first time he had a chance to meet with them, his trusted advisors.
Well, the old Chinese curse of living in interesting times was surely upon him. The last three days had been a hectic whirlwind of activity, and only today were things sinking in. Sitting in the Oval Office right now, in some ways, it seemed like the last week had never happened, that, it had been a dream. But President Eduardo was a changed man, and that brought reality into focus.
After his hurried evacuation from the embassy, the flight back to the Reagan was almost anti-climatic. He found out later that the plan had been to lower him from the Osprey to a waiting sub, but the complete lack of Indian response had prompted them to return to the Reagan directly, and, in retrospect, much to his relief. He hadn’t envisioned dangling from the bird to get on a sub. Instead, the Osprey had made a graceful landing on the Reagan, and he had walked off to the cheers of hundreds of sailors on the flight deck. The unreality of it was such that he actually stopped and shook hands with as many sailors as possible, as if he was back on the campaign trail.
He was taken up to the flag officer’s stateroom where he called his wife, her tearful cries of relief almost overwhelming him. He made some other official calls while wolfing down a pastrami sandwich handed to him, then got a quick shower, shave, and change of clothes (he never did find out whose clothes those were) before being whisked away back down to the flight deck where a waiting C2 was there to fly him to Diego Garcia.
On the way down, he saw Gunny Mac in mess decks and went up to him. Gunny stood up to face him. The president simply put his arms around the gunny in a bearlike hug, then stepped back. No words were exchanged. None needed to be.
He took the flight to Diego Garcia, surrounded by an escort of Navy fighters, where he met up with Secretary Pitt. Pitt’s plane was re-designated Air Force 1, and together, they made the long flight back to the US. It wasn’t a relaxing flight, of course. There was numerous phone calls to the US and with various heads of state, there were several briefings on what had and was still happening, a brief stopover in Hawaii for refueling, and only a few hours of sleep.
The landing at Andrews was almost festive, with music and huge numbers of officials and press. He felt like a returning hero, but in his heart, he felt that this “hero” was an imposter. He really hadn’t done anything heroic. Others had done that.
> A quick stop at the White House for a carefully choreographed press conference and medical check-up, then it was off to Camp David with his family for the night and next morning. As he looked around Camp David, it seemed odd not to have Marines there. Secret service agents had taken over each of the Marine details.
That afternoon, it was back to the White House for meetings and more meetings, with the vice-president and Cabinet, with the Senate and House leaders, with his staff. Then he insisted on calling the families of all those killed in the takeover and rescue. That was pretty rough, but he knew he wanted, no, he had to do it. Finally, he was able to get upstairs and to sleep.
Now, after his morning briefings, he had the Director of the CIA, his National Security Advisor, and his chief of staff sitting around him. He pondered what Bo Waters had just said.
“So that is the way it needs to be?” he asked.
The president looked over to Arnie, who nodded. He put his hands in back of his head, elbows out. He swung around a bit so he could look out the window. A Marine was there, standing at parade rest, back toward him. The president didn’t know his name, but he must have just made it back from India himself. A sense of security tinged with affection washed over him. He smiled, then turned back.
“We don’t hold the Indian government responsible? At all?” he asked.
“Not quite, sir. We have gotten assurances that they will pay for all the damage to the embassy as well as make payments to the victims’ families. But we cannot make the takeover out to be an overt act by the Indian government. That would be tantamount to war.”
“But it was an act of war. An attack on US soil.”
The National Security Advisor agreed. “Yes, it was, sir, but with the snap elections called for, well, this particular government looks like it is going to be out on its ass.”
“And that looks like a pretty sure thing?” he asked, looking over at Kai-yen.
The Return of the Marines Trilogy Page 24
