Rankin took the binoculars from the lookout and panned them across the sea to the south. The small fishing vessel was just under a mile away. It had been sailing toward them for more than an hour, moving so slowly that it was hard to tell if it was being propelled by anything other than the current.
“I say we grab them if they get any closer,” said Michael Barren. Barren was the assault team’s first sergeant, the ranking noncommissioned officer on the atoll.
Grabbing the people in the boat was the safe thing to do, unless, of course, they botched it, or the people in the boat were expected somewhere else or managed to get a radio message off.
“No,” said Rankin. “We wait. They’ll pass by.”
“What if they don’t?” asked Barren.
The others moved a little closer, interested not only in finding out what they were going to do but also in seeing who was going to get his way.
“If they don’t, we deal with that then,” said Rankin, handing the binoculars back.
The boat kept coming. Fifteen minutes later, it was a hundred yards offshore. Rankin, Barren, and two other soldiers crouched behind a fallen tree trunk on the island’s high point overlooking the beach. The helicopters were about a hundred yards behind them, down the hill. The rest of the assault team was spread out in hidden positions around the atoll.
“We gonna let them come ashore before we kill them?” asked Barren.
“We ain’t gonna kill them,” said Rankin.
“What?”
“We’re going to stay down, hidden, unless it’s absolutely necessary to grab them. Then we grab them. We don’t kill them.”
Barren thought this was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.
“Can we talk, Sarge?” asked Barren.
“We are talking.”
Barren glanced at the two other soldiers nearby. “We might want to make this private.”
“Nothing I say is private.”
“All right,” said Barren. “Why won’t we shoot them?”
“Because we don’t have to.”
“Jesus, Sarge. They’re North Koreans. The enemy.”
“Look, you can call me Stephen or Skip if you want,” Rankin told him. “Not Sergeant.”
“You’re not a sergeant?”
Rankin ignored the challenging, almost mocking tone. “This is my call,” he told Barren. “We leave these people be if we can. They come on the island, they see anything, we grab them. We don’t kill them.”
Frustrated, Barren turned away.
“Looks like they’re landing,” said the lookout.
Rankin moved to the end of the tree trunk, watching through his glasses as two men jumped from the front of the small vessel and pulled it onto the beach. A third man stayed with the boat.
If he gave the order to fire, they’d be dead inside of thirty seconds.
If he delayed, it was possible they might alert someone via radio.
But the best thing, the right thing, was to wait. It was much better for the mission that these people leave without seeing them. Kill them, and maybe someone would come looking for them.
Rankin knew in his gut he was doing the right thing, balancing the different chances in the mission’s favor. But it wasn’t like he could put it into a mathematical formula. The others would just have to trust him.
The Koreans took a large barrel from the boat. Rankin was baffled, until he realized they were making dinner.
He rolled back behind the log and told the others what was going on. Smoke was already starting to curl from the fire.
“What do we do?” Barren demanded.
“We hang loose and let them eat. If they get frisky and go exploring, then we grab them. Otherwise we wait and hide. It’s already getting dark. It won’t be hard.”
Barren shook his head, but said nothing.
“Relax,” said Rankin. “Food smells kind of rancid anyway.”
Only later, when the North Koreans had pulled out without seeing anyone, did Rankin realize that what he’d said was exactly the sort of line Ferguson would use to put him off.
“Ferg’s still a jerk,” he mumbled to himself, going to get some meals-ready-to-eat for dinner.