Rankin folded his arms as the ship’s executive officer explained to Colonel Van Buren the difficulties involved in sailing closer to North Korean territory. First of all, they had orders to maintain their position two hundred miles off the coast of South Korea. And second of all, anything they did would attract the attention of the North Korean Navy—not only against their orders, but a detriment to any mission Van Buren hoped to launch.
“Maybe you oughta let the colonel worry about that,” said Rankin, unable to stand the BS any longer. “He’s done this before, you know?”
The ship’s exec and intelligence officer looked at him like he was a cockroach that had just run across the galley deck.
“We need to be within a hundred miles of the target area,” said Van Buren, his voice smooth but firm. “So we need to be further north.”
“You know, Colonel, it would be helpful if you could tell us precisely where the target area is,” said the ship’s captain, who had said nothing until now. “It’s difficult to plan for something when we don’t know where it’s going to take place.”
“I don’t know myself,” said Van Buren. “We’re working on it.”
“Generally, we like to know where the hell we’re going before we get there,” said the exec sarcastically.
“By then it’ll be too damn late,” said Rankin.
“We have only the most general idea,” said Van Buren smoothly. “We’re positioning for a rescue mission. If we knew where we had to go, I assure you we’d be underway already.”
“You don’t even know if there’s going to be a mission,” said the intelligence officer.
He sounded like he was making an accusation rather than stating a fact.
“That’s right,” said Van Buren calmly. “Exactly.”
“Colonel, even if I wanted to accommodate you,” said the captain, “my orders are pretty specific.”
“I’ll take care of your orders. Let’s have another look at that map.”
“You’ll take care of our orders?” snapped the exec.
Rankin had listened to all he could stand and walked out of the meeting. No one tried to stop him, not even Van Buren.
When they found out that Ferguson was missing, Rankin had suggested they launch a search-and-rescue mission immediately. There were two problems with that: First of all, they weren’t exactly sure where Ferguson had gone after landing at the capital, and, second, Slott said there was too much else going on in Korea to risk an incursion, certainly not without hard evidence of where Ferguson might be.
Even if they had evidence, though, at the moment they were too far away to get him. The Little Birds’ range was at best three hundred miles on a combat mission. If word came right now that Ferguson was standing on the double-loop roller coaster at Mangyongdea Fun Fair near the North Korean capital, it would take the Peleliu several hours to get into position to pick him up.
Van Buren at least understood the problem, and had come to the ship personally to get the idiot commanders here to cooperate. Van was an exception to the rule that officers were jerks—the exception that proved the rule. The colonel thought and acted like a noncom, but had the eagle on his collar to back up what he said.
“Giving up making nice to the navy?” said Jiménez when Rankin walked into the officer’s wardroom to see if he could get some coffee. Jimenez was sitting with the translator at a table, going over their strategy for the next interview session.
“The navy’s fine. It’s officers I can’t stand,” Rankin told him. “Where’s Ch’o?”
“Tell you anything important?”
“Mostly he wants to know where Thera is and whether she’s really OK.” Jiménez smiled. “He has good taste in women.”
“I guess.”
“You don’t think she’s cute?”
“She’d bust you in the mouth again for saying that.”
Jiménez flushed.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody,” said Rankin. “Besides, she’s beaten the crap out of a lot tougher guys than you.”