Colonel Van Buren’s voice crackled in Rankin’s headset, barely emerging from the static. It was one of the worst connections Rankin could ever remember.
“We have a location,” said Van Buren. “A definite location.”
“Hot shit,” said Rankin.
“It’s Cache Zed. You have your map?”
Rankin unfolded the map across the console in the Peleliu’s secure communications center, studying it as Van Buren ran down the situation in North Korea. Several divisions were now poised along the DMZ, with additional units ringing the capital. The coastal highway was a major north-south route, and Ferguson had already reported troop movements along it.
“So we’ll have to plan accordingly. I’ll get with the ship’s captain,” added Slott, “but from my calculations it should take the ship roughly three hours to get into position to launch. We want to time the mission so that you’re crossing land well after nightfall.”
“Long time for him to wait,” said Rankin. “We could launch now, use some of the marine helos instead of ours. They’ll get us there and back with plenty of gas to spare.”
“No. Washington gets final say on this,” said Slott. “You don’t step off until I hear from them.”
“Say, Colonel—”
“It’s not my decision, Skip. He has a good hiding place. Ferg told Corrine and Slott he was fine.”
“He’d always say that.”
The funny thing was, Rankin couldn’t stand Ferguson, didn’t like him at all. But Rankin felt as strongly about rescuing him as he would have about his own brother.
Whom, come to think of it, he also couldn’t stand.
“I have an MC-130 in the air ready for an emergency mission,” said Van Buren. “They can be over the site within an hour. Less. If the word comes, we’ll have the teams on the MC-130 drop in, then you go in and pick them up. Set that up with the Marines.”
Rankin grunted. He knew it was a plan that would never be implemented, the kind that sounded good in theory but didn’t work in real life. An hour would be forever on the ground. By the time Ferguson called for help, he’d be dead.
“What was that, Stephen?” asked Van Buren.
“I got it. Backup plan.”
“We’ll get him. I’ll be aboard the MC-17 before nightfall. I’ll check with you.”
“Got it.”
“We will get him back.”
“If Washington approves.”
“If Washington approves, yes.”
Rankin’s noncom training kicked in, and he let the colonel have the last word.