Helen watched the firefighter/Marines settle into the LCAC. She noticed they’d helped themselves to M-16s from the armory. “Remember, if you get to the consulate, not a word to Bud about me until all are safe. Everyone must focus on the mission at hand.”
Frank started to fasten his harness, but remembered he was already dead. He flashed a grin at Helen. “Shall we bring him back with us if we can?”
She smiled broadly and patted her hair into place. “Good gracious, yes.” Mercy, but she hadn’t seen Bud since the awful day of his funeral. She wondered if he’d be young again too, not that it mattered. All that mattered was being reunited. She knew her heart would be a-flutter if it was still capable of it.
Dominic turned to Frank. “What if we can’t leave? What if the stern gate opens, and the LCAC leaves, but we stay behind? Maybe we’ll be stuck here forever?”
Frank reassured him. “What’s the worst that can happen, Dom? So we get bumped off before the landing craft leaves the ship. We’ll be no worse off than we are now.”
Helen hugged Jeremy to her side. “I have no doubt you’ll be able to leave. Why else would we have changed to our younger selves? I just hope you can help the Marines at the consulate. What if you leave the ship and go directly to heaven?”
Jeremy hugged Bongo tighter. “I’d miss you, firefighters.”
“Everything will be fine, Jeremy,” said Kelly. “If they go directly to the next world, we’ll see them soon. We’ll be leaving as soon as this conflict is over.”
Jeremy grinned his gap-toothed smile over the news.
Kelly was now twenty-seven years old, with permed hair and a tailored United Airlines outfit from the 1980’s. She and Captain Martin had apparently encouraged Jeremy to convince Gwyn to talk to the CO. This gave all three of them freedom to move on to the light. Kelly turned and smiled at the pilot, who had reverted back to a thirty-year-old Air Force captain. And didn’t he look handsome in his dress blue uniform? Helen hoped they could all fly out together.
And she prayed that Bud would be joining them.
All the spirits turned as Gwyn made her way to the railing with her clipboard and hard hat, preparing to give the order to open the stern gate and flood the well. The firefighters waved to her. Frank even blew her a kiss from the LCAC. She raised her hand tentatively, then lowered it to her clipboard and got on with the business at hand.
* * *
Nick wiped the sleep from his eyes. Not that he’d slept more than a few fitful minutes, what with worrying about his child—a child who had, most likely, just lost his or her chance to be born. A wave of nausea washed over him and it had nothing to do with the ocean.
It was very simple. Nick would never, ever, ever have sex again in his life. Maybe he’d become a priest. Right. He flashed to Trudy lying naked on her kitchen table, her wild hair doing a poor job of camouflaging her breasts as she purred, “Bring it on, Yank.” He glanced at Uncle Frank’s photo on his desk, needing a reminder of why he did this job in the first place. Erasing images of Trudy Ashcroft—the traitor—he walked through the well deck toward the wardroom.
“Hullo, Nanny,” Bruce called from a squatting position as he and his mates plotted strategies for the upcoming mission. “I was wondering when we’d run into one another.”
“Bruce,” Nick said simply. Just who he did not need right now. “How goes it, Bruiser?” Nick glanced at his watch and realized he had a spare ten minutes. The man was going into battle, the least Nick could do was wish him well.
The Junglie rose and shook Nick’s hand. “Can’t complain, mate. Little busy at the moment.” He indicated what was happening on the deck. “We’re holding our ROC Drill—Rehearsal of Concept. We use whatever we can find and act out all the possibilities of what’s to come.”
Nick was impressed with the creativity involved. A cluster of Royal Marines had everything from cardboard boxes to spare jeep tires to toilet paper rolls laid out like the consulate they were intending to secure. “Pretty clever, Bruiser.”
“We do this in advance of an op from about H-5 on up to H-Hour.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ll be boarding soon, but this gives us a chance to hash out what each bloke will do under different circumstances, what communications we’ll use, what kit we’ll need. That sort of thing. And it gives everyone a chance to voice their concerns or ask questions with no holds barred.”
“So are you prepared for the op?” Nick asked.
“Yeah, I think we’ve run through it all,” Bruce replied, watching one of his team members slide toilet papers rolls around in a convoy. Guess they were the military vehicles today. He turned to Nick and smiled slyly. “Although a little kindness from my favorite Amazon would put me in a better state of mind. Haven’t seen Trudy for a couple of days.”
“Doc sent her home.”
Bruce went on alert. “Home? To England? She alright?”
Nick hesitated, let his pulse quiet for a second before he lied. “As far as I know. Some kind of medical issue. Maybe her appendix.”
“Shame, that,” Bruce said. “I could have used a pleasant send-off.”
Nick bristled. “What do you mean?”
“Aw, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Nanny. Just a chat with her. Trudy makes me laugh. We had some good times together.”
Nick’s mouth suddenly went dry. “Yeah, we did too.”
Bruce smiled genuinely at him. “I’m curious, mate. Did you have something going on with her? I mean, besides being her boss—and her nanny?”
We made a child together.
“I thought I did. I liked her spirit, but…” Nick glanced around the busy well deck, taking in the Royal Marines preparing their vehicles and their supplies. His gaze came back to Bruce. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be.” He reached out his hand to his former nemesis. “Listen, good luck with whatever you’re involved in tonight.”
And may it go quickly so communications are back up and I can talk some sense into Trudy.
Bruce shook his hand. “Thanks, Nanny.”
“I feel like I’ll be sitting around with my thumb up my butt on the ship, while you Junglies are out there taking care of business.”
“We each serve in our own way, mate. Everyone does his or her bit. All will go well. After all, we’ll be teamed up with Marines from the USS New York. Considering her legend, I’m sure we’ll be watched over.”
Nick flashed to Uncle Frank’s smiling face on his desk. “I believe you’re right, Bruce. I do believe you’re right.”
* * *
Adam had missed wearing his Kevlar vest. He felt like a knight strapping on medieval armor before riding off to slay dragons in order to protect his village. What a rush to be back where he belonged, consumed by giddiness and fear at the same time. Every Marine aboard New York carried both feelings in the pits of their stomachs, only showing the former to their peers.
Adam slung his M4 over his shoulder and walked out of berthing toward the well deck. There was Gwyn in her hardhat, coveralls, and safety glasses, having supervised the dropping of the gate and the filling of the well. He slipped on his own eye protection and nodded politely to her. “Lieutenant.”
She nodded back. “Good luck, Gunnery Sergeant.”
He laughed inside, thinking of being reprimanded by a principal in a short skirt when she called him that. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Mac and his senior staff were inspecting the gear and equipment on the two LCACs.
How perfect the Guadalcanal and O’Bannon Hall had gone ahead, leaving Mac the U.S. officer in charge of this op. There wasn’t a better man to lead Marines into battle than Lieutenant Colonel Demetrius McLachlan. Adam smiled again at the idea of Mac arranging tee times for the General at the Pentagon. The next time Mac served at the Pentagon, he would be the general. This mission was that important. Adam had a good feeling about the outcome—thanks to Gwyn and her stowaways. And he was thrilled beyond belief Mac had allowed him to tag along.
As Combat Cargo Assistant, Adam had supervised his crew loading the LCACs all day. They would land with one section of seven-tons, three Light Armored Vehicles, and eight armored Humvees. Mac had wanted both sections of LAVs, but he had to sacrifice that heavy firepower for the ability to haul freed hostages and classified material out quickly.
“Colonel Mac, you got a second, sir?” Adam called to the Landing Team CO.
“Sure, Guns. What’cha got?
“What were plain-clothes Marines doing on a security detail outside the main embassy?”
Mac grimaced. “You wanna know how Kosloski’s brother ended up in there, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir. Last I heard he was headed to be an operator with the Special Operations Command. How did he wind up with Marine Security Guards? And more importantly, when did MSG start doing things outside the embassy?”
Colonel Mac chuckled. “You know one thing I’ve always liked about you, Gunny? You see through bullshit but quick. Look, it’s classified, but I will tell you ever since Benghazi, there have been a lot of changes in the way we do things. We don’t outsource to private firms for security nearly as much anymore.”
Adam nodded his head. “I get it. Don’t ask too many questions.”
“Set Conditions for Damage Control State One Condition Alpha,” boomed from the 1MC speakers and echoed through the well.
Mac smiled his toothy grin. “Well, Gunny, looks like show time. Head up to my Command vehicle. I’ll meet you there in a minute. I gotta go find some pom-poms and get this pep rally started.”
Adam admired the way Mac slipped into his team-captain-before-the-big-game mode. He made his way around both LCACs, slapping Marines on the back and giving them Ooh-Rahs. As the quarterback, he was pumping his men up for the kickoff of a life or death game.
Adam fastened his harness in Mac’s Command vehicle. A surge of adrenaline he hadn’t felt in several years washed through him. The bench had been sufficiently warmed and Gunny Connor was back in the game.
Mac was the last to board. He sat next to Adam and plugged his helmet into the communication suite. “Sledgehammer One, radio check.” Mac paused for the response “Roger, have you same. Out.”
Another announcement boomed over the 1MC: “Green well, Green well, God speed and good luck, Marines.”
The LCACs’ engines went to military power and the landing crafts came up on cushion. Adam was always amazed when the craft, loaded with more than sixty tons of equipment, lurched up and hovered over the water. As they backed out into the sea, he turned to look at Gwyn. She raised her palm in his direction. Something tightened in his chest. For the first time, he was leaving a girl behind. Was she his girl? He wasn’t sure, but he liked to pretend. It made going on a mission easier, knowing someone might be waiting for him when he returned. Adam raised his arm and flashed her a thumbs-up. Gwyn folded her fingers into a fist and returned the sign, her smile hesitant.
The pale blue light of the well gave way to the pitch black of the night, as one after the other of the LCACs headed out toward shore. It was a beautiful, calm evening at sea and it would be a smooth flight to the beach. The LCAC chiefs always made it a point they were pilots and they were flying the landing craft. There was a big difference though. Lose your engines in the LCAC and you’d float, not quite the same as an aircraft losing power. Which made him think of the Osprey and Apache pilots, including Gwyn’s roommate.
He wondered how they felt about being bait tonight.