USS Inchon, 2030 GMT (2130 Local)

“Colonel Brimmer?” the third-class radioman turned from his console. “I have the Flag for you, Colonel; green handset.”

Brimmer stubbed out his cigarette as he sat down. Loonfeather brought two cups of coffee and sat beside him. Brimmer picked up the green handset and pressed the flashing light. He could hear the hiss-click of the scramblers matching; when the line cleared, he said “Colonel Brimmer.”

“It’s Admiral Wilson, Colonel. How are things on your end?”

“Coming together nicely, Admiral. The marines have all been briefed, and the assault units have been divided between Inchon and Saipan, along with their assigned helicopters. Colonel Loonfeather and I are settled in here; the commodore has graciously given us the whole of his Flag Plot to run the landing and extraction.”

“Where are Loonfeather’s soldiers?”

“They got off from Bragg at 1700 zulu, sir, just three and a half hours ago. They should reach their refueling rendezvous 200 miles west of Lisbon in less than ninety minutes.”

“The tankers all set up?”

“Yes, Admiral. Five KC-1Os from Keflavik on their way to the rendezvous in plenty of time.”

“Well, it sounds good. I still wish we had all the command elements of this operation in one big room, Colonel.”

“I agree, Admiral, but we don’t have any rooms that big.”

“Yeah, I know we had to do it this way, but shit! We have overall command here on America, and the tactical attack aircraft, but that got so big we had to give the Combat Air Patrol to Admiral Bellmon on Nimitz. Naval gunfire assignment is on New Jersey, and the ground assault is with General Morton here, and with you and Colonel Loonfeather. It’s too spread out.”

Colonel Brimmer shrugged and looked at Loonfeather, who was sitting at the adjacent console, who shrugged back. Brimmer keyed the handset. “Well, Admiral, as long as the commo plan holds up, the troops in the field will be able to talk to any embarked command or supply element they need, and all others will be able to monitor.”

“OK, Bob, I know. I’m just blowing off steam. I guess I’m getting edgy.”

“We all are, sir, but we’ll get it done.”

“Of course. How are you going to coordinate with the SEALs, now that Commander Stuart has become a rifleman?”

Brimmer and Loonfeather grinned at each other. They had taken great delight at Stuart’s earlier protestations that he didn’t really want to make the jump. “I’ll take them, personally, Admiral,” said Brimmer. “Stuart and I ran down the entire coded sequence - which is very simple anyway - and we’ll talk again when the SEALs reach Torrejon to link up with the B-52.”

“When will that be?”

“The SEALs should land before 2300 zulu. The bomber is already there.”

“Good, OK. Anything for me?”

“Admiral, Lieutenant Colonel Loonfeather, sir,” Loonfeather broke in. “Any new word from Tripoli, or from Washington?”

“Not in the last hour. We have a go from JCS for the Airborne to refuel and to enter the Med. JCS expects to have a full go for us shortly after that.”

“OK,” said Loonfeather.

“Apparently the President is really torn up about the woman they shot.”

“I guess. Well, I hope we get there before they shoot any more.”

“That the only thing you’re worried about, Colonel?”

“Just about, Admiral, just about.”

“Everybody stay on this net. Top Hat out.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Thunder, out,” said Brimmer, putting down the handset.