

TRIBUTE TO A PATRIOT

By

August J. Trottman

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 by August J. Trottman

All Rights Reserved.

Acknowledgements

This is a work of fiction and though many of the locations and organizations are factual, the events connected with them are entirely fictitious.

Though some of the characters have been inspired by people who have passed through my life, the characters in this book and their actions are entirely fictitious.

The political views expressed by the characters in this book are those of the author and in no way are to be attributed to any entity of the United States Federal, State or local governments.

And finally, to you submariners out there; I am sure that there are flaws in parts of the narrative. As stated above, this is a novel meant to entertain and perhaps stimulate the thought process.

Credits

Cutaway view of the Virginia Photo & Text courtesy of defense industrydaily.com - graphic by Stephen Rountree, U.S. Navy Electronic Boat Corporation and Newport News Shipbuilding.

Cutaway view of the Advanced Seal Delivery System (ASDS) courtesy of defense industrydaily.com.

Copyright applied for July 2012

ORIGINAL AFSAR TEAM

SEALS

Stu Martin

Bill Torintino

Mark Cono

AFSAR

Bob Castillo

Tony Drake

Steve Levine

Gerald Skelton

Wes Stone

Army Rangers

Al Russo

Jack Segar

EOD

Freddy Zelinski

Doug Zahrn

New Members

Jenny Castle (automation support)

Sheldon Diamond

Roger Freeberg (automation support)

Benny Sansota

Celina Sansota

Edgar Stone (Wes's son - equipment)

Virginia Crew Members

Ensign Arbuck - Navy diver

Herb Irwin - XO

Jake Jacobson - Captain

Samantha Monahan (Sam) -Lieutenant, Sonar Technician

Mark Thompson - Master Chief, Master Diver

Other Characters

Jason Bumgardner - Vice Admiral, Commander 5th Naval Fleet, Bahrain

Bob Castillo - AF Brigadier General

Elmer Greenberg - Gunny Sergeant, USMC

Marshall Stanton - 45th POTUS

Roy Strogg - CEO, Tees and Markham

Char Stone - Wes's wife

Hector Villa - Journalist, New York Times

PROLOGUE

November 4, 1979

American Embassy, Tehran, Iran

6:30 A.M.

66 American citizens are taken prisoner by Islamic militant students and later held hostage by the newly established Iranian government under the leadership of Ayatollah Khomeini. Subsequently 14 are released.

April 24-25 1980

Great Salt Desert near Tabas, Iran

Late afternoon.

A rescue attempt (Operation Bear Claw/Operation Evening Light) is initiated that would fail resulting in the death of eight American fighting men.

January 20, 1981

U.S Capital Building, Washington, D.C.

11.57 A.M.

Ronald Reagan inaugurated as the 40th President of the United States of America

January 20, 1981

Wiesbaden Airport, West Germany

Late afternoon

After being released, the remaining 52 hostages held by Iran for the past fourteen months arrive in West Germany, the first stop on their way back to the United States.

March 28, 2013

White House, Washington D.C.

3:00 A.M.

Newly elected President, Marshall Rayburn's bedroom.

A phone rings. "Yes."

A subdued voice on the other end of the line states tersely. "Mr. President, we have a situation."

CHAPTER ONE

July 14, 2013

Tri Cities, Washington

9:30 P.M.

Sitting alone in his study, he pondered his life's journey. Now after three years of full retirement, it had finally registered that this was the final chapter, that there would be no new assignments or unknown challenges which, at the time seemed uncomfortable, but, in retrospect, were actually the things that he relished. Wesley L. Stone, Wes, to his friends was 70 years old, married, with three grown sons, one grown daughter, and six grandchildren. Char, his wife, was asleep in their bedroom, recovering from knee replacement surgery. His three oldest children had progressed normally from high school to college, graduating into the working class of America with families, mortgages, and careers. Only his youngest, Edgar, age 30, still lived at home, not having been able to find a niche in society.

It seemed ironic to Wes that his son had not been able to blend into the world, while he had so easily done so, but now found himself feeling as if he did not belong. Some of it was the technology, and even though he had adjusted to computers, cell phones, and multiple remotes, he recalled the simplicity of a more innocent time. A time when adults as well as children, were allowed to have heroes to look up to and emulate; a time when the media did not search out every dirty detail about every public figure and go out of its way to discredit them. Sure, the sports figures, movie stars, and politicians back then were just as human as they are today with just as many faults and hang-ups, but the press, radio, and TV protected their public images which gave the youth of his generation positive role models. The country was unified: schools were consistent in curriculum and discipline, the flag was respected, abortion and ambulance chasing were crimes, and God was an integral part of our nation.

Mingled with these thoughts of not belonging was a feeling bordering on despair - he wondered if his usefulness or purpose in life had been fulfilled; if, at this point, he no longer had anything more to offer. You only go around once, he thought; is the finish line just over the next hill? Or did he pass it and not even notice?

Lost in his reverie and feeling somewhat nostalgic, especially after an excellent dinner which included some excellent wine, Wes was surprised to hear a vehicle pull into the driveway. Though it was only 9:30 in the evening, a visitor at this hour was still somewhat unusual, for the Stones lived a very private life with few close friends. Sometimes cars pulled into their driveway because they were lost and used it to turn around, however; the sound of a car door opening and closing, followed by a gentle knocking on the front door indicated that tonight this was no to be the case.

A quick look at the security mirror positioned to show the illuminated front porch area only added to the mystery. A casually dressed man in his late 50s or early 60s awaited a response to his knock, and though Wes did not recognize him, he looked familiar. Upon opening the door, the man said, "Hello Wes, my name is Bob Castillo, do you remember me?" Wes's mind flashed back to the 1980s when he was stationed at Tyndall Air Force Base, assigned to the Air Force Rescue Coordination Center's Underwater Search and Recovery Team. Captain Castillo was the Officer in Charge of that team and Wes was the team's senior enlisted member and team leader.

Wes responded, somewhat shocked, "Captain Castillo?"

"Actually, General Castillo, how are you Wes?"

"Well, surprised to say the least, what brings someone over 20 years out of my past to see me, especially a General - still Air Force, I presume?"

"To answer your second question first, yes, still Air Force. To answer your first question will take a little time. I hope that the hour is not too late for you to afford me that time."

Wes suddenly realized that they were standing in the doorway and invited the General in and ushered him into his study. As he did so, he noted that there was no vehicle in the driveway. "Please have a seat, can I offer you something to drink, I have scotch and scotch?"

As the General settled into a large leather easy chair, he responded. "Scotch on the rocks would be fine."

After fixing two scotches, Wes took a seat behind his desk and looked to the General for an explanation.

The General took a sip of his drink and said, "Wes, I have mission for you!"

"A mission, are you kidding? What kind of a mission can a 70 year old man perform for the Air Force?"

The General looked intently at Wes and said, "Are you aware of the 27 hostages that were arrested and are being held captive in Iran?"

"Yes, I am. Who are these people and what were they doing in Iran anyway?"

Castillo replied, "Long story, let's just say, they are a hodgepodge of hikers, tourists, students, and some American officials working out of the Swiss Embassy as the U.S. no longer maintains an embassy in Iran. Throw in a couple of military in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were sought out and labeled impediments to the Islamic culture and imprisoned. This is the typical way they operate; they call them prisoners, but actually they are hostages. The main purpose of this charade is to embarrass the United States; other reasons will surface later in the form of negotiations, actually ransom requests."

"Poor people. But I did not read anything about a rescue attempt. Have we given up because of our past record?"

"Maybe, maybe not. As you probably are aware, there were two previous situations that took place under two different presidents. The present administration wants desperately to rescue the hostages, but does not want to repeat previous mistakes. This is a replay of the 1979 episode when 66 US citizens were held captive, some for over a year, and the 2009 kidnapping of 2 American hikers who were eventually released after over two years imprisonment, not to mention paying bail, actually ransom of $ ½ million. What you and the general public do not know is that there were three additional failed rescue attempts to free the captives. As they were all covert black ops missions and we suffered no casualties, it was felt that going public with them would serve no purpose so they were never reported. Both instances were embarrassments to the United States. Now, they are doing it again."

Wes pressed, "So, back to my original question, what do you want from me?"

The General took another sip of his scotch and began, "My job is Director of Air Force Liaison with Homeland Security, Counterintelligence, Off-Shore Retaliation to al-Qaida Forces. I know big title. We operate under the radar, so to speak, mostly invisible to the media, and even a large part of Congress. Though I was not involved with the rescue attempts to free the 1979 or the 2008 hostages, I was tasked to do an analysis as to why they failed. That analysis provided two common factors that were present in all four missions. By the way, everything that I am telling you is classified Top Secret and..."

Wes interrupted, "If that is the case, how can you be telling me any of this, my TS clearance was removed back in 87?"

Castillo smiled, one of those condescending, man, your slow, you don't get it do you smiles, and replied, "Your clearance has been reinstated as of yesterday, when the results of your Background Investigation and National Agency Check came back clean. I had to wait on your clearance being granted before I could make this visit."

Wes was incredulous, "Bob, what the hell are you people doing to me?"

Castillo went on, "Calm down and hear me out.

Wes took a large swallow of his drink, sank back in his chair and gave the General a wary nod to continue.

"The two common trends that I uncovered were first, that we grossly underestimated the al-Qaida's intelligence capability. It was discovered that they had Intel cells outside of every tactical military base (SEAL, Ranger, and even some of our black ops facilities); had infiltrated our military, both active and reserve, and had data gathering capabilities beyond anything that we thought possible. A major contributor to this problem is our country's naivety - assuming that we are dealing with a band of unorganized nomads running around the desert in disarray. During World War Two, the Germans had a pretty sophisticated intelligence gathering network, but it pales when compared to the al-Qaida. And let's not forget how we have decimated our own counter-intelligence forces through funding cuts, agency infighting, and the courts taking away many of their most effective tools to protect our citizens' civil rights. Now that the people's rights are protected (including the enemy agents right here in our own country), we only have to worry about such things as another twin towers." As he paused, Wes noted how tired the General looked. "Sorry, I'm off on a tangent."

The General's eyes conveyed a solemn expression as he went on. "The second common denominator was leaks. The leaks came from staffers speaking on the terms of anonymity, data dug up and reported by investigative journalists, and even some of our congressmen dropping bits of information both classified and unclassified to enhance their power images. All of this was collected by the al-Qaida who were able to use it to predict too much of our military strategy. So our own petty infighting and vain desire for prestige plays right into their hands."

Wes interrupted again, "Bob, you keep saying al-Qaida, but the hostages are being held by the Iranian Government. So far, Iran has not been publicly tied to the terrorist movement."

"Wes, whether it is the al-Qaida's Intel or the Iranian Intel makes little difference. They are linked by their ideology. If the al-Qaida learns of anything that could be detrimental to the United States, do you not think that they would share it with Iran or Saudi Arabia or whatever Islamic nation that could use it to hurt us? We suspect that there is a pipeline between the al-Qaida and most of the Mid Eastern governments, and that includes the ones that our nation has troops with boots on the ground fighting to liberate."

"If you are aware of the al-Qaida cells and infiltration into our military, why haven't you shut them down?"

Castillo continued, "The ones that we learn of, we have, but these people are fanatics, as quickly as we neutralize one cell, two others spring up to take their place. And, because of the civil rights laws that I just mentioned, it is getting harder to find and eliminate them. As for the military, how do you identify an al-Qaida active duty soldier, sailor, or airmen from a patriotic one? Frankly, if it were me, I would shut down every mosque in the country and do lie detector tests on every Muslim in the service, but that would violate a whole bunch of those civil rights laws. And, there are many non Mid Eastern races that are sympathetic to the al-Qaida cause, both in the military and at various levels of our own government."

As the General paused to finish his drink, Wes commented, "Sounds like we've lost the battle, maybe the war. Are you ready for another one, I know I am?"

The General held out his glass.

As he gave Castillo his drink, Wes said, "All of this is very interesting, though I must say quite depressing, especially this late in the evening, but what in the hell does any of it have to do with me?"

Castillo settled back into the leather chair, composed himself, and went on, "The President wants these people rescued, but he is not a fool. He knows that to keep repeating the same set of conditions and expect different results is insane. I have devised a scheme to mount an attempt to bring our people home. Here it is. I want to create a new team, a team that does not exist, and therefore is not being monitored by any al-Qaida cell. This team will go in and rescue the hostages."

Wes's patience was tried, and he responded in a not so cordial manner, "So, again, what does all this have to do with me?"

Castillo's response was immediate and just as sharp, "I want you to lead that team!"

Wes was dumbfounded. He sat in silence trying to comprehend what he had just heard. How could a senior citizen lead a team to do something that America's finest Special Forces teams had repeatedly failed to accomplish? There was a tiny spark of vanity, that an Air Force General, and perhaps even the President of the United States would consider him for such a mission after all these years, but that passed quickly, as he began forming how he would tactfully refuse this ludicrous idea. Another thought came to mind; it could be some candid camera type thing - a big joke. Well, either way, he would graciously decline and send the General on his way.

"General, this is the stupidest thing that I have ever heard!" That was tactful.

Castillo was unfazed and fired back, "Hear me out. I remember the precision that our, excuse me, even though I was the OIC, it was actually your, underwater search and recovery team, possessed. I also remember the backgrounds and personalities of the members of that team and most important, how they looked up to you. You have that special gift of leadership that not only inspires, but gets results. Wh..."

Wes cut in sharply, "That was a long time ago. I don't like where this is going. And if you are suggesting that that team could perform this mission, think again. I have no idea where most of them are, hell, many are probably dead and buried. I..."

It was the General's turn to interrupt, "Just listen. When I am finished, any decision you make will be honored, but at least hear me out. "

Wes sat back and silently waited for the General to continue.

Castillo began again, "You have surmised correctly. What I propose is that you reform our old team. By the way, only two have passed on: Freddy Zelinski, who you are aware of, and Gerald Skelton who was known as Bones, two years ago, ironically of bone cancer. The rest are alive and well and some in better shape than you are, and you are not in that bad of shape. I know that you know where some of them are; I know the whereabouts of the rest of them."

Wes raised his hand to interrupt, but the General silenced him and went on.

"After I presented my findings relating to the failed rescue attempts, the President asked me if this information could contribute to a successful mission to bring our people home. The President is a good man and does not like American citizens being unlawfully detained by a foreign government. And, it would not hurt his re-election numbers if he could bring this about after his predecessors' failures in similar situations.

"I told him that if the two negative trends could be set aside, there would be a much better chance of succeeding. The President told me that he would give it some thought.

"It is a difficult problem to cope with. The hostages are human beings, United States citizens whose capture and retention are being advertised to the world as a sign of our country's weakness because of its inability to rescue them. They are American citizens. How could our country abandon them? On the other hand, can we risk losing more lives in another failed rescue attempt?

"Quite honestly Wes, our policy was leaning towards leaving things alone, and it probably would have remained such had two pieces of information not become available. The first, obtained through in-country Intel, was that the hostages had been moved to a new secret prison located on the west coast of the Arabian (Persian) Gulf, to an area north of a town called Bandar-e Maqam. The second was what appeared to be an innocuous piece of data buried in one of those intelligence reports which our government pays exorbitant fees for that mostly go unread. I have a staff of dedicated analysts that are taxed with sifting through the mountains of reports generated by this army of government contractors. Each agency, NSA, CIA, FBI, OHS, etc. has its own stable of such people, and though they grudgingly share information, it is only the data that no one has time to read. At best, my people barely skim the surface due to the volume. It is a miracle that this data item was even noticed, let alone the significance of it recognized."

"OK, Bob, you have my interest. What is the earth-shattering piece of data?"

"It seems that two commercial divers working for one of the big oil companies under contract to the Iranian Government were doing some shallow water survey work when they came upon a large cave located in 135 feet of water that appeared to run some distance into the mainland. Caves in the area they were working are common, and as the divers are commissioned to survey the underwater terrain, not go spelunking, they keep out of them. The cave merited only a one line entry in their report to the Iranian Government, and then only because of its size and apparent symmetrical shape. They divers were working in the Arabian Gulf, off the coast of... Bandar-e Maqam!"

"The fact that the cave is located just below where the hostages are presently being held and its description got me thinking. I am a World War Two history buff and have always been fascinated with Germany's undersea warfare. I even wrote a thesis on it when I was attending the Air War College. Figure that, an Air Force officer discussing German naval operations. But that is another story. Anyway, during July to November, 1943, Germany launched its 1st Monsoon Group which was a fleet of U-Boats operating in the Indian Ocean. Though many were lost, the surviving submarines did considerable damage in the Indian Ocean, the Arabian Sea and the Gulf of Arabia. History documents that these boats were serviced out of Penang, which is located on the Malay Peninsula, over six thousand miles from the Arabian Gulf. After doing some research, I formed a theory that there might have been a submarine pen somewhere in the Arabian Gulf. Granted no such pens have been found in that area, but the Third Reich was pretty good at establishing and keeping secret, military positions, and there have been rumors of pens in that area. Based on this latest information, I believe that there is a fair chance that the cave is the entrance to an abandoned German World War 2 submarine pen. If it is, it could offer some type of access to the surface, possibly near enough to the hostages' prison camp to provide a strategic advantage in effecting a rescue. But the real revelation that hit me when I read the word divers was the AFRCC Search and Recovery Team, and Wes Stone!"

"SHIT!" was Wes's only response.

Undaunted by this outburst, the General went on, "I worked through the FBI to locate each of the members; then using what is left of the Patriot Act for clout, I was able to circumvent the Privacy Act, obtain medical records, criminal histories, current employment, etc. As I previously stated, the entire team minus two is alive and well."

Wes could not contain himself any longer and blurted out, "Wait! Stop. Everything you have told me merits another rescue attempt. But why are you trying to mount that attempt with the likes of me and an outdated team that has not worked together, or for that matter, even seen each other for the past 20 years?"

Castillo replied, "Wes I know how to judge people; it is a main part of my job. I have been doing it all my life. You don't make General in our politically absorbed society unless you can sort out the good guys from the bad, and be right most of the time. Let me ask you a question. In your two careers, how many truly exceptional people have you met? By that I mean, not just good or even excellent, but exceptional."

Wes thought, then replied, "Probably three or four."

"And how many people have you either worked for or supervised?" asked the General.

"More than I can count."

"So what made those three or four so outstanding in your memory?"

Wes thought. What did make those few people so different? Oh, the normal stuff, they knew their job, were extremely dedicated, possessed above average intelligence, had charisma, were super proficient, all that, but he had encountered many people with those qualities. What made three or four stand out? Can I name them? Donaldson, Bledsoe, Frederick, and... Maybe there were only three. But why those three? He finally answered, "I don't know, they were just extremely different."

To this, the General replied, "Do you think that they felt superior? Did they act superior - is that why you remember them as outstanding?"

"No, just the opposite, there was no arrogance or any superiority in their natures."

Wes was lost in what seemed like a diversion from the issue and finally said, "Bob, I don't see the point in all this."

To which Castillo responded, "The point is, that I have met a lot more people than you have, many in very responsible positions in our government, and you are one of the three or four on my exceptional list!"

For a moment, Wes was speechless. "Come on General, I know you have an agenda, and you are looking to recruit me, but cut the bullshit. I'm just an average guy, who has run scared or at least cautious most of my life."

Castillo cut him short, "Funny thing about quality folks; they don't project any arrogance about their abilities because they are not aware of them. They just do their job as they perceive it, usually finding fault with their own performance, but never realizing how far above their peers they really are. You are one of those people. Why do you think that you would come to my mind after, not 20 years but more like 26 years?"

Wes heard a car pull into the driveway as he said, "Look General, why not hit on some of the other team members to lead this thing? Why me?"

Castillo finished his scotch, stood up and said, "Because, if this can be done, and don't get me wrong, that's a big if, you are the only one who can make it happen. You have all the facts; I am going to leave now. Here is my card; the phone number is a direct secure line to me. If you do not call by the day after tomorrow, I will understand that you have decided not to take it on, and that will be the end of it. I would ask that you give this your utmost consideration. One last thing, they move the hostages from time to time. As I mentioned, our Intel says that they just arrived at the present camp which means we have six, seven months max to take advantage of the situation. Once they are moved we lose the tactical advantage, and probably any chance of a rescue. I am staying at the Red Lion in Pasco. I will be hoping to hear from you. I'll let myself out."

Wes heard an engine start, a car door close, and he was gone. He glanced at the wall clock - 10:30; seemed later than that. He considered another drink, but quickly decided against it. What had just happened? The past hour was bizarre, a man from his past, an Air Force General, the President of the United States, combat mission. Too much, way too much.

As a deeply religious man (though most would never know it), Wes knelt down in front of the Sacred Heart statue that had been a part of the Stone household for the last 40 years and began to pray. The statue, actually a wood carving of meticulous detail, had been purchased from Tsaros in Manila, when he was returning from one of his missions in Southeast Asia. Being Catholic, he prayed quite a bit, but aside from church, preferred to do so alone in the privacy of his home, on his knees in front of Jesus. His prayers were not usually coherent sentences, but more loose thoughts, facts, options, fragments of information that would focus on an issue or question - in this case, pure and simply, "Lord, what shall I do?"

CHAPTER TWO

The next day he rose at 5:30 as was his custom, made coffee, and read the morning paper. Nothing registered. The previous evening kept replaying in his head. When he first awoke, Wes was sure that it was just a very realistic dream until he went into his study and found Castillo's card. For the next hour he sat lost in thought and it was not until Char asked him what he wanted for breakfast that he returned to the real world.

Char, five years younger than Wes was of Hispanic origin and stood just under 5'4". At 65, she still retained a youthful figure which was complemented by her large penetrating dark brown eyes and jet black hair. She had accompanied him around the world during his career with the Air Force and after he retired; his privately owned consulting business which worked with various federal and state agencies teaching advanced underwater search and recovery techniques (and other subjects); and had finally set up their final home here in Washington State. They lived in a four bedroom manufactured home on two and a half acres in a rural area between West Richland and Benton City, Washington. Though she presented the appearance of an unassuming housewife, and was outwardly quite reserved, quiet and seldom quick to inject herself into a conversation, Wes had learned soon after their marriage that she was one very intelligent lady who possessed a larger degree of common sense than most, especially him, and could always come up with viable solutions to what seemed like insurmountable problems. This had been demonstrated time and again throughout their 48 years of marriage as she routinely coped with frequent moves across the United States and overseas; setting up new households every three years, and dealing with all the things that went along with mobile government careers - schools, medical, friends, etc. She had a common grace that allowed her to meet people and instantly put them at ease, be they a waitress in a restaurant or high ranking military or civilian personnel. Wes had always admired and was somewhat envious of her ability to be instantly at ease under any circumstances, while he was slow to warm up to people and always felt uncomfortable until a sense of acceptance was perceived.

Well talk about insurmountable problems, he sure had one. "Char, honey, I had a visitor last night."

"You did. Who? I didn't hear anyone."

"It was Bob Castillo. You remember, he was the OIC of our Underwater Search and Recovery Team while we were stationed at Tyndall AFB. He came about 9:30, after you had gone to bed."

"I remember him, a young gawky Captain. After all these years; what on earth did he want?"

Wes replied, "He's a Brigadier General now and I can't tell you everything, but..."

***

"Castillo here"

"General, this is Wes."

"Kinda thought it might be you. Have you decided?"

"Yes. But, before I take this on, I have some conditions that must be met. Can we get together again to discuss them?"

Castillo came back with, "You recall that I told you we have a short fuse on this one."

"General, this is only the first day; you gave me two days to respond. I can meet any time today or tomorrow, which will be within your timeline."

"Today is fine, where and when?"

Wes responded, "How about coming over for dinner tonight?"

Do you think that is wise?"

Wes's response was quick and firm, "It is necessary."

The General detected his tone and replied, "What time?"

"Come over about five. That will give us time to talk before dinner. And bring all the information on this mission, Intel, photos, analysis, everything that you have. Agreed?"

Castillo responded, "It is all classified Top Secret. I did notice that you have a safe in your study. Does it meet the security requirements for the storage of TS material?"

"It does; three combination lock and bolted to the floor. I'm sure you can work out getting the combination into whatever government records that might be required."

"I'll be there."

Wes hung up the phone and looked at Char who sat across the breakfast bar from him sipping her morning coffee. "Well, it's done."

In general terms, Wes had explained the nature of the mission after which they had discussed the pros and cons at length. Obviously, the biggest con being that he could get killed. A military wife is a special breed who realizes from day one of her marriage that her husband is subject to the needs of his country and that what Uncle Sam tells him to do, he will do. Danger and getting wounded or killed are part of every serviceman's tour of duty and though they all hope to avoid life threatening assignments, they willingly accept them when they arise. This is why when a serviceman receives his Certificate of Retirement from active duty, his wife also receives a Certificate of Appreciation from the United States Government for her "unfailing support" of her husband's career. The difference here being that Wes was long out of the military and had discharge certificates from both active duty and the retired reserve hanging on the wall in his study.

Char in her quiet reassuring way said, "You feel this is right and that you might be able to help people who are in need. Though I fear for your safety, you are a man and must do what your inner code dictates. As we have said so many times, our lives are in the Lord's hands. He will watch over you, but when it is your time, He will take you. It doesn't matter if it is here in your home, driving to get groceries, or on some far off shore. How do you think that I dealt with your twenty-six year military career?"

***

Wes answered the door on the second ring. "Hello again, right on time. Come in."

The General was dressed in civilian clothes as he had been on his previous visit. A thin, fit man, a little under six feet in height with large penetrating blue eyes that reflected a tinge of sadness. His neatly combed and parted thinning black hair suggested a business man, rather than a career Air Force officer nearing thirty years' service. He carried a leather briefcase and a bottle of wine. "You know us bachelors don't get too many home-cooked meals, especially when we are on travel, so this is a real treat."

When Wes introduced him to Char, the General reminded him that they had met at Wes's retirement party/roast. Castillo then went on to recall how he, with the help some of the AFRCC team members had made a cardboard toilet tank complete with flush handle and strapped it on to Wes. They also gave him a diving mask which he was not allowed to see, and fins. When the tank was flushed, a roll of toilet paper rolled across the stage much to the amusement of everyone but Wes. There he stood attached to a trail of toilet paper, wearing a likeness of the Creature from the Black Lagoon, in designer pink, feathered, high heeled "fins". After this historical anecdote, Char continued preparing dinner as they retired to the study. Darn, thought Wes, "How could I have forgotten that?"

"Drink?"

"Same as last night will be fine."

After two scotch on the rocks were in hand Wes began, "I have made a list of conditions that will have to be agreed to before I embark on reassembling the team. Briefly, the wives or significant others of the team members must be made aware of the type of mission and the dangers involved.

Castillo chimed in, "Wes, this mission is highly classified."

"General, I know that but this is one of my conditions."

"Let's hear the rest."

"Each member of the team will be promoted to Major (O4); my second in command will be a Lt. Col, and my rank will be Col. After the mission, the team members will receive full retired pay at those pay grades."

"Go on."

"Several years ago my son, Edgar had some problems with the law which have impacted his being able to find work. His wife recently left him and took their one year old daughter with her. He is at an all-time low. I want him inducted into the Air Force at the rank of SSgt (E-5) and to be a member of my team. After the mission, I would like him to stay in the Air Force as long as he desires and can meet their standards. Obviously a career field would have to be determined."

"Where is your son?"

"He is visiting with friends in Kennewick, and won't be joining us for dinner."

"Somehow, I feel that you are not finished."

"Only two more. Though most of the original team are retired, I want each team member who is presently employed to be guaranteed that their job will be waiting for them when this is over. That goes for any new members that I add."

Castillo took a sip of his scotch and peered over his glass at Wes, "And the final condition?"

"I saved the best for last. At some point, after I have the team formed, but before we begin actual training, I want to talk to the President!"

Castillo exploded, "That is impossible."

Wes fired back, "Then I decline the mission."

The General fell silent so Wes went on, "First, I do not have to do this, second, it is dangerous, with the worst case being my departure from this life; and third, if I take it on, I am going to do everything in my power to insure the safety of my team. The first step is to insure that the leaks you have discussed will not recur. I want to hear that personally from the President. I also want to establish some rules of engagement from the onset so there will not be any confusion as to chain of command and the authority that I and my people have in the field."

Castillo listened patiently, and, after hearing Wes's last statements, began to grin. He thought, Damn Wes, you, a lowly retired E-9 have the balls to tell a Brigadier General, that you want to talk to the President of the United States or you're going to take your marbles and go home. And to top it off, promote yourself to full bird! And you say you are not exceptional! "OK, I will look into your conditions and get back to you. Is that it?"

"For now, if I think of anything else, I will let you know. Remember, General, we are on a tight schedule."

"Don't push your luck Wes."

"One last thing. While you are working my conditions, I will review the information that you have brought. If I see any real show stoppers, I may still have to decline. I will not embark on a venture that is impossible to succeed."

"Fair enough."

Char's announcement that dinner was ready relieved the tension and allowed time to relax while sharing some food and wine and most of all, good conversation. As expected, Char was her charming self and General Castillo, Bob, as he quickly requested she call him, was totally taken by her easy going manner.

The General did touch on the condition of letting the spouses know about the mission. When Wes explained that the specific objective would not be revealed and that only very general details about the overall mission would be provided, he seemed satisfied. "I want to insure that the spouses are aware of the magnitude of the operation and the danger that their husbands are voluntarily undertaking."

After dinner, and repeated compliments to the chef, the General motioned towards the study and Wes followed him in for a continuation of the discussion begun earlier.

"Today is July 15th. You will need to have your team ready to go no later than the 1st of August!"

Realizing that the cordial dinner conversation was over, Wes responded, "That's impossible. I will be traveling to the East Coast, not to mention hitting states in the north and Midwest. There is no way that I can do that in 16 days. The travel alone will take that long."

"It would if you were flying commercial. You're not."

"Explain, I'm not"

"I, or I should say, your government has put a chartered corporate jet at your disposal. For all intensive purposes, you will be a consultant working for a large defense contractor on a recruiting mission to ramp up a contract that is badly in need of experienced expertise. It may be an overkill, but better safe than sorry. You will also have ground transportation at each of your destinations."

"Wow! How about the rest of it - lodging, meals, etc.? I hope I'm not subject to the JTR (referring to the Joint Travel Regulations) of dot the i's and cross the t's to support a lousy $30.00 or whatever it is now a day."

The General opened his briefcase and withdrew a large envelope and several file folders. "Here is everything we have on the hostages, their location, and an outline of an extraction plan." He also produced a cell phone and a credit card and handed them to Wes.

"The cell phone is programmed with two numbers, mine and one other which I shall explain in a minute. It is encrypted and should only be used when communicating with the programmed numbers. Use your phone for any other calls. And finally, this is a government credit/debit card with no dollar limit; however, there is no traceable link to the government. I know you were in Air Force contracting for a while, but don't even ask how that can be. Pay for your lodging, meals, etc. with the credit card. Use the debit card for ready cash."

"General, I am overloaded with information at this point. How is all this going to come together?"

"You will work out your itinerary tonight. In the information packet, you will find dossiers on all your surviving team members, their current locations and addresses and the nearest airports that can handle your aircraft. The second number programmed into the cell phone that I just gave you is the phone number of your travel agency. It will be manned 24/7. Once your schedule is created, call the number and give it to the operator on duty. When you arrive at the aircraft for your first flight, you will be furnished your lodging accommodations, and your ground transportation will be there when you arrive. Or, in some cases, in the smaller towns, you may have to rely on local cabs or rental cars. Your travel coordinator will work with you on this. The aircraft is outfitted with all the communications that you will need; laptops, email, fax, phone, etc., encrypted and secure. After each of your, I hope successful, visits, call your travel agent and tell them when you will be ready to depart for your next stop. Your transportation will arrive and you repeat the steps until you tell me that the entire team is ready to go."

"And how does the team get to where it is going, for... training, I assume?"

"As you recruit each member, call in their name, and an airline ticket will be processed for them. Before you leave, give them the Travel Agent's number and instruct them to call the following day for their electronic boarding pass. They will be informed as to where to go to get their flight."

Wes than asked, "What do I do with the classified documents?"

Castillo responded. Take them with you on board the aircraft. It has an approved safe and you will need them to become familiar with the mission and to locate your team members. The agent that will pick you up tomorrow will be armed, so don't worry about security protocol."

"General, this is one elaborate process and I will do my damndest to meet your schedule, but don't forget my condition about seeing the President. My little addition to the process is to tell each member to do nothing until I give him or her, the go-ahead. Is that clear?"

"What is this or her? There were no women on the team."

"I'm already two members down, and anticipate a couple more may decline. I will fill those vacancies with some highly qualified divers that I am acquainted with. I will also need specialized computer support, and I know two individuals who can provide it."

"OK, it's your mission. And I will work the meeting with the President. As of now, consider all of your other conditions agreed to. But, understand something, before you visit and brief anyone that is not in the files that I just gave you, you must provide their names to me so that background checks can be run and clearances processed. And until I give you the go-ahead, you will make no contact with them. Are we clear on that?"

"Yes sir. I will be calling my travel agent the first thing in the morning with my schedule, and the possible additions to the team."

The General rose, looked at Wes and said, "Let me impress upon you the need for expediency. The six to seven month window can be blown away by any number of events. Say a SEAL team is tasked with some mission that has nothing to do with the hostages, but the al-Qaida Intel does not know this and when they see the unit deploy, they alert all the possible targets. Such an action could cause the bad guys to move our folks and that would be that."

With those parting words, the General again thanked Char for the dinner, and departed.

CHAPTER THREE

The phone was answered immediately. "Good morning Wes. My name is Janice, and I am one of your travel coordinators. How may I assist you?

"Hi Janice. I am calling to give you my itinerary and possible additions to my team."

"Wes, slight change of plans. I would prefer that you fax me your itinerary from the aircraft which will prevent any miss-cues. Is that all right with you?

"Sure."

"Good. So, for the moment, all that I need is your first destination and when you want your ground transportation to the aircraft. I also would like the names and locations of the additions you plan to the team."

Wes was amazed at how fast last night's information about team additions made it down the line. Oh well, this whole thing was like Alice in Wonderland. Go with the flow boy. "Sounds good to me. Are you ready?"

"Shoot."

"My first visit will be to Tony Drake, and I am ready to leave immediately. My planned additions to the team are: Sheldon Diamond, Moran, Colorado, Jenny Castle, Albany, New York, Roger Freeberg, Chicago, Illinois, Benny Sansota, Charlotte, North Carolina, and Jack Steeples, also Chicago, Illinois. Hey, I don't even know where my plane is."

"Your driver does and he will be at your house in fifteen minutes. Your aircraft is located at the Pasco Airport and will be ready to depart upon your arrival. If you add any other members, be sure to provide us with their names immediately. Do you require anything else?"

"No mam, it's been a pleasure to do business with you. Have a great day."

"And you have a good flight." With that Janice broke the connection.

Char, who was sitting across from Wes, and had heard his side of the conversation gave him a worried smile and said, "So it begins."

"Hey, this is the easy part."

Her brown eyes flashed and for a moment seemed almost iridescent. "There are no easy parts to separations. You're going to be flying all over the country and, yes, this is only the prelude to something much more dangerous, but it is still hard on me".

"It's not too late; I can tell the General that I am not up to this."

"But you are up to it, and I know that you must try, and as we talked earlier, I am a military wife and I must be up to it also. That does not make it any easier. I will worry and I will miss you. After all these years together, I don't feel comfortable when you are not around."

They sat for some time, lost in their private thoughts. The silence was broken by the doorbell. They stood, embraced and kissed.

Already, thought Wes as he took Char's hand, gave it a gentle squeeze and opened the door. He was surprised to see a taxi, rather than a private vehicle. Oh well, a ride is a ride. His two bags, packed the night before, were quickly loaded into the cab by the driver, (an armed agent?) who opened the rear door and waited. The General sure was serious about this urgency thing. A last look at his wife, who did not cry (the tears would come later in the privacy of her room as they had so many times in the past) and Wes was off to Bend Oregon.

***

The interior of the Learjet 45XR was something out of a poor man's dream about how the very rich live. Though the aircraft was designed to carry 8 passengers comfortably, it had been reconfigured to resemble the inside of a luxury rail car with a private sleeping berth, mini office and four passenger seats. A fairly good sized and well stocked galley rounded out the creature comforts. The Learjet 45XR has a cruising speed of 350 miles per hour, a cruising altitude of 51,000 feet, and a range of 1900 to 2100 miles depending on the weather. The manufacturer, Bombardier Aerospace designed the aircraft with an auxiliary power unit which eliminates the need for an on-ground power source and, as it can take off and land on runways as short as 3,540 feet, it can fly in and out of smaller remote airfields, which made it ideal for the present mission. It had a crew of two with a steward/cook to be added for longer flights.

The plane began to taxi to its takeoff position as the door was being pulled into its closing position. Yes, these guys are serious about expediency.

As Wes prepared to fax the itinerary that he had prepared the night before, the events leading to the names on the list flashed into through his memory.

"I'm sorry Wes, but the Purple Heart you received, not only cost you three months in the hospital, but the wounds you sustained have rendered you unfit to continue in your Air Force Specialty Code (AFSC). You will have to finish your career in a different career field!"

Just like that, his world had ended. Up until that point, he had lived the intrepid life that most young men fantasize about. Enlisting right out of high school in 1961, he breezed through basic training and was assigned to the 414th Fighter Group stationed at Oxnard Air Force Base in California as a 651X0 (later changed to 6C0X1), Procurement Specialist. It was here that he became a SCUBA addict, obtaining instructor certifications from LA County and the National Association of Underwater Instructors (NAUI).

After five years at Oxnard, he became restless and volunteered for the Air Force Rangers much to the dismay of Char. His age and physical condition were in his favor and he was eventually assigned to the Air Force Special Operations Command (AFSOC) as a Combat Controller (AFSC 1C201) stationed at Hurlburt Field in Okaloosa County, Florida. From there he deployed as part of Ranger, Seal, and other Special Forces units on combat missions in Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia. Eventually earning AFSC 1C291, he was promoted to E-9, Chief Master Sergeant, the highest Air Force enlisted rank. So, after 15 years as a scarlet beret, he was put out to pasture.

Because of his Ranger experience and his Master Diver Certification, he was assigned to the Air Force Rescue Coordination Center (AFRCC), located at Tyndall Air Force Base, Florida. The Commander immediately tasked him to lead a pilot program to establish an Underwater Search and Recovery Team. The difference between this team and what the various Air Force Search and Rescue Teams (AFSARs) did was that it would not be primarily a combat team; in fact it would be dedicated to search and recovery rather than search and rescue. In the course of his 15 year AF Ranger tour of duty, he had been assigned to various units and served with elite teams from different branches of the Department of Defense. As such, he was able to put together a team composed of two Navy Explosive Ordinance Disposal (EOD) divers, three SEALs, two Army Rangers, and three AFSAR members. Needless to say, the activities that lost personnel screamed bloody murder, but; somehow, (which was soon to become apparent) the new team was formed. The final member of the team was a young lieutenant named Bob Castillo who became the Officer in Charge (OIC) of the unit. Almost immediately, it was given an assignment to locate and recover a nuclear device that was somehow lost off the coast of Greece in the Mediterranean Sea. Some of the specifics were that the mission was to be accomplished in secret and was of the utmost urgency. The team, which had almost no time to become familiar with each other, was air lifted to Hellenikon Air Base located just outside of Athens where it deployed and with a lot of luck was able to locate and recover the item without attracting any unusual attention. The members of the team were never privy to how the device was lost or even who it originally belonged to. It was loaded onto a Navy destroyer and spirited away before some of the divers were out of their wet suits. Nowhere near as exciting as painting a target from just beyond ground zero for an incoming laser guided bomb, but still a lot of physical underwater time. Wes served another 6 years with this team which went on to successfully complete several unique search and recovery missions, not only on both coasts of the US, but off-shore in countries such as the Philippines, India, and throughout Europe. One overzealous reporter dubbed the team the Red Adair of Search and Recovery. It was disbanded in 1986 due to DOD budget cuts.

***

"Mr. Stone." Wes looked up to see one of the flight crew, "We will be landing in ten minutes, and we prefer that you not use electronics during our descent."

"Thanks. What is your name?

"Earl", he replied.

"Earl, I will fax this and shut down. Do you know if I have ground transportation?"

"I was told to inform you that a rental car has been reserved at the Avis booth."

Wes finished dialing the fax number, received the irritating screech confirming the connection, hit the transmit button, waited a few seconds for confirmation that the message had gone through and shut down the laptop.

"Thanks again, Earl."

Minutes later, Wes, still lost in his thoughts, gazed out the window as the 45XR made its final approach and gently touched down at Roberts Field Airport - Redmond Municipal Airport (RDM). As he deplaned, Earl informed him that the aircraft would be on stand-by until his return. Roberts Field is located about 15 miles north of Bend, outside of the city of Redmond. He was pleased to find the airport un-crowded and as promised, a 2013 Toyota Camry reserved at the Avis kiosk. He was further pleased to find a factory installed GPS system. Realizing that no food had been served on the flight, he grabbed a quick lunch at Coyote Ranch, a little restaurant off of the highway, and was back on the road in 20 minutes.

The weather was overcast, temperature in the 60s with a slight breeze out of the north. The drive from Redmond to Deschutes County, Bend took 25 minutes along US Route 97. Traffic was light and as the road was a divided expressway, Wes punched Tony's address into the GPS, set the cruise control and began to consider how he would approach his long standing friend about the mission. Tony was one of the few members of the old team who Wes had had recent contact with. In fact, he had spoken to him by telephone only last month. Tony, 2 years Wes's senior, had suffered some major losses during the past five years. When Wes visited him three years ago, he was in a state of depression after losing first, his mother, then his father, who he admired greatly, and close behind their deaths, his wife died of ovarian cancer. This coupled with failing eyesight and hearing had just about destroyed his will to go on. His youngest sister Pat was living with him and more or less taking care of him. Wes recalled earlier, more pleasant times when he and the Drakes were stationed at Oxnard AFB. He was more or less adopted into the Drake family by Tony Drake senior and his wife Sarah. Tony Jr. and his younger sister Rebecca were attending Ventura Jr. College and their initial meeting took place during a LA County SCUBA diving class. After completing that class and obtaining open water certification, the three went on to start the Kingfishers Diving Club which thrived until the late 60s when it faded away.

Wes had a one year romantic involvement with Rebecca which ended when she broke their engagement. Two major events took place in his life during the year before his departure for Hurlburt; Tony following in his father's footsteps, went into the Air Force and Wes met, courted, and married Charlene Lozano.

After arriving in Bend, the GPS system guided his car to Tony's front door without one "recalculating". Wes took this as a good sign.

The door was answered on the second ring, not by Pat, as Wes had expected, but by Rebecca. Each stared at the other in mild shock. "Hi Becky, long time no see. You are looking good. I came to see your brother, is he in?

"Yes...I can't tell you how surprised I am to see you. Please come in. I am sure that Tony will be pleased to see you."

As Wes was ushered into the living room, Pat appeared and added her greeting as a gruff voice shouted from another part of the house. "Who is it?" This inquiry was followed by the sound of a door slamming and hurried footsteps.

Pat sidestepped her brother as he came briskly down the hall, "it's W..."

Tony blurted out, "I thought I recognized your voice. Wes Stone, you old son of a gun; how in blazes are you?"

A little over six feet, spry, wiry build, hollow cheeked, topped off with thinning once blond hair that was being invaded by gray and wearing western attire, Tony Drake sauntered into the living room.

"I'm fine Tony, and you?"

Tony's momentary excitement quickly faded, "Not so good."

"Maybe I can help."

Tony eyed Wes and coolly responded, "I don't need any motivational speeches, so if that's what your here for, spare me."

"That's not why I am here. I am here to offer you a job!"

Rebecca and Pat exchanged puzzled looks, sat down and stared at Wes. Tony plopped into a large overstuffed recliner, crossed his long legs, smiled, and said, "I know my hearing is bad, but I would have sworn that you said you are here to offer me a job."

"That's right."

"Oh, this ought to be good. I didn't know that Wal-Mart was recruiting greeters door to door."

"Not quite, but I will need to talk to you alone for a few minutes, so ladies, will you excuse us?"

Again, puzzled looks, but both women arose and left the room.

"OK, Wes, what the heck is all this about?"

"Do you remember a Captain Castillo?"

"No."

"He was the Officer in Charge of our AFSAR Underwater Search and Recovery Team back at Tyndall."

"Still no."

"Cut the crap Tony, he was your commanding officer for six years"

"OK, I remember him. So what?"

Wes spent the next 15 minutes filling Tony in on the mission, after which he finished with, "At Captain, now General Castillo's, and I might add, the President's requests, I am putting the old team together. I want you on that team."

Tony face twisted into one of those funny sardonic grins that only he could pull off, and replied, "Wes, are you guys all crazy. Look at me, I'm 72 years old with all kinds of medical problems, and you are here to sign me up for a combat mission. Get real."

"Tony, I had the same reservations that you have, but there are some pretty powerful people who think this is worth a try. There is a little sweetness to the pot. You would be promoted to and, after the mission, retired as a 20 year major."

"Big deal. Count me out. I'm a tired old man and have a very comfortable life right here, so, if you want to stay a few days and reminisce, fine, but cut the patriotic bull. I did my 20."

Wes flushed as he fought back the anger at his friend's shallow response. "You know Tony, you are right - you are a tired old man. I was hoping to find the Tony Drake that I knew back when. The guy that, on a sunny day off the coast of Greece, when we were looking for that lost nuke and after three tanks ready to call it a day, demanded that we make one last dive, in spite of the extra decompression, not to mention being dead on our asses. Remember that? We made that dive and we found the nuke. That's the Tony Drake that I was hoping to find here. So go on living the very comfortable life of a tired old man; are you living, or just marking time waiting to die? I'm sorry that I wasted your time. And, no, I can't spend a few days reminiscing. I have the rest of the team to contact. You see Tony; this mission is going to happen. You may not be part of it, but it is going to happen. And it will be pulled off by men of your age, many of whom have also did their 20. So, once again, thanks for your time. I won't bother you again."

As Wes stood up to leave, Tony roared, "Sit down!"

Wes sat. A slight almost imperceptible smile crossed his lips as his heart first skipped a beat, then several beats. Had he pushed the right buttons to wake this man from his doldrums?

"Just what would I be expected to do - what will my contribution to this mission be?"

"First, let's clear up a few things. Yes, your hearing is failing, but the VA furnished aids have corrected it to just below normal. As for..."

Tony was now animated as he demanded, "How in blazes do you know that?"

"The powers that are putting this little shindig together checked out each team member's health records to determine whether or not they could be considered for the mission. Now, as I was saying, as for your vision, it has been corrected to 20/20, so neither one of those issues is a show stopper.

"To answer your question, you will be in charge of equipment and we have a lot of it, from the standard stuff; tanks, regulations, etc., to the specialized gear such as underwater night vision and communications equipment, a whole arsenal of tranquilizer weapons and knock out gasses to name a few. You were always the technician, fixing regulators, valves, and the likes. You are a perfect fit for this role."

Tony sat in silence for several minutes staring blankly into space and finally said, "OK, I'm in. Now what?"

Wes continued, "I am not quite finished. As part of my agreeing to take this on, I negotiated something personal. I am including my son, Edgar, in our team. I will explain all the reasons later when we have more time, but for now, I am going to assign him to you for OJT and mentoring. If he does well, he may be able to stay in the Air Force and train into a career field that he can be productive in"

"So, I am the equipment manager and babysitter?"

"If you consider a 30 year old man a baby!"

Wes called Rebecca and Pat back from the kitchen where they had taken refuge after being so unceremoniously dismissed. He then explained, in general terms, the mission, time frame, and danger associated with it. He cautioned them that this was classified information which, if it fell into the wrong hands could cause the mission to fail and lives to be lost. They were to talk to no one about it by word of mouth, by letter, telephone, computer - no one. Finally, before departing, he gave Tony the phone number of the travel agent and told him to call the next day for flight information.

"Tony; one last thing. You are not to get on any airplane or other form of transportation until I personally give you the go-ahead. Is that clear?"

"Yes Sir"

Both sisters showed Wes to the door and Rebecca followed him out to his rental car. It was now a little after 1 P.M., however; the overcast made it seem much later, and a light rain had started to fall, which only added to what was shaping up to be a very dreary afternoon.

She began, "Wes, I really want to thank you for including my brother in this. He has been in a state of deep depression since his wife died, and I was beginning to fear that he might do something drastic. I have not seen him so enthusiastic over anything for a long time."

She paused, "Wes, what happened to us?"

"Becky, you broke our engagement and told me that you did not love me. I must admit that I was shocked and devastated. I never saw it coming. After several weeks, the sadness and madness finally began to wear off and I started to put my life back together. Apparently we both found new interests, as you married within a year after our breakup. It took me a little longer."

"But your marriage lasted. Mine fell apart within a year and a half."

"Marriage is a tricky business. With half of all marriages failing, the odds of one lasting are no better than flipping a coin. The person we court may not be the person we end up married to. I was fortunate to find a partner that was as committed to her vows as I was. I am sorry that yours didn't last."

"So am I." She paused, "Where do you go from here?"

"San Jose and then back to our old stomping ground, the Oxnard/Ventura area. Three ex-team members are living in that vicinity."

"Have a safe trip and keep in touch." With that, she was inside the house and behind a closed door.

Wes called the travel coordinator to inform her that he was on his way back to the aircraft with an ETA of approximately 2:00 P.M., according to the GPS system. He informed her that Tony Drake was a go, and that upon reaching the airplane, he would be heading for San Jose, then on to Camarillo Airport, formally Oxnard AFB.

The next two days were hectic with four ex team members contacted, one in San Jose and three in the Oxnard/Ventura area. During his West Coast recruitment run, General Castillo notified him that his list of conditions would be honored.

The only respite that Wes allowed himself was a somewhat noisy, but most enjoyable lunch at Neptune's Net, a small rustic seafood restaurant just outside of the Point Mugu Naval Air Station's Pacific Coast Highway gate. Here, as he had so many times in the past, he enjoyed a cold beer and a bowl of their fantastic clam chowder while watching the surfers and bikini clad valley girls across the highway cavorting in the Pacific Ocean. The Net is a favorite lunch spot for all walks of life. On any given day, one could find customers dressed in three piece business suits, surfers and divers in wet suits, and, a bevy of scantily clad bathing beauties. He allowed himself this luxury as the next lap of his journey would begin his eastern trek that would take him across the U.S. to four states, eventually ending in Washington D.C. for his face-to-face with the President of the United States. Along the way, he was informed that all of his additional team members had been granted clearances, except for Jack Steeples who was killed in a car accident a few months back. This was a setback for the battle plan was designed to be executed by a 12 man dive team.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jul 30, 2013

White House, Washington D.C.

9:00 A.M.

The Oval Office

As strange as it seemed, Wes did not feel any anxiety regarding the meeting that was about to take place. He had had his first decent night's sleep in over a week and, due to some careful planning of the itinerary, was completely recovered from the jet lag of flying from coast to coast. Along the way, he had updated General Castillo on team member acceptances, and two days ago, when it was clear that the mission would be a go, he had requested that a meeting with the President be scheduled.

"Mr. Stone, the President will see you now", it was General Castillo, looking much different in full Air Force Dress Blues, than the casual dinner guest of two weeks ago, who made the announcement and escorted Wes into the Oval Office.

In addition to the President and General Castillo, two men and one woman, all dressed professionally, stood near the seated President, a second woman with a steno pad sat in a straight backed padded chair in an out-of-the-way corner, near the door.

As the General closed the door, he looked at Wes and said, "You're on."

Wes, stood at attention in front of the President's desk, looked him in the eyes and said, "Who are these people?"

The President, noticeably irritated said, "This is Mr. Gold, Secretary of Defense, Mr. Bonner, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and Ms. Mandrell, Secretary of State. The lady by the door is Carole who will record the minutes of our meeting. Now, Mr. Stone, may we get on with it?"

Wes's response was immediate and carried an air of authority, "No sir, we may not."

"What!" the President responded incredulously.

"With all due respect Mr. President, and you can correct me if I am wrong, wasn't one of the critical flaws in previous attempts at this venture, leaked information?"

"Yes, but, these are trusted officials very high up in our government's structure."

Wes was not impressed, "Are you saying that sensitive information of this type was provided to untrustworthy public servants in the past?"

"See here, I don't like your tone."

Wes pursued, "Either they leave or I leave."

"General, will you order this man to show some respect for this office?"

"Mr. President, Mr. Stone is not subject to the military chain of command at this time as he has not been officially reinstated into the Air Force."

The President sat back irritated, but his body language conveyed a message that might have been read as - OK, you have a point; now let's get down to business. "Ladies and gentlemen, would you please excuse us."

As the somewhat disgruntled group exited the oval office, Wes turned to the President and asked, "How much do they know about the mission?"

The President responded, "Nothing. I was going to fill them in as this meeting progressed."

"OK, good. Mr. President, here are my terms. First, only those who have a need to know will be given any knowledge of this mission, and then only as to their specific area of responsibility. After studying the mission plan prepared by General Castillo's organization, I would say that the Secretaries of the Army, Navy and Air Force should be the only ones at your level that are privy to this operation. No Congress, no staffers, no advisors, no whatever you call the rest of the bureaucrats up here on the hill. And, most important, your word that this trust will be kept."

"Stone, you have a lot of impudence coming into my office and dictating to the Commander in Chief how he will run a military operation. I took the liberty of reviewing your service record - quite impressive, 26 years service, scarlet beret, combat missions all over SEA, two purple hearts; so frankly, I am not too surprised at your directness, you've earned it. Yes, you have my word that this operation will remain strictly confidential. Go on with your (the President cleared his throat) terms."

"As I understand it from the mission outline, we will receive our training at Fort Custer Training Center, a training facility run by the Michigan Army National Guard. It is one of the most heavily used military training facilities in the CONUS, and is used by the Michigan National Guard, ROTC students, and various law enforcement agencies. It has barracks, dining facilities, and several training areas. Is that correct?"

Castillo spoke for the first time in several minutes, "Wes, you really did your homework. Yes that is correct. As you probably have gathered, it is ideal for training your team as they will hardly be noticed among all the different units working on the Center. And, its location will facilitate your guys getting there from both coasts. The one difference is the instructor staff - they are hand-picked and have designed a two month concentrated course covering all the standard stuff like weapons, hand-to-hand combat, diving, etc., but focusing heavily on physical conditioning. Special emphasis will be on the unique weaponry, tranquilizer rifles, pistols, and immobilizing gas, and state-of-the-art instrumentation. Two months from now, your team will be in condition or dead!"

The President broke in, "Well gentlemen, if that is all, I have a busy schedule and..."

It was Wes's turn to interrupt, "No sir, that is not all. I have one other request."

"Oh."

"I want total control of the water and ground operation."

The President responded, "I don't think that is a problem, is it General?"

"No sir. Wes, what are you getting at?"

"I want the chain of command and the rules of engagement established here and now and formalized in writing. Chain of Command: You, Mr. President, General Castillo, me."

"Done." fired Castillo.

"Rules of Engagement: I want each member of my team personally absolved by their Commander in Chief of any repercussions arising from this mission; in other words, no matter what they do, unless I, as the supreme command in the field, bring charges against them, they are immune from any criminal charges no matter where those charges originate, NATO, World court, our own justice system, or most repulsive of all, the enemy. And I expect the same treatment from you, for myself; unless General Castillo brings charges against me."

"I'm sorry Mr. Stone, but I cannot do that." was the President's response.

"Thank you Mr. President, the mission, or at least my team's participation in the mission, is over and I will take no more of your time."

The President was noticeably shaken and in a somewhat confused voice asked, "General, did you know about this?"

"No sir. Wes, please explain."

"Glad to. Mr. President, you have reviewed my service record and are impressed with the missions. They were conducted during what I have come to call the rules of engagement transition. We were transiting from a World War Two mentality to a New Age mentality. During the Second World War, we fought with everything we had to win. Collateral damage happened and was accepted as one of the horrors of war, but we never lost sight of our most valuable resource, the fighting man and the value of protecting his life over everything else. Under today's rules, President Truman would never have been allowed to authorize the A Bomb missions on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, even though that action saved thousands of American lives, not to mention a large number of Japanese lives. Today, we have a bunch of college educated MBAs sitting in their air conditioned offices treating war as if it is some sort of professional sporting franchise with umpires and referees who enforce the rules of engagement - rules that everyone knows and abides by. That's bullshit! Many of my missions could not be accomplished today because of the New Order rules. And those rules are getting men and women killed. In combat, there is one prime objective - STAY ALIVE, and that usually translates to kill or be killed, because if you are killed, who will carry out the mission?

"I have promised each spouse or significant other that I would bring back their loved ones unharmed, and though, that is an ify thing when dealing with a combat environment; I am going to do my best to deliver. I told General Castillo when he first approached me about this venture that if I found anything that would jeopardize its outcome, I would withdraw. After a thorough review of the battle plan, I found the tactical approach to be sound, though highly unconventional. It was the political pieces that I had concerns about - mainly ensuring that information did not leak and the rules of engagement. Mr. President, you have given me your word that no leaks will occur. I accept that. But, I refuse to weaken our chances to successfully complete this mission by imposing restrictive, life threatening rules of engagement."

The President sat quietly listening, then looked at the General and said, "Bob, Mr. Stone, this is for your ears only and not to be repeated outside of this room - understood."

They both nodded.

The President went on, "You are not alone with the concerns you have just so succinctly expressed. Our top military leaders have been struggling with the same issues for years. One of Plato's themes stated in the Republic is that any prosperous society requires a disciplined army to protect that prosperity."

Wes added. "He also said, 'The only people who have seen the end of war are dead.' So, why don't we fix it?"

The President's tone softened as he responded, "Easier said than done. We need allies and trying to balance politically correct actions, including the rules of engagement, becomes a tight rope walk. Everybody wants to be part of running the world, and all those players have some sword of Damocles to hold over our nation's head; oil, strategic bases, our national debt, and the list goes on."

"Mr. President, I am a common man, not a politician, scientist, or statesman, but, from my simplistic point of view, each of the items that you mentioned would seem to be workable. We have plenty of American oil off our coasts, but we refuse to tap it, we have weapons systems that can traverse the planet in the air and underwater, yet continue to hang on to bases that are no longer of any real strategic value, except PR. And as for our national debt, how many countries owe us billions of dollars for various types of support from humanitarian to military? And our nation continues to bear the brunt of such ventures. I have no idea why we are still a member of the UN. It has become a political circus and when it needs to flex its muscles, it is the US that bears the brunt of such actions. Yet we never ask for any compensation, and our contributions go far beyond the mighty dollar, they include American lives. And the Yucca Mountain thing is a ludicrous debacle. A $15 billion taxpayer funded, critically needed facility that is going to be scrapped because the state has decided it does not want it. It's good you guys don't run a real business using your money because it would go bankrupt in the first year of operation.

"And, as long as I have this opportunity to vent to my President, why don't we have an alternative source of energy? I find it hard to believe that when we can build an atomic bomb, almost overnight, to end World War Two and put a man on the moon to meet one of your predecessor's time frames, we, the US or collectively, the world, cannot discover a non-petroleum energy source. Not only would that get us out from under oil producing countries blackmail-type price gouging, but it would probably spell the end to Islamic terrorism. My feelings, a little Joe Nobody, are that big business does not want to go there and therefore what is best for the country is sacrificed for what is best (profitable) for the elite. And I don't think that I am the only Joe Nobody who has figured this out. Why do you think all the polls show less and less confidence in our government? Issues such as these which touch all Americans along with the blatant partisan goings on here in D.C., have literally knocked the trust out of the common man in this country. OK, I'm off my soap box. Do I get my team's get out of jail cards, or do we call the whole thing off?"

The President, during this last tirade, sat quietly staring at the 70 year old man who, in one brief statement, had just presented the common citizen's viewpoint on some of the major issues confronting his office. "Just what do your get-out-of-jail forms look like?"

"Here is the statement that I would like to see on White House stationary and approved by you. And here is the list of names of my team. I would also like a letter with the same terminology, addressed to the entire crew of the submarine that is to take part in this mission."

"Let me have my legal folks take a look at it and make any necessary changes before I agree to issue such documents."

"Mr. President, again, with all due respect, the statement is not to be altered. I have written it and have had it reviewed by a good friend who is a prominent contract law lawyer. Think about it, if there are loopholes, your staff would find them if you were to change your mind. If there are no loopholes, then it serves the purpose for which it has been crafted."

With a trace of exasperation in his voice, the President responded, "I will have them prepared and sent on to you."

Wes was now on the offensive and came back with. "Fair enough, but keep in mind, my team does not move until I have the signed letters in hand. By my calculations, if they don't fly by 1 P.M. EST tomorrow, the time schedule of 1 August for start of training will be blown. Your call."

The President rose and gestured towards the door, "Mr. Stone, would you excuse us? I need a few moments with General Castillo."

Wes left, closing the door behind him and tried to appear relaxed in spite of the decisions being made 20 feet away and being under the steely eyes of two very sharp, but lethal looking Marines. He was on an adrenaline high like he had never experienced before, not even in combat, as he considered what had just occurred. He had gone toe to toe with the President of the United States!

"Bob that Stone is a pisser. I don't know if I like his brashness or if I am offended by it. Have you seen the letters that he is requesting, strike that, demanding? They literally say he can go in there and rape, rob, pillage, and do whatever he and his team damn well please and we hold them immune from any repercussions. Can I go that far out on a limb?"

"Mr. President, technically, whenever we send our military into the field, they have the ability to do whatever they please..."

"Yes, but subject to later review and punishment if they act inappropriately."

"True, but, all that Stone has done is put that initial review and determination at his level as supreme command in the field. Should he determine disciplinary action is required the UCMJ (Uniform Code of Military Justice) would kick in. We either trust our commanders or we don't"

"So, you feel that I should acquiesce and issue the letters?"

"Yes sir, I do. If you don't, he and his team will walk."

"Bob, as I said, I don't know how to react to this guy. But, I guess that is not the issue; can he get the job done?"

"Sir, if anyone can, he can."

OK, I'll have the letters prepared. What submarine has been assigned to the mission?"

Castillo checked his notes and responded. "The USS Virginia, a Virginia Class Attack Submarine out of the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, Kittery, Maine."

"Where is she now?"

"The Virginia is in port. Prior to Wes's team finishing their two month training, she will sail to Manama Bahrain in the Persian Gulf and will be there when his team arrives. Manama is headquarters of the 5th Naval Fleet. A sub tender is also en route to add credibility for the presence of the Virginia. The Navy will be conducting off-shore war games in the Gulf and the Virginia will take part in those games, after which, she will receive some refitting from the tender and depart. The plan is to airlift the team to Muharraq Airfield, on Bahrain, temporarily house them in the US Navy military compound located just outside of Jaffair; and eventually sneak them onto the Virginia right under the noses of one of our most suspicious allies, the Saudis. The war games should provide an adequate diversion that will allow the Virginia to slip away, accomplish its mission, and return, without ever being missed. Details are still being worked out as to how to do this, but we will figure something out before they arrive."

"Good. Tell Stone to stop by the protocol office in one hour. His letters will be there. I'm still a bit irritated by his attitude."

"You don't send a wimp to do a job like this."

"Thanks Bob. Keep me abreast of developments."

CHAPTER FIVE

Sep 30, 2013

Fort Custer Training Center, Michigan

5:00 P.M.

General Castillo stood on the dais and prepared to address thirteen very fit individuals, mostly senior citizens. Each now wore the Air Force blue uniform and scarlet beret which, though more of an honorary award, as it had been presented as the result of a modified and limited training regimen; still signified a band of brothers (and a few sisters) who were Air Force Rangers.

As Wes sat behind the General, he recalled the evening two months earlier when he first arrived at Fort Custer. Having made sure to arrive well in advance of the first team member, he was cleared, passed through the main gate, and transported by jeep to the initial muster area which turned out to be one corner of a huge almost empty warehouse that had been hurriedly set up as a makeshift auditorium. Several free-standing work lights encircled a small area of beat-up folding metal chairs facing a rustic stage that resembled something one might expect to see in an old western saloon.

When the team members arrived, a din arose caused by the joy of old friends reuniting after long periods of separation. The noise level was amplified by the hollowness of the empty building. Wes's job was to greet the individuals as they arrived, introduce the six new members to the eight veterans, and more or less establish a semblance of order. What he noticed immediately was the air of camaraderie that seemed to prevail - a quality that he hoped would grow as the training proceeded. After the entire team had arrived, he explained that Mr. Roger Freeberg, now Major Freeberg, would immediately be flying on to Kittery, Maine, to coordinate computer support. Unlike Jenny Castle, the other computer expert, he would not be participating in the two months training that the team was about to embark upon. Roger, with his dry wit, explained to the group that as there was only room for 14 training billets, and as much as he really desired to beat the hell out of his body, he reluctantly volunteered to withdraw from this life enhancing opportunity, so that others, more deserving than he could share in it. There were some snickers, a few laughs, and a general "yeah, tell me about it' attitude as he left the group to catch his flight to the East Coast.

General Castillo began. "Good evening. My name is General Castillo. I am sure that you all have heard of me from Colonel Stone. Yes, I'm the blankly-blank that dreamed up this exercise. Let me start by thanking you all for your patriotism. It takes truly special people that are willing to leave the comfort of their homes, their loved ones, and their established ways of life, to take on a venture of this nature. In a moment, Colonel Stone will explain the mission to you in detail, but first, I want to congratulate you on completing the training program. It was rigorous and very demanding. Not a one of you opted out when the going got tough. Well done. OK, that is enough from this old soldier. I wish you a successful mission. Good luck and God go with you. Colonel Stone."

As the General departed, Wes stood, saluted him, and took center stage. "Well, a little over two months ago, I was sipping a beer and watching the Seattle Mariners getting their butts kicked by Texas. My life seemed played out. I was out to pasture, drawing what the politicians tell me what was left of Social Security, and my sedentary life style was beginning to feel normal. If anyone would have told me that today I would be preparing to ship out for a combat mission in the Middle East, I would have called them crazy.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see your faces; faces that mean so much to me, which are indelibly etched in my memory. I explained the overview of the mission to each of you when we visited prior to coming here. Now I am going to give you the specifics. First, our transportation and dive platform will be the nuclear submarine Virginia."

There were several responses to this news ranging from whistles to some deleted expletives.

"We fly out of W.K. Kellogg Regional Airport via military C-5 Galaxy tomorrow at 0600 hours. Except for personal items, all of the mission gear is already loaded. Major Drake, I want you and Sgt Stone to make a final check of the inventory as soon as this meeting breaks up. Make sure that not only everything is on board, but that it is secured, especially the special weapons and, most important, the gases.

"The flight plan is to fly the great circle route non-stop to Muharraq Airfield, Manama, Bahrain, a distance of over 6,800 miles. The flight will take close to 14 hours and, in order to make it non-stop, in-air refueling will be necessary. Upon arrival, we will be put up in the US Navy military compound just outside of Jaffair, until the Virginia comes in from participating in the 5th Fleet war games that will be underway in the Arabian Gulf when we arrive. Our gear will be off loaded into a secure bonded warehouse where it will be held until it can be transferred to the Virginia as part of the refitting/restocking process. How our team boards the sub is still being worked. Any questions?"

It was Steve Levine who asked, "What are the meal choices?"

Followed by Jack Segar's, "What's the movie and do we have to rent headphones?"

And, my good friend, Sheldon Diamond, "I prefer a nice Chianti with my steak."

"OK guys, enough. There is a galley on board and we will be served meals. Sorry, no movies; if you want entertainment, study the playbook on the mission. And definitely, no Chianti. Now, if there are no more questions, get some shuteye. The C-5 is a tactical aircraft, very reliable, but not built for comfort. It's going to be a long flight."

During the long cross-country recruitment flights, Wes had studied the Intel provided by Castillo and created what he termed the playbook. As this operation was uniquely different from any combat mission that he or his team had ever been involved in, timing would be super critical. The playbook would diagram each member's role, quite similar to the playbook that an organized football team uses. As new information became available, it would be added right up to the execution. To date, it was made up mostly of documentation about the state-of-the-art diving gear and the special gases and tranquilizer weapons. Wes was counting on the limited Intel being elaborated on through on-site observation.

As the team filed out and headed for their quarters, Lt. Col. Benny Sansota, my Executive Officer, remained behind, and patiently waited until the auditorium was cleared before approaching. At 5'5", almost bald, and not a really handsome guy, to see him, one would write him off as either a nerd or, at best, a really boring individual, but when he spoke, that all changed. Benny, the epitome of a Southern gentleman had that charming southern drawl and a way of talking that, coupled with his natural charisma allowed him to tell you anything from it was raining to your fly is open and you would have to laugh. He was a natural story teller which fit very nicely with his career as a college professor teaching classes in Constitutional Adjudication at the University of North Carolina. Wes met him several years back when he was retained to teach advanced underwater search and recovery techniques as part of the Charlotte Fire Department's Public Safety Diver (PSD) Program. At that time, Benny was a young fireman certified by NAUI as an open water diver assigned to one of the three stations that were staffed with certified divers. From the moment that Wes assessed the 12 individuals, all of whom were experienced divers, Benny stood out as an outstanding waterman. There are speed swimmers, competition board divers, life guards, surfers, and a whole slew of people who are good in the water, but do not possess that certain attribute required to be a true waterman. And it has little to do with style or speed or even training. They are just at home in the water, be it a swimming pool, lake, or open ocean. Benny and Wes became friends during the two week class and made several sport dives off the coast of North Carolina. When he was tasked with reforming the team, Wes immediately thought of him as, not only was he an outstanding diver, but he would add youth to this age challenged group. Benny was 45, and considering the average age of the dive team, a comparative spring chicken.

"Colonel Sansota, what can I do for you?"

"Well son, and before I forget, Colonel Sansota, really sounds weird. Anyway, Colonel Stone, Sir, do you really think that we can pull this off? I mean, look at where we are. Ready to deploy a questionable, and as kind as I can put it, very senior team, for an underwater cave that may or may not be an abandoned German World War Two submarine pen. And, if our unfriendlies get a wrong signal from Allah, they move the hostages before our wheels leave the ground. And there have been four previous unsuccessful attempts by some of the toughest dudes our military has to offer to pull off missions of this type."

When Benny finished, Wes asked, "So what's your point?"

Benny burst into laughter and responded as he headed for the door, "I forget. See you at 0600."

***

The C-5 is one big airplane and, until the Russians unveiled the Antonov, or AN-22, it was the largest aircraft in the world. The C-5 Galaxy is a behemoth, weighing 187 tons, can reach speeds of 541 mph, has a service ceiling of 39,000 feet, and a price tag of $179 million. Its range with initial fueling is between 5900 and 6400 miles, however, with in-flight refueling and a back-up crew (which is common practice on long runs) its range is unlimited. This particular bird was assigned to the 301st Airlift Squadron stationed at Travis Air Force Base, California, and had flown in several days ago in preparation for their departure.

The Galaxy can be configured in any number of seating arrangements from fairly plush to downright uncomfortable. Except for extraordinary operations passengers are carried on the upper level in the huge bay located just behind the flight deck. As Wes sat in his jump seat which was part of a cluster of seats that had been arranged into a square of seats facing the rear of the aircraft, he was surprised at how small his little group of 14 people looked in relation to the sprawling size of the compartment which they occupied.

Seated in the back of the cluster, a sudden chill hit him causing a pang of anxiety as he recalled Benny's question. Did he really think that they could pull this off? They are an untested team, with limited Intel, going into hostile territory and he was responsible for not only the success of the mission, but the safety and wellbeing of these 13 souls, 14 when you add Roger. The drone of the C-5's four turbofan jet engines created a lulling sound that caused his mind to wander over the people who made up this strange looking group.

Except for the six additions to the team, the faces were older, hair lines had receded, in some cases vanished, and voices were deeper, but the men and women sitting around him had come together to form a cohesive team that shared a common goal and were committed to its accomplishment. They were intelligent people and knew the same shortcomings that he and Benny had been wrestling with; still they had come.

To his right were ex-Seals Stu Martin, Bill Torintino, and Mark Cono. During Wes's 15 years with the AF Rangers, he had been on missions with each of them. In fact, he was with Torintino when he took the AK 47 rounds that washed him out of the Rangers. Seals are the non-flying counterparts of Naval Flight Officers; smart, tough, and a bit crazy. Wes firmly believed that the crazy part was a prerequisite for both Navy pilots and Seals. They were the first three that he recruited after being assigned the Underwater Search and Recovery Team pilot program.

Two retired AFSAR divers sat to his left. Steve Levine a Korean War veteran who was short, built like a tank, and looked in his late 40s or early 50s, not pushing 71. With his crew-cut black hair that showed no receding and his square jaw, he was almost a GI Joe look-alike. Steve was outgoing and possessed that unique quality of good fortune, luck, or whatever you want to call it. Whatever it was, he usually came out on top, professionally or personally. Wes recalled how they had spent a lot of time sport diving, lobstering, and big game fishing. More often than not, when they would come to a large underwater reef and Steve would ask him which side he wanted to go around; Wes would select and Steve would swim off around the other side. When they met, Steve would always have one or two lobster or the big fish. When Wes recruited him, he was living with a beautiful French woman who took care of his every need including frequent trips to Europe. Hard to believe that he came on the mission, but Wes guessed that even paradise, or at least our earthly perception of paradise can get a little old. Whatever his thought process, he's the kind of guy you wanted around when things get really hairy. Tony Drake was already assigned to AFSAR when Wes arrived and became an ideal recruit as he not only knew the organization, but was a personal friend from his Oxnard AFB days. The third original AFSAR member would have been Gerald Skelton.

As he continued to staff the pilot program, Wes brought on board two Army Rangers, Al Russo and Jack Segar. Al was a quiet low-key kind of guy that Wes had always thought of as two people in one body. In combat, he was an impersonal, cold, efficient killing machine. In normal everyday life, he was as gentle as a baby. Go figure. Jack was the womanizer and had gotten Wes into several barroom brawls around the world as he hit on other guy's women. Wes came to realize that he just loved the competition whether it was out-loving the boyfriend or out fighting the boyfriend and boyfriend's friends. Another go figure.

Finally, rounding out the old school team, were two Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) divers, Freddy Zelinski who had passed away several years ago from Parkinson's disease, and Doug Zahrn. Freddy was a lifelong friend and frequent diving buddy who grew up in Missoula, Montana and shared the same love of the sea that he did. Wes first met him during a survival training class that they both attended in Florida. Freddy was just under six feet, a little overweight, and loved to catch lobster. Diving, for the Navy or for sport literally consumed his personality. Doug, on the other hand was an average looking, unassuming black man that you would see in a crowd and think, henpecked husband, wimpy guy, probably works in a bank. In actuality, he was tough as nails, with the nerves of steel that are required to work with explosive devices while under fire or underwater. He hated the term black man, not because of any racial issues or the political correct bullshit that is so freely circulated by whoever thinks it will further their career, but because, as he put it, he was not a black man any more than the rest of the team were white men. He was an American fighting man, and that was that.

Intermingled among the old hands were the newbies, Benny Sansota, his wife, Celena, Sheldon Diamond, Jenny Castle, and Wes's son, Edgar.

Benny's wife, Celena, came to be part of the mission by default. Originally, Wes had intended the 14th member of his team to be Jack Steeples, but his untimely death had created a hole in the operation which was already operating with little backup. His recruitment meeting with Benny progressed as the previous ones had until he brought Celena in for her part of the briefing. Celena, 10 years younger than Benny, of Eurasian origin is one beautiful, Playboy centerfold beautiful, woman. Her frame is thin and athletic, conveying a consistent and rigorous exercise regimen. Standing just under 5'7", she seemed to tower over Benny, and her long black hair contrasted against her husband's exaggerated receding hairline only added credence to the belief that opposites attract. In addition to her looks, she is a criminal psychologist working for the State of North Carolina.

After listening to the details she said, "I want to go too!"

Wes's response was, "No way. This is a combat situation and as much as I have tried to minimize the risks, there is a great deal of danger associated with it. I need experienced, tried and tested divers who can withstand the mental and physical pressure of, not only two months of rigorous training, but the actual strain of the mission itself."

For some reason, as he was expounding on the reasons her request was preposterous, Wes felt that all hell was going to break loose. He was not disappointed.

She never changed her position as she sat across from him at their kitchen table, her back erect, almost stately, but her expression foretold what was to come. Her big black eyes seemed to project fierceness; as she launched into her response. "Look here Mr. or Colonel, or whatever your title is Stone; I am an experienced "triiied and tested" diver. I am instructor certified, and a volunteer senior member of the Charlotte Fire Department, certified by them as a PSD, that's Public Safety Diver in case you don't know. I run 5 miles every day, have participated, and won, two marathons in the past three years, and, just for kickers, can lay in a six round 1" pattern at 1000 yards with a 30.06. I think that I can handle your rigorous training, and as for danger, most every day I sit in a room, alone, with some of our worst criminals and, in many cases, my testimony determines whether they are sane or not which translates to how they are tried and the severity of their punishment. These people are well connected and don't take kindly to some broad messing with their lives. The bottom line is this buster; it's my way or the highway! It's both of us or neither. Make your choice."

Wes looked over at Benny who was grinning from ear to ear.

"Geez Benny, I hope I never meet this lady in court. Celena, I stand corrected. If you pass the security requirements, you are in. As strange as it sounds, I am a man, excuse me, person short, so your addition will bring the team up to strength."

Her look softened, and she replied, "Thank you."

"Let's clear the air here and now on a few things. Sitting around this table, I am not Mr. or Colonel Stone. I am Wes, talking to an old friend and his wife. When you report for training, I will be Colonel Stone and your husband will be Lieutenant Colonel Sansota. You will be Major Sansota and subordinate to both of us. There will be no more buster or the likes. Is that clear?"

Her response was quick and direct, "I understand fully. I was out of line. I apologize."

"Accepted."

Looking at the back of Celena's head, Wes could not suppress the smile that crept across his face. He admired the youthful passion that she had shown. Realizing that age and experience have their good and bad points, he had injected youth into the team with Benny 45, Celena 35, and Sheldon Diamond, 47. They would form the younger contingent of his dive team.

Wes met Sheldon when he was retained by the State of Wyoming Game and Fish Department to provide SCUBA Diving training to its Game Wardens. Fish and Game Wardens are law enforcement officials, wear uniforms and carry weapons. Sheldon, like most fish and game wardens was an avid outdoorsman, who lived with his family in a Department provided residence in the unincorporated community of Moran which is located in south central Teton County. He was a skilled horseman, boat and snowmobile handler, and could take a four wheel drive into just about any terrain. Like Benny, he immediately demonstrated that special affinity for the water and finished the course with ease and at the top of his class. Wes and Sheldon became close friends, as did their families. They shared visits, and vacations, many of which were to areas where the air was warm, the beer cold, and, most important of all, the diving great. Prior to meeting Sheldon, Wes's impression of a Game Warden was someone who putted up to your boat in a small outboard and asked to see your stringer, looking for undersize or over-limit fish. Sheldon opened his eyes to the many facets of this profession. He explained that in addition to looking at that occasional stringer of fish, they also did search and rescue, body recovery, caught poachers, and occasionally even worked with the DEA on drug interdiction cases. All this in conjunction with animal, fish, and bird management. So be it the formidable Grizzly Bear or the not so lethal Black-Footed Ferret, Mr. Diamond was living a very adventurous life. Sheldon also had a sarcastic sense of humor and would always have something to add that he thought was funny and relevant to just about any problem or situation. His stood well over six feet, was burly built with a full black, though slightly graying, beard. Give him a long handled axe to hold and you had Paul Bunyan.

Seated next to Celena was Jenny Castle, 43. Wes met Jenny during one of his training contracts with a black ops group that operated out of CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia. She was working as a computer specialist (GS-13) and, due to the highly classified nature of the group that Wes was contracted to train, was officially assigned to him for automation support, but her actual role was to insure that he didn't steal or inadvertently disclose any of the country's secrets. She so impressed him, that he hired her on the spot to set up and manage his business automation support. At 5'6" she is the second most height-challenged member of the team; that honor going to Benny Sansota. An attractive woman, who would stand out in any crowd due to her flaming red hair and flamboyant manner of dress, which create the illusion of a ditzy lady bouncing through life rather than a professional businesswoman whose high-tech automation skills are in constant demand by the nation's largest corporations and various entities of the U.S. Government. Though she started out a little overweight, two months of physical conditioning had taken its toll for the better which would translate to Mike, her husband, being pleasantly surprised upon her return and Mrs. Jenny Castle buying an entire new wardrobe.

Wes's mind wandered back to the events leading up to his meeting and eventual hiring of this most exceptional young woman.

A few months after retiring in January, 1987, Wes entered the commercial world when he went to work for Chevron as an all-purpose diver doing everything from underwater inspection and repair to offshore exploration for likely drilling sites for oil and natural gas. After six months of this, he decided that it was not for him. First, other than the diving, it was not what he was trained for and it was physically demanding on an aging body, but mostly, it was just plain boring. So, at 44, what other options were there for a healthy, and, not yet ready to be put out to pasture, retiree? He had renewed his NAUI instructor certification and through a local dive shop advertised and taught basic SCUBA classes, but they were not that frequent and pretty tame compared to his background. At that point, one evening, Wes knelt before the Sacred Heart and prayed, asking the Lord for guidance. Though they often prayed together, Char was so attuned to her husband's psyche that she purposely stayed back during times such as these. Though she felt his discomfort, she knew that there were certain times in his life when he had to go it alone. This was one of those times.

CHAPTER SIX

Several months passed, during which, nothing materialized. Wes was beginning to think that this was it, that like it or not, he was fully retired. Then a most amazing thing happened.

He answered the phone on the second ring. "Hello."

"Mr. Stone, my name is Roy Strogg. I am CEO of Tees and Markham, a government support services contractor. My company supplies personnel skilled in various disciplines to different government agencies in and out of the United States.

"Yes sir, what can I do for you?"

Strogg went on, "Does the name Jeremy Little mean anything to you?"

Wes thought a minute and then replied, "Yes, about two months ago, I ran a special one man class for him in basic SCUBA diving. He passed the class and was issued a C Card. At the time, I thought it very unusual as he insisted on the class taking only one week and he paid my standard minimum fee for teaching a seven person class. Is he an employee or relative?"

"Was...an employee" replied Strogg. "He was recently killed in a diving accident!"

Wes was dumbfounded. No instructor wants to hear that one of his students has died practicing the skills that he taught. "Please, would you be so kind as to give me the details, if it is not too much trouble and you have the time?"

"Not over the phone. My office is located in the T&M building at 1100 Jadwin in Richland. Can you meet with me this afternoon at 1 P.M.?"

"I will be there."

"Do you know Richland?"

"I do."

"Good, come to the front desk and ask for me. You will be escorted to my office."

Wes drove north on Van Gieson to Jadwin where he made a right turn to the building on his left that had a huge T&M plastered across its front. Upon entering, he was required to pass through a metal detector after which an armed guard inquired as to his business. Wes found it strange that a contractor's building security required armed guards. Even the Federal building just up the road did not have armed (or at least visibly armed) security. Very soon after stating that he was there to see Mr. Roy Strogg, an attractive young lady appeared, handed him a badge that stated VISITOR, and introduced herself as Mary. As she ushered him into what appeared to be an executive elevator, Mary asked, in an almost programmed monotone voice, if he had any trouble finding the building and made a passing comment about the wind, which is a common occurrence in this high desert community. Thankfully, the elevator ride to Mr. Strogg's office was brief which did not require Mary to exceed her programmed script and ad lib spontaneous small talk.

As the elevator doors opened, Wes was greeted by a short, thin, gray haired, 50 something year old gentleman impeccably attired in an expensive three piece suit who immediately exuded an air of authority. Wes's casual attire, well-built six foot frame, and neatly cropped sandy hair were almost a perfect contrast to the gentleman who stood before him. "Mr. Stone, I am Roy Strogg. Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please come in."

The elevator opened immediately into Strogg's outer office with a middle-aged executive assistant positioned to receive elevator arrivals. A door to her left provided access to the inner sanctum of the big kahuna of Tees and Markham.

The middle-aged EA followed them into Strogg's office and stood dutifully waiting by the door. The office was large, with huge windows looking out over the traffic six stories below. Typical CEO trappings - large ornate desk, medium eight chair conference table, comfortable sitting area with leather arm chairs. Yep, even the office reeked of authority.

Stroggs quickly offered Wes a seat and asked if he desired coffee, water, or anything. Wes declined, but wondered how he would have reacted if he had requested a Tanqueray martini, shaken, not stirred, very dry.

When Wes declined any libation, Strogg dismissed his girl Friday with a polite, "That will be all Linda, please see that we are not disturbed."

Wes's grey eyes gave Strogg an askance look, "OK, Mr. Strogg, why all the cloak and dagger?" Your corporate office is secured like a fort with metal detectors, armed guards, and security cameras everywhere. You would not talk to me over the phone and I noticed that when I checked in, the guard at the front desk had a picture of me on his computer. What gives?"

Strogg began, "Mr. Stone, you are one observant individual. We were led to believe by the security contractor who installed the cameras that they would be undetectable. How did you pick up on them?"

"More a hunch. When I saw the armed guards and my picture, I started looking for anything that seemed out of place. First thing that jumped out was too many pretty things, decorating the lobby, elevator, even the small part of the stairwell that I could see; flowers, vases, excessive recessed lights and speakers, too many sprinklers. And a man of your status does not stand in front of an elevator door waiting on someone that he has never met. I would guess that you and, what's her name, Linda, both have a screen showing at the very least, who is coming up in the executive elevator."

"Mr. Stone, I am impressed" responded Strogg. "Your records document that you are resourceful, and after meeting you, I totally agree with them."

Wes was beginning to feel like some sort of lab rat. "Mr. Strogg, I came here today to learn about the facts surrounding Jeremy Little's death. As his diving instructor, I feel somewhat responsible for his demise."

"You shouldn't. Jeremy was killed on dry land!"

Wes shook his head and responded, "Killed! If that is the case, why is it being carried as a diving accident?"

"Because he was killed in Afghanistan while participating in a military mission! Let me explain."

"Please do."

"As I stated, we are a support services contractor or SSC. We provide any number of skills to augment the government work force. These range from clerical to scientists and engineers, many working right here in Richland on the Hanford Site. But, there is another side to our business operation that is less visible and highly classified. We augment various agencies special operations."

Wes was astounded, "Whoa, hold on a minute, I spent fifteen years with the Rangers and another six with Air Force Search and Recovery and never went on a mission with anyone other than military personnel. What gives?"

"Fair question. What gives are a number of things. First, since the time that you retired, budget cuts have reduced the armed forces across the board which has impacted the Rangers, Seals, and other special ops activities. But, for the time being, they still function primarily with military personnel. The forces that we presently support are the truly black ops agencies, the CIA, NSA, and even the FBI to name a few."

Wes's patience was growing short as he responded, "OK, I don't need to know all of this. All that I came here for was an explanation of how Jeremy Little died. You have given me that, so it would seem that our meeting is over."

"Mr. Stone, I asked you here to offer you a job."

Wes replied, "I am not a mercenary and by the way how do you know so much about my background?"

Strogg continued, "I am not looking for a mercenary, I am looking for a training officer. As for how I know about your history; well, it started with Little. His company credit card bill was of an amount that required my personal attention so I called him in to discuss it. During that conversation, he talked about you, your background, and your teaching skills. I was impressed enough to want to learn more. T&M is a worldwide corporation deeply connected to the US Government. I am the CEO of that company and believe me, obtaining your service record was a piece of cake.

"From what I have been told, the reason that Little died was because he did not hide his diving gear sufficiently, which allowed the enemy to discover it, wait for him to return, and take him out. A seemingly minor detail that cost him his life. I suspect that Special Forces personnel would not make such an error. His blunder almost cost the rest of his team their lives. Fortunately, they were more skilled in their profession.

"The people, label them mercenaries if you choose, that I supply are not as you might expect, ex-Special Forces people. Most of them are staying in longer because of the poor economy and the military works extra hard to keep them because those reductions driven by the budget cuts that I mentioned earlier are usually effected by attrition - when someone leaves, they cannot be replaced. And, when they do get out, most of the old timers are tired of being shot at, especially as previous administrations have done such a disservice to our military with watered down rules of engagement and allowing everyone outside of the military to pass judgment on their actions in combat, therefore they completely divorce themselves from that life and go into some unrelated career.

"So, who do I recruit? I hire young men, and an increasing number of women, many of questionable backgrounds, who, except for their occasional, sometimes frequent, brushes with the law, can pass modified background checks. In other words, they may be poor citizens, but they are loyal poor citizens.

"Because of their backgrounds, they are mostly unemployable. I retain a staff of people who seek out these individuals, offer them employment, which most jump at, train them, and eventually send them into the field with trained operatives. It has proven quite lucrative for my company; however, lately, the activities that I support have been less than pleased by the quality of T&M's personnel; Mr. Little being a prime example of such displeasure. It is not so much that they care about the high rate of mortality, I think they look upon my people as the red shirts on that old Star Trek show, expendable, almost expected expendable, but when my people start to endanger their people, they react."

Wes was finally able to get a word in, "I don't get it. You say that you train them, but they keep getting killed."

Strogg replied, "We initially provide general training from a number of sources, such as hand to hand combat, weapons handling and shooting skills, physical conditioning, etc. Then as specific missions arise, we add the additional criteria. Little was an example of additional criteria. His mission involved an underwater operation so we sent him to you for diving training. It..."

Wes was now pissed, "Good God man, I trained Jeremy as a sport diver, not a combat special ops agent. Why did you do this to that young man? In essence, you killed him!"

Strogg, shrugged and coldly replied, "Think what you will of me. I have a job to do and an obligation to my stockholders. Little knew the risks and was well paid to take them. But, from a business prospective, T&M has a problem which you can help fix. I want to hire you to train my personnel. You can look on it as humanitarian; I look on it as good business. What do you say? I think that it would prove mutually rewarding to each of us, not to mention the personal financial benefits that you would receive."

Notwithstanding Wes's dislike of Strogg's greed and lack of compassion for his fellow man, he took the job and by doing so very likely saved several lives. As his expertise became known, agencies that were contracting with T&M began to require that personnel they supplied were certified by Wes Stone.

A year later Wes formed his own company with T&M as one of his major clients! He named the company - A FRANGER, a play on AF Ranger.

As his business grew, he was faced with all the day to day business records management; client history, billings, bank deposits, tax information, and so on. Because he worked with several government agencies, many of which performed highly classified missions, a reliable secure computer system was paramount. Enter Jenny.

Jenny remained with his company until he retired three years ago. She then went on to set up her own business specializing in computer security which soon earned an outstanding reputation servicing government agencies and large corporations. When Wes first reviewed the battle plan, he realized that reliable computer support would be a key part of the mission. This not only meant hardware, software, and security, but the ability to access any database that he desired. No matter what type of information might be required, he needed someone who could provide it instantly. In some cases, this might mean hacking into one or more of the government's most secure areas because each agency jealously guards its resources, even when directed by the President to share them with other agencies.

Jenny was half of the team's automation support with the other half supplied by Roger Freeberg, who was already on board the Virginia. Roger was more the hardware specialist and was taxed with setting up two identical computer systems with maximum power, speed, and security. Wes wanted back-up in both personnel and equipment. This type of redundancy was made possible as a result of technology's miniaturization which allowed laptops and hand-helds to be used instead of mainframes or desktops. Though the systems could stand alone, they were tied into the Virginia's mainframe which allowed them to take advantage of the sub's automation protocols, especially security.

***

Wes met Roger while he was stationed at Oxnard AFB when the young 21 year old First Lieutenant with a BS in computer science came in TDY from Randolph AFB, Texas to begin the process of converting the government's cumbersome paper procurement system to an automated process. His visit was basically a PR effort as no one had fielded an automated system yet. At that time, each department was striving for its own system, with the Air Force championing some infant approaches that eventually would morph through several systems such as CIAPS, BCAS, and finally surrendering to the DOD SPS or Standard Procurement System. Wes, just out of basic training with little or no preconceived ideas of how anything worked was more ready to embrace automation than the old timers who had worked in the procurement field for years and were quite set in their ways. Needless to say, Roger met with a great deal of opposition, and Wes was constantly bombarded by his superiors who were also his on the on-the-job trainers, as to how this would never catch on, and how much money the government was wasting trying to fix something that wasn't broke, etc. etc.

Roger possessed that special charm that certain Jewish men have and his personality instantly clicked with Wes leading to an instant friendship. At 21 he was heavy and must have worked quite hard to pass his 5BX physical fitness program requirements. Today, some 49 years later, he was still heavy, but unlike Jenny Castle, had not taken part in the two month training program, therefore his wife would get back the same man that she sent forth. Their friendship did not sit well with Wes's superiors and was one of the reasons for his joining the AF Rangers. Roger, like Jenny, was one of the few non-diver, non-special ops people that Wes formed an immediate and lasting relationship with. He went on to retire as a Lt. Col. and was instrumental in bringing about the automation of the Department of Defense procurement system.

Another thing that Wes found both humorous and irritating was the amount of acronyms associated with the procurement career field that he was being wedged into. RFP, IFB, BAFO. TforC, TforD, AFPI, ASPR, DAR, DFAR, FAR, and this was back in the sixties before the world was bitten by the acronym crazy bug.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Several hours into the flight, Captain Thomas, the aircraft Commander, came back and informed Wes that there was a secure satellite communication for him which could be taken on the flight deck. As Wes donned the headset and microphone, he heard General Castillo's voice loud and clear. "Wes, how are you and your team holding up?"

"OK, but tired. What's up?"

Castillo continued, "I have the boarding procedure for you and your men, ah - team. I apologize for not being able to resolve this before you left the States, but, it required coordination with the Virginia's Captain and they were pretty busy with the war games. Do you have a pen or pencil?"

"Yes sir. Go."

"OK, here is the plan. Just before the Virginia is to receive refitting and restocking, your team will be transported to the bonded warehouse where your gear will have been off-loaded and stored along with most of the Virginia's spare parts and stores. You will be sought out by the Virginia's Boatswain's Mate, Mario Ruiz, who will walk you through the boarding scheme. Basically, small groups of the Virginia's crew will leave the boat and enter the warehouse; an equal number of your team will replace them and carry out the loading detail. This will be repeated until your entire team is on board. Any questions?"

Wes responded, "Not yet, but there must be more."

"Always one step ahead of me, aren't you? Yes, here is the rest of it. The torpedo room has been reconfigured to make room for your team and a weapons storage compartment has been cleared for your equipment support guys to store the team's diving gear and weaponry." Due to Virginia's size, no reduction in her permanent crew is required. Sleeping accommodations for the rescued hostages will not be necessary due to the short trip back to Bahrain."

Wes cut in, "I like your optimism, General."

Castillo ignored this and went on, "After you land, you will meet with Admiral Bumgardner, the facility's Base Commander, who will fill you in on the remainder of the details. Did you copy all that?"

"Yes Sir. Loud and clear."

Castillo's voice dropped to a whisper and became almost apologetic as he added, "Wes, the President threw us a small curve which you will become aware of after your board the Virginia."

"What kind of a curve?"

Just before signing off, the General added, "You will find out soon enough. By the way Jake Jacobson, the Virginia's Captain, is a good man, but be prepared for some initial differences of opinions."

And with that, the headset went dead.

***

The Galaxy landed at Muharraq Airfield at 3 P.M. on the 4th of October. The gentle touch down courtesy of our Air Force pilots was greatly appreciated. The difference between Air Force and Navy pilots is that Air Force guys try to land softly, keeping the plane in the air as long as possible and using as much runway as it takes to make a nice smooth landing. Navy pilots are used to landing on carriers rolling around in choppy seas and they are required to get their bird down as fast as possible on a short flight deck that ends in the ocean; therefore, they literally drop their airplanes out of the sky and onto the deck and hope that the arresting gear stops them before they sail into the drink. Unfortunately, when these seagoing pilots become landlocked, they continue to land their flying machines the same way.

After deplaning, the team was met by two vehicles, a Navy bus and a Navy jeep. The driver of the jeep, a young Lt JG, reported to Colonel Stone, saluted, and informed him that Admiral Bumgardner, the Base Commander, requested his presence immediately. The rest of his team was hustled onto the bus which Wes assumed would transport them the five miles or so to the US Navy military compound just outside of Jaffair.

It was almost 5 P.M. when Wes was called into Vice Admiral Jason Bumgardner's office.

A thin man, 5'8" or 5'9", physically fit, with thinning black hair and hawk-like features, accentuated by a large hook shaped nose and dark gray, almost black, brooding eyes. In his early 50s, wearing Navy service dress whites; it was apparent that he enjoyed his rank and used the power that came with it.

The Admiral began, "Colonel, the reason that I called you here is to coordinate some details of your mission and the support that will be provided to you during your stay on my base."

The Admiral went on, "Instructions that I have received from the Secretary of the Navy direct me to afford you and your team maximum hospitality which has entailed a great deal of effort ranging from the mundane of providing on-base quarters, to the sublime of putting one of my nuclear submarines at your disposal. I don't know what this is all about but I can venture some guesses..."

Wes interrupted, "Admiral, a great deal of time and effort has gone into this mission, especially the need for secrecy, so I would greatly appreciate if you keep your suspicions to yourself. No disrespect, sir."

The Admiral cleared his throat, conveying that he did not like being interrupted, especially by a lower rank, and went on, "Fair enough. The Virginia will be docking the day after tomorrow. I have been informed that her Captain has been thoroughly briefed concerning the nature of the mission."

Wes responded, putting forth his best military decorum, "Understood. I appreciate your support Admiral, and I thank you for your hospitability."

"Good, then you have a day or so to relax. You will find our NEX (Naval Exchange) and commissary located in the P 911 Building, along with the post office, and a variety of fast food places like Taco Bell, Wendy's, and the likes. The Officers' Club and the package store are also located there, along with some additional amenities - barber shop, launderette, and for the ladies, a beauty salon. Until the Virginia docks, you and your team are free agents. You will find that your quarters are within walking distance of the facilities just mentioned. When the Virginia arrives, you will be provided transportation to your debarkation point.

The Admiral handed Wes a very official looking business card and said, "Let me know if you require anything else. There is a jeep out front that will take you to your quarters. Any transportation that you require can be arranged by calling the number on the card that I just gave you. It is my aide's number and can also be used should you need to reach me."

His military body language said, the meeting was over; Wes stood, saluted, did an about face, and left.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Two days later the Virginia arrived, was berthed, and began the process of being prepared for another voyage. Though her refitting was minor as she joined the war games after they had begun, the Virginia was nevertheless being prepared for a combat mission which demanded that she was outfitted to function to her maximum tactical capability.

The team's boarding took place without incident, and Roger was waiting for Wes as he descended the ladder into the submarine. Just as Roger started to say something, an Ensign appeared and told Wes that Captain Jacobson wanted to see him ASAP. One thing that Wes had learned during his years of military service was that the Navy was the most rank-conscious of all the services with the Air Force being the least. And, a ship, or in this case, boat Captain was the next thing to God, so Wes cut Roger short and followed the Ensign down a passageway to the Captain's quarters. The Ensign knocked twice and vanished. A terse "Come" followed.

As Wes entered the Captain's cabin, he was invited into a fairly large room that was nothing like the cabins you see in old World War Two submarine movies. Two officers were present sitting at a small table, an 06 Captain (which is a full bird or Colonel in all the other services) and a Commander (or Lt. Colonel in the AF, Marines, and Army). The Captain gestured towards a vacant chair and began, "I'm Captain Jacobson. This is my Executive Officer Commander Irwin. Please have a seat."

Wes acknowledged the two submariners and noticed that no hand shaking took place. What had Castillo said, "be prepared for initial differences of opinion".

The Captain, a lean, no nonsense looking guy with soft, but penetrating green eyes, military cut red hair, and a neatly trimmed moustache, sat upright in an almost formal position waiting for Wes to settle into his chair Wes guessed that he stood about 5'9" and was in his early 40s. Irwin, on the other hand, looked much more relaxed. His 5'11" or so large, bony frame seated comfortably with his hands in his lap and blue eyes peering out from under a crop of blond hair was in complete contrast to the Captain's rigid posture. They both wore service khaki uniforms.

The Captain began, "Colonel Stone, I felt it imperative that we meet immediately so that I can express my feelings about this mission; and that there would be no misunderstanding as to how I intend to approach it. Quite frankly, I am appalled that the administration would go to these lengths to obtain votes. But that is not the issue. I have been directed to take you and your team to a set of coordinates to explore an underwater cave. I find it personally degrading and a professional affront to my military career that after 6 years as a submarine Commander, I am directed to transport a bunch of senior citizens on a photo op, and that a U.S. Navy ship of the line, a ship on the cutting edge of technology is relegated to such a task. But, I have my orders and I will carry them out. I just want to be sure that you understand my position."

Wes responded, "Captain, I understand your feelings perfectly. Is that all?"

"Yes, Colonel, I'm glad that we are in agreement. I will take your team to the cave, they can swim around a bit; and then we will head home."

Wes, whose hand was on the door, stopped, turned, and firmly stated; "No. That is not what we will do! We, your submarine and my senior citizen team have a mission to perform and we will perform that mission to the best of our abilities."

Captain Jacobson was astounded, and shot back, "But you said that you agreed with my feelings."

"No, I said that I understood them. But, as long as we are airing our interpretations of this mission, here are mine. My team has been assigned the task of rescuing 27 hostages located at a destination in Iran that you have been directed to take us to. When we arrive there, my team will assess the situation, and if I deem it so, will pursue the rescue. This is not a photo op!"

It was the Captain's turn to raise his voice, "If that's so, what is Mr. Hector Villa doing on board?"

Wes asked, "Who?"

"Hector Villa, Washington Post."

Wes again recalled the brief communication with Castillo while on board the C-5. The President threw them a curve. "Captain, I assure you, I knew nothing of this until this very moment. But, I guess as you said earlier, that is not the issue. Now that we have both made our positions clear; is that all?"

"Yes, Colonel, that is all for now, we will talk further after we are underway."

Wes left angry, knowing that this was not a good way to begin a mission.

As the door closed, Irwin commented, "Feisty old codger isn't he?"

The Captain, somewhat irritated responded, "Herb, I think you like the guy."

"Jake, let's just say that I don't dislike him; but the jury's out. We'll see how things develop."

"For chrissakes Herb, he's an old man. You don't actually think this mission is going anywhere, do you?"

Herb's shot back, "He does."

***

As Wes, fuming, exited the Captain's cabin, he almost ran over Benny who had been waiting for him after learning of his command performance with Jacobson. "Hey Chief, how'd it go?"

"Not good. He may be a tough nut to crack and we need his support as his support is this boat and crew's support. How are things going with you; have you got our group settled in?"

Benny had that seemingly never at a loss for words grin on his face as he filled Wes in, "All snug as bugs in rugs. You and I are bunking in officers' country, in a stateroom no less. Because of our rank, two LTJGs were moved into the Goat Locker, and..."

"The Goat Locker?"

That's navy talk for the Chief's quarters. Come on boy; get with the nautical lingo. As I was saying, moving the LTJGs caused two senior chiefs to be moved to the Blue Shirts or enlisted berthing. So, we are pissing everyone off and we haven't been on board but a little over an hour."

Wes's sense of humor started to override his frustrations as he responded, "Well, at least we are consistent."

"Benny, you really eat this stuff up don't you. Have Jenny and Roger come up with a diagram of the Virginia so our people can find their way around. And include some of the colorful terminology that you have been so quick to adopt. What about our female contingent?"

"Ah, the ladies. Well, it seems that this is the first integrated submarine in the United States Navy, and it boasts one female Lieutenant who is berthed in the officers' area. Because of the previous accommodations for her sex, our two ladies will be bunking in her quarters."

Wes had made a decision that only he and Benny would wear their ranks. The rest of the team wore the blue at-sea jump suits which showed no rank. This was felt prudent as space required them to bunk in close proximity to the enlisted berthing and having 12 commissioned officers intermingled with the 120 or so enlisted personnel would not promote good relations. As far as the Virginia's crew members knew, their passengers were enlisted, civil service, or possibly some of Tees and Markham's mercenaries.

Wes followed Benny to their quarters which were conveniently located just around a corner from where Roger and Jenny were putting the finishing touches on the team's computer systems. Wes smiled and said, "Jenny, I need you to send a priority message to General Castillo. Ready?

"Yes sir."

"General, I want a straight answer to this. How much does Hector Villa know about the mission and how many opportunities has he had to tell anyone what he knows? Sorry, but at this point, I feel like the President has betrayed a trust. Sign it Wes, Immediate Response Requested."

"It's gone" responded Jenny.

"Thanks. Let me know as soon as an answer comes in."

"Reply coming in now."

Wes waited as the message was received. Jenny hit the print key, and a second later handed Wes the General's reply. He read it and told Jenny to add both his message and the answer to the play book.

The plan was that the Virginia would make sail in an easterly direction towards the Gulf of Oman, passing through the Strait of Hormuz into the Arabian Sea, and presumably on to its next destination. In actuality, once the visible departure was accomplished, the Virginia would submerge, make a 180 degree turn and steam back into the Arabian Gulf in a north by northwest direction towards Bandar-e Maqam, a distance of a little over 300 miles. At her underwater speed of 32 knots or almost 37 miles per hours, it would take the Virginia roughly a little over 8 hours to reach its destination. Taking into consideration that the Virginia was carrying an ASDS and would be running in stealth mode, it was doubtful that she would make 32 knots. Wes estimated that the time would be more like ten to twelve hours, possibly more.

The Arabian Gulf is quite shallow with a maximum depth of 300 feet and an average depth of 160 feet, which makes moving about a submarine longer that a football field, undetected; a formidable task. Add to this the amount of security in place by the countries surrounding the Gulf and it becomes an almost impossible task. Fortunately, some of the deepest parts of the Gulf are found bordering the Bandar-e Maqam coast which will permit the Virginia to move fairly close into shore at night.

The sail crew dropped into the command and control center as the Virginia began a slow descent to 200 feet where silent running would be initiated prior to changing course to make her run on Bandar-e Maqam. Suddenly, an alarm sounded throughout the boat. A surprised Captain Jacobson called out, "All Stop."

As the Virginia slowed and then hung motionless at 110 feet, all clear reports started flowing in from the various compartments of the boat. Jacobson's agitated, but calm voice sounded throughout the control center, "Report gentlemen, what is our problem, and turn that alarm off.?"

The dive control officer responded with, "My board shows the forward dive planes not responding, seem to be frozen in about a 30 degree down bubble position."

"OK, let's get a dive team in the water to assess the situation. XO, you're in charge- supervise the operation." directed the Captain.

"I'm on it." Responded Commander Irwin.

CHAPTER NINE

Wes, who had heard the exchange over the sub's intercom system, was quickly making his way aft towards the dive area. He and the Irwin arrived at the same time. Wes looked the Commander in the eyes and quietly said, "Let me be part of the dive team that goes out, even if just as an observer."

Irwin responded, "Why?"

"Look Commander, if this thing has any chance of working at all, it will take both our teams working together. This will at least be a first step in that direction. I know that you will have to check with the Captain, but..."

Wes did not get to finish as Irwin broke in, "I am in charge of this operation. Suit up and meet Senior Master Chief Thompson at the Lockout Trunk."

Wes hesitated, as Irwin shouted, "Move your butt Colonel, or you're going to miss the bus!"

Wes shot into the diving gear storage area where his son and Drake were still stowing some of the mission gear. "Tony, suit me up, quick. Standard full face, not our special headgear."

Drake pulled out a wet suit, tank, full face mask, checking communications power source, as Wes began to strip off his jumpsuit. Drake asked, "What the hell's going on?"

"No time to explain, fill you in later."

Wes, fully suited, carrying his fins grabbed one of several small bags hanging on a peg next to his dive locker and made his way to the nine man lock out/lock in (LOLI) chamber located roughly amidships just aft of the sail. One of the newer innovations in underwater warfare, this feature allows divers to be deployed and recovered directly from a submerged submarine. He was met by Commander Irwin and two Navy divers. The larger of the two who was well over six feet, looked at Wes and commented, "OK, Colonel, I'm Master Chief Thompson; this is Ensign Arbuck and while we are in the water, I'm in charge of this exercise. What I say goes; no ifs ands or buts. Understood?"

Wes thought, everybody is in charge but me, and responded. "Got it."

Thompson went on. "And, by the way, you are going to have a hell of a time getting through the chamber hatch with your tank on. I suggest that you hand it up to the Diver Tender who will help you suit up after you enter the chamber."

This was followed by a condescending grin.

Shit thought Wes; this isn't going any better than my meeting with Jacobsen, as he softly replied. "Thanks."

Irwin added. "Give me a comm check before exiting the chamber."

Thompson responded. "10/4"

As soon as they were in the chamber, the Diver Tender helped them into their equipment, ran a quick equipment check, and departed through the hatch which was immediately sealed. Thompson commented on Wes not wearing the standard Buoyancy Compensator or BC to which Wes responded that he did not like the things. As soon as the hatch was sealed, the chamber's flooding was initiated.

Just before exiting the pod, Thompson informed Commander Irwin of their departure which satisfied the comm check, tapped Wes on the shoulder and said, "Colonel, during the dive if you have any trepidation, just signal me and I will come to your aid."

To which Wes responded, "Trepidation!"

"Hey, even enlisted pukes know some big words. Just yell if you have any problems."

As they exited the pod 110 feet below the surface, Wes was pleasantly surprised to find the water clear with somewhere between 50 to 60 foot visibility. Unlike the crystal clear waters of the Red Sea which is Saudi Arabia's western boundary, the Persian Gulf is usually disappointing when it comes to underwater visibility. Wes could feel a sluggish tidal current running in from the Gulf of Oman and the Arabian Sea beyond, which was probably pushing all the crap from Oman, Iran, and Saudi Arabia back into the Gulf. Later, when the tide reversed, it would suck the same crap out into the open ocean to become part of the massive underwater garbage dump that the sea was fighting a losing battle to contend with. Funny how a contemporary computer term so aptly fit what we have been doing to our planet's oceans for years. GIGO - Garbage in, garbage out.

For the first time Wes realized the enormous size of the Virginia. The divers looked like tiny spacemen moving around a giant man made planet. The Virginia Class Attack submarine is the first American warship designed solely by computer. The Virginia, the first of the Virginia Class submarines, was built by General Dynamics, Electric Boat Division, Groton, Connecticut at a cost of $1.8 billion and commissioned into service on 23 October, 2004. As strange as it seems, the Virginia was almost a billion dollars cheaper than each of the six that followed her. Other anomalies of this craft are that it has no periscope and relies entirely on a non-hull penetrating fiber optic periscope system for its eyes; and, it has no screw, being propelled by a GE pressure water reactor S9G Nuclear Reactor and a United Defense pump jet propulser. Virginia class submarines replaced the more costly Seawolf Class and though a little slower, they make up for it in stealth, combat flexibility, and, oh yes, cost.

Wes watched as the Chief and Ensign Arbuck swam forward towards the bow of the Virginia to inspect the frozen dive plane. Then, something caught Wes's eye, movement just barely within that underwater artificial horizon where visibility ends and the gray backdrop of opaque water obscures everything beyond. The Navy divers had reached their objective and were totally engrossed in their mission. Wes swam to them keeping his eyes focused on where he had last seen the movement. There it was again, long, cylindrical, bow planes? A mini-sub. Hell, he thought. If we can be picked up, located, and put under surveillance this quickly, what chance do we have sneaking back into the Gulf? He continued to scan the spot where he thought the object was when his peripheral vision registered motion. Ah, he thought, somewhat relieved, a shark, but one big hummer. At each pass the shark continued to tighten the circle and was now clearly visible. What Wes had thought were bow planes was the flattened head of a hammerhead shark, but not just any hammerhead, this was a great hammerhead; at least 18 feet long. Wes had been in the water with many varieties of sharks, even a great white once and knew from experience that most lone sharks were inquisitive and very cautious. With three large creatures clustered together, this guy would think long and hard before becoming obnoxious. Nevertheless, Wes decided to alert the dive team of its presence.

"Hey Chief, how's it coming?"

Wes's headset crackled with the Chief's response. "Pretty good. Somehow we wrapped a cable around the port dive plane. Just about have it cut loose. These new underwater laser torches are something else.

"Hey Chief, I think we have a bit of trepidation here."

The Chief looked at Wes and responded with. What's the problem? Is your wet suit too tight?" Which he followed with a chuckle.

Wes decided to keep things light and replied. "Not so mon ami, but please take a look out over the bow."

The Chief looked up from his work and out over the bow. "OK, I'm looking and I... Holy Shit! That's the biggest freakin shark I've ever seen."

The XO's voice came over the headsets. "What's going on out there? Report."

Just then, the Ensign gave out a painful cry and the water turned red with blood. Apparently, distracted by the shark, he had severed his right hand at the wrist.

Wes's mind was racing. A manageable situation had suddenly become life threatening. He looked at the Chief and said. "Take the Ensign back to the pod. I'll follow."

The Chief hesitated; then realized this was the only course to pursue. He nodded and began dragging Arbuck back towards the pod.

Wes removed a somewhat bulky looking object, a cross between a pistol and a large can of beans from the small bag he had attached to his weight belt, charged the oncoming shark and fired the weapon point blank into the shark's head. The shark bolted, did an almost stationary 180 degree turn with such velocity that Wes was buffeted by the disturbed water as it vanished beyond his area of visibility. Wes did a quick look at the bow plane and saw the severed hand of Ensign Arbuck which hung suspended and was just beginning to slowly sink and be carried away by the current. He snatched it up, and made a b-line for the pod. The shark would quickly realize that it was in no danger from a can of bubbles and return with malice. As Wes swam back to the pod, he shouted into his comm unit. "Jenny, are you monitoring?"

"I am."

"I want you and Roger to use both computers and find out how to preserve a severed limb for transport to medical facilities for restoration. Then whatever you lean, have it ready. We will need an emergency medical team standing by at the POD to receive an amputation injury. Do you copy?"

"Roger that."

While they were communicating, the Chief was relaying events to the XO.

Wes could see the hammerhead zeroing in on his motion as he approached the pod's hatch. The Chief's head was peering out, and vanished as Wes did a jackknife into the pod, scraping his tank on the opening's wall. The Chief immediately sealed the hatch and initiated draining.

Nobody spoke as the pod cleared. As soon as their heads were above water, Wes and the Chief removed their helmets. With the Chief's thumb planted firmly on the pressure point of Arbuck's right inside armpit, Wes removed the Ensign's helmet and said. "He's unconscious and in shock."

As the last of the water drained from the pod, the bottom hatch was opened and a medical team overseen by the Independent Duty Corpsman was standing by to receive Ensign Arbuck who was gently lowered into their waiting arms by Wes and Thompson.

Commander Irwin, Jenny, and two seamen were waiting along with the Diving Medical Officer as Wes and the Chief exited the pod. Amazingly, the entire dive had lasted less than 15 minutes which meant no decompression. Wes had almost forgotten the severed hand which he had put in his bag after discarding the shark pistol. Seeing Jenny, he handed her the bag and asked. "Do you know what to do with this? It's Arbuck's severed hand"

She responded, "Yes Sir. We are on our way to the Ward Room which has been set up for emergency medical treatment, but they do not have the facilities to reattach the limb, and it must be reattached within six hours or all bets are off"

Wes responded, "Find out where the closest facility with such a capability is, have the medical team proceed with the preservation and let's see what we can work out."

Jenny vanished with the two seamen.

Chief Thompson had watched the exchange and said, "Do you think we can save his hand?"

As Wes started to answer, Irwin cut in, "What the hell happened out there? I need..."

Before he could finish, the Captain's voice came over the speaker, "XO, Master Chief Thompson, Colonel Stone report to my quarters immediately."

Still in their wet suit bottoms, the Chief and Wes followed Commander Irwin into the Captain's cabin. His face was drawn as he began. "Close the door. Colonel Stone, who gave you permission to take part in this dive?"

Irwin spoke up, "I did sir."

"Why."

Irwin replied, "To begin the teaming process."

The Captain was becoming more and more agitated as he growled, "Well, this is a great teaming success. We have a crewman who has lost his hand. Commander, I am surprised that you would send an untrained man out with an experienced dive team."

Irwin responded. "Colonel Stone is not an untrained man. He is a certified AF Ranger with extensive diving experience."

Jacobson continued "Old certified ranger. His participation has led to an injured crewman and put a second crewman in harm's way. Colonel, I will speak with you more on this later. For now, please excuse us."

After being dismissed by Captain Jacobson, Wes proceeded forward where he found Jenny, Roger, Benny, and several other members of his team. He quickly explained what had occurred and then asked Jenny what she had found concerning a facility that had the capability to reattach a limb. She told him that there was only one in the Mid East, the Plastic Surgery Division of King Khalid University Hospital located in Riyadh Saudi Arabia.

Wes's mind was racing as he began putting together a plan to save Arbuck's hand, or at least provide a fighting chance to do so. "Benny, did they get the dive plane fixed?"

"They did; and we are headed back to Bahrain at flank speed."

Wes than asked, "How is Arbuck doing?"

Jenny responded, "He's stable, under sedation and will remain that way until we can get him to Bahrain."

"Jenny, priority message to General Castillo - ready?"

"Ready."

"General, some diplomatic beef needed to have King Khalid University Hospital located in Riyadh Saudi Arabia provide emergency treatment for one of Virginia's crewmen. He severed his hand and reattachment must take place within the next five hours or he will lose it forever. The Virginia will be back in Baharain in an hour. If Admiral Bumgardner can have an air evac helicopter standing by, the patient could be in Riyadh with three hours to spare. Can you assist? Send it."

Just as Jenny announced that the message had been sent, Master Chief Thompson came hurriedly into the area. "Colonel, I just left the Captain's quarters and I want you to know that I set him straight concerning your actions during the dive."

He held out his huge hand and added, "And I want you to know that I'll dive with you anytime, anywhere. My friends call me Boomer, and I would appreciate it if you would too."

Wes studied the big man who had just provided the first Navy acknowledgment of the Air Force Team's credibility. A rugged man in his early 40s with a shaved head and weather-beaten face peered at Wes through hazel blue eyes and waited for his response. Wes, momentarily speechless, immediately grasped the Chief's hand and said, "Thank you, Boomer; this means a lot to me."

The Captain's voice came over the intercom once again. "Colonel Stone, report to the Captain's cabin."

Wes commented, "Guess it's time for my next beating."

Wearing a terry cloth sweater-like top, but still in his wet suit pants, Wes knocked and was admitted to Jacobson's cabin. The XO was seated at the small conference table. In fact their seating arrangement looked very much like Wes's first encounter with the Virginia's senior staff.

Jacobson began. "Stone, when I make a mistake, I admit it. From what Chief Thompson tells me, you kept a bad situation from becoming a disastrous one. I have served with the Chief on and off for over 15 years and have come to value his assessment of people, especially fellow divers. Divers; I have never understood what causes men to want to swim around in the ocean, especially with creatures, such as the one you just encountered, that can easily tear you apart for no other reason other than you are there.

"Anyway, now that I am fully aware of the circumstances, I wish to offer my thanks for your actions in preventing what could have turned out to be much worse than it did. I only regret the tragedy that befell Ensign Arbuck."

Wes cut in. "Captain, there may be a chance to save Arbuck's hand."

"How?" responded the Captain.

Wes proceeded to explain what he had learned about the Saudi medical facility and his message to General Castillo.

The Captain thought a moment and replied, "That is a long shot. The Saudis are indifferent about the United States and for them to drop everything and treat one of our servicemen...well, I don't know."

Wes came back with, "General Castillo has the President's ear and he knows that I am still pissed about Hector Villa being rung in on this mission. In effect, they owe us one. Let's see what happens.

The Captain looked at Commander Irwin who was already up and moving, "Herb, take the con and make sure that we get back to Bahrain as quickly as possible-push her."

As the XO left, Jacobson addressed Wes, "Colonel, you need to get out of your wet suit and get some coffee. I've kept you running since your return to the boat. After you get cleaned up, come back and we can talk under more leisurely conditions."

"Coffee sounds great. By the way, do you have any idea what caused the accident?"

"None. The cable could have had tension on it and snapped when the last cut was made or the boat could have momentarily shifted and caught the Ensign's wrist in a loop. We probably won't know what happened until Ensign Arbuck is well enough to be debriefed. It all happened so fast that even he may not know."

"Understood. I'll come by later."

After a quick stop at the diving area where he shed his wet suit bottoms and slipped into the jump suit that he was wearing earlier, Wes headed to his quarters. Jenny met him with General Castillo's response. It stated succinctly that the President had refused to take the matter up with the Saudis. From the General's tone, he was being a good soldier and delivering a message that he disagreed with.

Wes was furious. "Jenny, send the following response immediately: General, if this is the support that can be expected for my team while they are risking their lives on a Presidential mission; then I have no recourse but to terminate the mission. The Virginia is presently heading back to Bahrain where more adequate medical facilities are available to treat our first casualty. When we dock, I will officially disband the team. Sign it Colonial Stone."

"It's sent. I hope you know what you are doing."

"So do I. There is a young man's future hanging here. We will be in port in less than an hour. I need Castillo's response as soon as it comes in no matter where I am. I'm going to grab a quick shower and then go to see the Captain. Print copies of the previous messages - I will pick them up on my way to the Captain."

Wes slipped into his cabin, took a quick shower, donned a fresh jump suit and headed for the Captain's cabin. There were some details that had to be worked before arriving in Bahrain.

***

"Just who in the hell does he think he is?" The President was enraged. "General, does he understand that he and his entire team can be court-martialed for insubordination, not to mention desertion?"

"Mr. President, Colonial Stone had your word that you would limit knowledge of this mission to need to know only. Then you put a journalist on the Virginia. He looks on that as a betrayal of trust. Then, one of the crew of the Virginia suffers an injury that leaves only one option to save his severed limb and you refuse to even explore that avenue. All of this before that actual combat part of the operation begins. How would you feel if you were in his shoes?"

"I am the President of the United States. I do not have to justify my actions in matters such as these to anyone."

Castillo responded. "No sir you do not, but Colonial Stone is within his right to terminate the mission. As for court-martial action; you might get him, but you have already absolved his team of any action that he does not initiate. And I don't think you want the news media learning how you solicited a group of senior citizens to do what America's elite Special Forces could not do. And that does not even begin to approach the security ramifications of this thing going public."

Once the President had gotten over his initial shock of Wes's ultimatum and his blood pressure returned to normal, he listened quietly as the General continued. "Mr. President, one of your military has sustained a serious injury and you have the opportunity to give him a fighting chance to be restored to a normal life. Whether or not he is part of Stone's mission, do you as Commander in Chief not owe as much to any of your service men and women?"

The President, a good man, was prone to speak at times based on his initial emotional reaction rather than taking a few moments to process information and respond to it in a more rational manner. The opposing party and even some of his own had often commented on this and the media vampires sucked every bit of journalistic blood out of such faux pas. The President's face reddened slightly as he quietly responded. "Bob; sometimes I get so caught up in the big picture, the affairs of state, which are for the most part political bullshit, that the very heart of that picture, the individual, be they military or civilian, gets obscured. It was the people who elected me and it is my responsibility to those people to protect them in any way that I can. I need to be reminded of this. You and I might add Colonel Stone have just done that."

***

Wes sat with the Captain at his conference table. This was the first time that the two men had been alone and afforded the time to have a serious talk. Wes handed the Captain copies of the message traffic relating to Ensign Arbuck. The Captain read each starting with the initial request, and ending with Wes's last transmission. He whistled softly and said. "Well, I am not surprised. It was a long shot from the beginning. But, Wes, your last message can get you in a lot of trouble. I appreciate your concern for my crewman, but you are way out on a limb and you just might have sawed it off. And, by the way, Arbuck is not a member of your team."

Wes's expression remained unmoved. "Captain, if this mission is to have any chance of succeeding, we must be one team, no more Navy, Air Force, or young and old, or them and us. If Ensign Arbuck had not repaired the diving plane, your boat, which happens to be my team's diving platform, would be dead in the water. He was as much a part of my team as any of the Air Force guys on this boat."

The Captain sat back with his arms behind his head and studied Wes, finally responding. "My XO liked you from our first shall we call it meeting, though it was more like a sparring match. How exactly do you intend to proceed when you and your team find yourselves out of the Air Force, probably labeled either insubordinates or deserters, or both?"

"I haven't got that far..."

A knock on the Captain's door stopped Wes in mid-sentence.

The Captain called, "Come"

Jenny was standing there smiling from ear to ear. "General Castillo's response to your last transmission, sir."

Wes read it, thanked Jenny, told her to respond with "affirmative", and handed it to the Captain who read it, and shook his head in disbelief. "Wes, how do you manage to bring stuff like this about? Praise the Lord."

The message read simply. "All is arranged. Helicopter will be waiting upon Virginia's arrival to air evac patient to Saudi medical facility in Riyadh for reattachment of appendage. Is mission still a go? C"

The Captain let out a sigh, handed the messages back to Wes and said. "I'll be damned. Never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Thank you Colonel, from the bottom of my heart. Now let's pray that the young man can be made whole again."

Noticeably very much relieved, he changed the subject. "I do have a question for you. Please tell me what that shark gun is that you used on the dive?"

Wes Replied, "It's a pretty simple arrangement, just a small tank of compressed air with a few things that I believe sharks don't like, excretion from dolphins, and a few other chemicals.

"After I retired from the Air Force and set up my consulting business, I had a lot of free time so I went back to school and got my masters. I picked up my Bachelors during my last tour with AFSAR courtesy of the GI Bill. I majored in oceanography and ichthyology, specializing in sharks and their behavior. Seemed a pretty good fit as I sure swam with enough of them. As part of my research, I developed that, as you put it, shark gun, and tested it on different species of sharks, but I must admit, none as large as the hammerhead. What I learned is that the first shot is quite effective in warding off an attacking shark, but after the initial effect does not hurt the shark, it comes back twice as mad at being fooled."

The Captain responded. "That sounds like exactly what happened out there. I repeat my total lack of understanding as to why people like you enjoy subjecting yourselves to such danger."

Wes lapsed into a philosophical mood, lowered his head and spoke in a quiet almost reverent tone. "Going underwater into a world that is totally foreign, can run the gamut of emotions from exhilarating to relaxing. First, there is what I call the edge; knowing that you are out of your element, in an environment inhabited by predatory creatures that may appear at any time. Encounters with these creatures are desired, you want to see them in their native habitat, but unlike African safaris, there are no vehicles to spirit you out of danger or guides with big bore weapons to kill or drive off an aggressive beast. Open water SCUBA divers put themselves at the mercy of the sea and the creatures that live within her. They rely on their training, a knowledge that most ocean predators are not aggressive to man, and the Lord watching over them. You ask, why on earth would anyone in their right mind engage in such an activity?

"I have never been as relaxed as when I lay motionless, in twenty or thirty feet of water, suspended in neutral buoyancy, feeling the heat coming off a sandy seabed, watching some small reef fish cavort in and out of their coral homes. Talk about an aquarium. Here, I would experience total detachment from my above-water life; no people, no cars, no sounds whatsoever except my exhaled air bubbles - such peace and serenity.

"The other side of the spectrum is the sea life, especially the big sea life - sharks, rays, whales, barracudas, sea lions, black sea bass; you don't look for them, they find you. They appear out of nowhere, either passing through, or come to take a look at the strange, awkward swimming creature that is disturbing their silent world. To see these creatures in their element, their speed, grace, and power is incredible; to swim among them, a unique experience shared by few.

"The different faces of the sea itself are a large part of my fascination with diving. To encounter a current at eighty feet with the velocity of a fire hose; or lay on the surface just beyond the breaker line and look down the wall of water at the instant that the swell becomes a breaker; or to feel over 100 pounds per square inch of pressure on your body during a deep dive and experience the nitrogen narcosis induced euphoria; makes one feel very small and insignificant in the scheme of things.

"So why do men pursue, such things? My belief is that they need their own personal piece of existence that is special to them; something that though shared with a limited number of fellow travelers through life will not be experienced by the majority of their contemporaries. This bonus provides that little spice in life."

Wes suddenly realized that he had been rambling and, feeling a bit embarrassed, looked up for the first time since he began his diatribe, and met the Captain's gaze expecting to see one bored senior Naval officer. Instead, he was met with a continence that appeared interested and not at all bored. "Sorry Jake. When I get on a roll I can be a real pain."

Jake let out a sigh and replied, "I have posed that question to divers many times during my 26 year career and never received a satisfactory answer--until now. Navy men love the sea, submariners I think more than surface warfare types; and those of us who are submariners are similar to divers in that we travel underwater among those very creatures that you mentioned, but we are protected by a titanium hull and like our surface warfare counterparts seldom encounter those creatures face to face. My fascination with divers is that they take it to the next level. I even took a SCUBA course once, but I guess that I didn't possess that certain quality that makes you people different. So, my fascination and respect remains."

Wes and Jake sat for a few minutes, processing the new information that they had learned about each other.

It was Wes who broke the silence. "Jake, when will we arrive in Bahrain?"

Jake looked at his watch and replied. "In about 15 minutes."

Wes went on. "I would appreciate it if you limit the number of people who go ashore to only the medical team that moves Ensign Arbuck to the chopper. And I especially want to insure that Mr. Villa stays on board. I plan to have one of my people birddog him, but any extra precautions will be appreciated"

"Understood."

Wes then added. "Can we proceed with the mission as planned as soon as the Ensign is on his way to Riyadh?"

Jake answered. I will be on the bridge and ready to depart as soon as the med team is back on board."

Wes continued. "Captain, I have an operational question. And please excuse my ignorance, as I am an Air Force grunt and know little about the Navy and less about submarine etiquette. I noticed that when the diving planes froze, the boat used its intercom system to relay situation reports. I can't recall if we had gone to silent running, but in stealth mode, won't that give our position away, especially in these confined waters and operating so close to a hostile coast?"

Jacobson beamed as he responded. "Colonel, you may be in the wrong branch of the military, but that is an astute observation and an excellent question. As you probably know, the Virginia has the honor of being the first of its Class off the assembly line and therefore the namesake of the Class. She is now the first in the fleet to be completely soundproofed!"

Wes's puzzled look prompted the Captain to continue. "You may recall reading about the emergency maintenance that the Virginia required back in 2010 due to defects in the submarine's sonar absorbent outer skin. During the fourteen month upgrade and maintenance at the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, both her outer and inner skins were modified with state-of-the-art technology that completely baffles interior sound to the point where it cannot escape to the transmitting hungry sea around her."

Jacobson paused to compose his thoughts and then went on. "That may seem like a small thing, but it goes far beyond the inconvenience to the crew during silent running; it eliminates the use of the cumbersome XJA and JA Sound Powered Phone System or SPT circuits which are basically voice activated telephone systems requiring hand-held receivers or headsets to transmit and receive. The SPT circuits remain available, but will only be used should the intercom system fail, so don't be alarmed when you hear boat-wide announcements. This feature will revolutionize submarine warfare."

The Captain finished with. "Another advantage of the soundproofing feature is that, if your team is able to pull this off, it will compensate for the forty plus non-submariners on board who are unfamiliar with silent running protocol."

As Wes started to leave, he turned and said, "Thanks for the crash course in submarine communications. Oh, by the way, I need to have an all hands with my team. Is there a space large enough to accommodate my 14 people and Mr. Villa? If possible, I would like you and Commander Irwin to also attend and perhaps Boo, I mean Master Chief Thompson and any other of your crew that you think appropriate. This is a standing invitation for all future meetings."

Jake answered. "The ward room will easily accommodate such a meeting. When do you want to do this?"

"I think just after we turn back towards Bandar-e Maqam."

The Virginia docked, the medical team loaded Ensign Arbuck on to the medevac helicopter along with his severed hand, which had been gently washed, wrapped in a moist clean cloth, put in a watertight plastic bag, and was being transported in an ice chest.

While the medical transfer was occurring, an ashore maintenance crew inspected and confirmed that the repaired bow dive plane was in working properly.

Seconds after the hatch closed behind the returning med team, lines were cast off, and the Virginia was once again under way, presumably sailing towards the open ocean. This time however, the descent to 200 feet occurred without incident, full silent running was initiated, and the boat turned and began making its way back into the Gulf towards Bandar-e Maqam.

The Virginia class boats can carry, launch, and recover a battery powered 65 foot long mini submarine called the Advanced SEAL Delivery System (ASDS). With a two man crew and eight passenger capacity, it has a range of 125 nautical miles, can reach speeds of 8 knots, and work at depths exceeding 200 feet. The ASDS carried topside above the engine room of our boat would play a significant part in the rescue mission. The downside of toting one of these systems around is that they greatly reduce underwater speed, especially when stealth is paramount. The reduced speed and the medical emergency delay translated to arrival on station as the middle of October.

ADVANCED SEAL DELIVERY SYSTEM (ASDS)

CHAPTER TEN

As soon as the Virginia was on course for Bandar-e Maqam, with the diving procedures secured Wes's meeting was announced over the intercom. When the team began to file in, their faces generated a flood of memories that spanned a lifetime, years of friends and comrades in arms. Standing behind a small table at the front of the ward room, he thought, not such a bad life for a poor kid from the streets of Chicago; no not such a bad life at all. How many men were granted this type of a reunion under such unique circumstances? But now, each of their lives was in his hands. He would decide if the mission was a go, and make decisions during each phase of the rescue operation that would place these men and women in harm's way. Could he handle the responsibility? Could he live with himself if things went badly and he lost one or more of them? He mused how different things looked from when he was in his thirties and part of or leading teams of young men on such missions. He'd seen friends killed, been wounded himself, and never given too much thought to the danger of each undertaking. But now, his perspective was totally different. These were not young bucks, without responsibilities. They had served and served honorably, they had, as Roger put it that day in Bend, done their twenty, and in most cases more.

Hector Villa was one of the first to arrive and took a seat in the front row - a short man, a hair over 5'5", in his late 30's, slightly overweight with dark penetrating eyes, and a full head of unkempt curly black hair. His body language conveyed a confrontational bordering on hostile attitude. He was nervously tapping a pencil on a small pad as if trying to hurry the proceedings along. Wes had not had a chance to speak with the reporter though it was something he intended to do as soon as time permitted.

Along with the Ranger team, Captain Jacobson, Commander Irwin, Boomer, and a few other Virginia crewmen rounded out the assembly.

Wes stood in front of the group, asked Jenny to close the door, and began. "Before I get started, I would like to introduce Captain Jacobson, his XO, Commander Irwin, and the newest member of our dive team, Master Diver, Master Chief Thompson, Boomer, to his friends. And, if I am not mistaken, the gentleman in the front row is Mr. Hector Villa of the New York Times."

Each in turn, half stood and then settled in for the remainder of the briefing. Boomer was noticeably pleased at being introduced as part of the dive team. Villa seemed irritated at being identified.

Wes continued. "As part of the documentation of the mission, I have instructed Roger to record the proceedings of this meeting and any future meetings. Further, as I understand it, it is also standard procedure to record meetings such as this into the boat's log, is that correct Captain?"

The Captain nodded.

Wes continued. "So, with the administrative procedures out of the way, let's proceed. I have a question for my team. What are the two objectives of this mission?"

Several voices called out, "Rescue the hostages."

"That's one." Responded Wes.

Silence prevailed.

Wes smiled. "It's not a trick question ladies and gentlemen, but it is a hard one to grasp, yet it is the objective of every single combat mission that ever has, is, or will take place. The second objective is to take no casualties. By that I mean wounded or dead. Can this be assured on a mission such as this? No. But, the main factor in how great our chances are in accomplishing this objective is the Rules of Engagement."

Enlightenment flowed across the audience faces. Wes was not sure, but he thought that he noticed a slight tensing in Villa's body.

"So, there are no misunderstandings, I want to make clear the Rules of Engagement for this mission. One - nothing that takes place during this mission is subject to any outside scrutiny unless I, for the AF Team or Captain Jacobson, for the crew of the Virginia, request such action. And then, the only action that is permitted will be through the military justice system under the Uniformed Code of Military Justice (UCMJ)."

Mr. Villa had his hand up before Wes finished. Wes gestured and he began. "Surely you do not believe what you have just said? There is precedence that men and women in combat are subject to a multitude of humanitarian reviews and, if the circumstances dictate, discipline. These reviews run from the local civil justice system up through the United Nations and the World Court. I find it preposterous that you would imply otherwise; you are either completely unaware in matters such as these or worse, outright lying to these people."

During Villa's comments, Wes sat quietly on the corner of the small table and waited for the journalist to finish his attack. He almost felt guilt as he had somewhat baited the journalist and was expecting such a reaction. Here we go, he thought.

"Mr. Villa, I don't lie as you will see in a few minutes, and I am acutely aware of the current trend in the Rules of Engagement as they pertain to our military, but first, let's talk a little bit about war. War is an irrational, barbaric act that proves absolutely nothing except who is stronger or luckier. That goes for two kids duking it out in a schoolyard to two nations shooting nuclear missiles at each other. Someone wins, not necessarily the good guy with the righteous cause. The problem is when nations decide to go to war; they send human beings to fight that war. Those human beings had nothing to do with causing it; all that they know is that their country is asking them to go out and risk being killed. Then society tries to justify this irrational act by civilizing it with rules. Pure and simple, Mr. Villa, that's bullshit! What that results in is a lot of good American lives being wasted because they must play by rules that the enemy isn't aware of, and if they were, would ignore.

"In combat, it is kill or be killed. Let me say that again, kill or be killed. There will always be collateral damage; that is a bi-product of war. If you want to stop it, stop war. A split second can mean you die. A combat infantryman in a firefight amidst the gunfire, smoke, and cries of human beings reduced to their basest animal instincts of survival, shoots to kill anything in front of him; that may be the enemy, a woman with a baby, an old man running for cover, or even some of his own - friendly fire. That is the horror and reality of war, the innocent die along with the guilty.

"Before I took this assignment, I had a set of conditions, one of the primary ones being that I set the Rules of Engagement. To insure that this condition was honored, I spoke personally with the President and convinced him to sign letters absolving each member of my team by name from any disciplinary action unless I, or should I be killed, whoever remains in command initiate that action. A similar letter has been signed for the entire crew of the Virginia with the sole authority to initiate disciplinary action resting with the Captain or, in his untimely demise, his succession of command.

"Now, that we have cleared the air on this issue, I would like to get on with the agenda of this meeting."

Villa would not be silenced and this time he shouted. "I now see why I was included in this mission. It is to keep you and your band of killers from wreaking havoc on innocent non-combatants. Well, let me tell you, each and every one of you, you better be looking over your shoulder every time you pull the trigger because I will be right behind you documenting every detail of your actions. You may not suffer any official punishment, but be advised you will suffer the wrath of my pen which will make the world aware of your conduct and I am sure that the world will not tolerate it."

A hush fell over the group as Villa finished his outburst and sat down. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily. Wes, on the other hand was struggling to maintain his composure and felt a rush of adrenalin that almost screamed to his subconscious, "Now I get to say the things that have been rolled up in my guts for years" - OK Mr. Villa, you asked for it, now you are going to get it!

Wes looked out at the assembly and began. "Mr. Villa, I personally look upon most of today's in-bedded journalists as, at one end of the spectrum, assets to the enemy, and at the other end, the actual enemy. First, your presence contributes nothing to the mission, from a military standpoint; you are dead weight. Second, your presence on the battlefield actually puts the real combatants at risk, either because they are trying to look after you, or because, as you so clearly put it, they are looking over their shoulder to either offer you protection or worrying about what you are writing about them. It is when they are looking over their shoulders that many of them are killed because of the distraction. Third, most of you talk out of both sides of your mouth - extolling the military fighting man or woman on one hand, and badmouthing the war on the other. They go together Mr. Villa. How do you think GIs feel when you applaud them and tear down the very things they are fighting and dying for? Fourth, a lot of what you report actually helps the enemy. Here's a revelation for you. Each of the previously failed hostage rescue missions had two things in common - the al-Qaida has a much more elaborate Intel system than we believed and leaks. Where do you think many of those leaks came from?

"So, Mr. Hector Villa, hear me loud and clear. I will tolerate no action on your part that jeopardizes this mission or the safety of this team. You will only go ashore if I deem it prudent and that your presence will not interfere with the mission. If I have to physically restrain you to accomplish this, I will."

Villa jumped up and screamed, "You do not have the authority to do that!"

"But I do.", came a loud clear response from Captain Jacobson. "If your actions put the ashore team at risk, you put this boat at risk, and I will not allow that."

Wes picked up where the Captain left off, "And, one last point Mr. Villa, if you are permitted to go ashore and you in any way endanger the operation or any of my people, I will personally return you to the boat and have you restricted to quarters. Now, this discussion is over. It is time to get back to the purpose of the briefing - initial strategy of the mission."

Villa, obviously angry, but unable to take on the management of both the submarine and the Special Ops force sat down and remained silent for the remainder of the meeting.

Wes finally able to get on with the briefing, explained that the tactical plan was that there would be no casualties on either side, emphasizing the phrase, either side. He noted a surprised look on Villa's face as he went on. "You all have the playbooks that were furnished during our two month training back at Fort Custer. They mostly contain instructions for using the new diving equipment and the tranquilizer weapons including the special sleep or knock-out gas that make up level one of our arsenal. You were told that this was a rescue mission and the reasons for our group being chosen, but the specifics were purposely kept from you until now for security reasons. Jenny, slide number one."

Jenny had previously set up the visual presentation and was now positioned behind her laptop responding to Wes's prompts.

"As you can see, this is a map of the Arabian Gulf. Bahrain has almost become our second home, but a little further north is Iran and on its west coast, a town called Bandar-e Maqam. Ladies and gentlemen, that is our objective. Some in-country Intel reports that a little over four months ago, the hostages were moved to a camp just north of the town, overlooking the sea. Jenny, slide two. These are a series of satellite pictures showing the camp and its layout. Slide three please. This is a picture of the cliff that serves as the seaward boundary of the mainland. 135 feet below that cliff lies the cave that could be the entrance to an abandoned World War Two German submarine pen. You will be furnished copies of these slides for your playbooks. Any questions so far?"

It was Jack Segar who asked. "What if it is not a submarine pen, just a cave?"

Wes responded. "Then we have some serious reevaluation to do. We are not equipped for a full-scale military assault on the compound. Not only do they have superior forces, but they are familiar with the terrain, and we would lose most of the element of surprise. I think if our tactical advantage is taken away from us, we would have to abort the mission."

There followed a lot of grumbling, sighs, and head shaking.

Wes went on. "The new pages for your playbooks not only show the slides, but each of your assignments. When we are on station which will be...Captain?"

"About two hours."

"When we are in position, two teams will be dispatched; one consisting of four divers who will survey the entrance - height, width, depth of water, obstructions, any other anomalies. Mark will lead that team, the remaining members being Sheldon Diamond, Al Russo and Bill Torintino. Normally, if time permitted, we would send out an initial exploratory team and then proceed with the two team approach. If time permitted."

Celena raised her hand and asked. "Why don't we use the mini-sub?"

Wes responded. "For the initial exploration dives, we want to be out and back in short order. Until we know that this mission is a go, we will proceed under the assumption that a speedy exit may be needed. Un-docking and re-docking the mini-sub takes time while divers can be released and recovered using the pod in a much shorter time.

"The second team will be Steve Levine and I. We will penetrate the opening and perform an initial inspection.

"As soon as team one finishes its data gathering, it will return to the Virginia. If either team encounters any difficulty, it will send the temporary abort signal which will advise the Captain to take his boat off station and into deep water where he will wait for the all clear and return for our pick up or, if the teams are captured or killed, head back towards the open sea. The safety of the Virginia is paramount."

It was Doug Zahrn who next raised a question. "What type of difficulty do you anticipate?"

"Doug, you've been on enough combat missions when you were Navy EOD to know if it can go wrong, it will. Any number of things could cause us to lose the element of surprise or the cave could turn out to be exactly that, a cave. Or, we could be discovered, maybe we already have been. Or it may be something we never even considered. Perhaps the Iranians know about the cave, have it bugged to detect intruders and as soon as we trip the alarms, we blow the mission. We will overkill caution until we get our feet on the ground and secure our base camp, which hopefully will be in an abandoned German sub pen.

"Any more questions?"

It was Doug again. "Colonel, according to the script, we will be dropped off in 60 feet of water and heading down to 135 feet. Correct me if I am wrong, but the Virginia will not go right up against the cliff. At that depth, we will have about 10 minutes bottom time before we require decompression. And those 10 minutes includes all the time to exit the sub, surface, and descend to the working depth. How do you see this aspect of the dive?"

"Good question. First, these will be decompression dives so we may as well get our terminology clear. As you all know, in most cases, decompression is preventative and recompression is corrective. OK, don't hit me with exceptionally deep, long duration dives being a combination whereby the diver makes the first decompression stop underwater and then ascends to be placed in a chamber for the remainder of the decompression process."

Roger broke in with, "Wes, for those of us who are quite content to spend our days above the water, basking in the warm sun, would you be so kind as to explain the difference between decompression and recompression? I have heard those terms for years and never understood them."

"OK Roger, here is a little Diving 101. When nitrogen in the air we breathe is subjected to increased pressure it goes into solution in our bloodstream. The pressure exerted by seawater at 135 feet is over 70 psia (pounds per square inch absolute) as opposed to 14.7 psia at sea level or, in our case within the Virginia. After the dive teams return from their 135 foot dive and re-enter the Virginia, the pressure on their bodies will be reduced back to 14.7 psia which will cause the nitrogen in their bloodstreams to return to its gaseous form. If pressure on the body is reduced too fast the nitrogen gas forms bubbles which flow through the bloodstream causing pain, paralysis, and even death. These bubbles tend to clog the bloodstream at narrow points in the body (joints) causing pain, hence, the name, Bends. During decompression, divers rise slowly stopping at various depths, which allows the nitrogen to gradually go back into a solution in the blood and be absorbed by the system avoiding clogging. When this does not occur, the symptoms previously mentioned manifest themselves and the diver succumbs to decompression sickness (the bends). At such times corrective action or recompression must be applied. Recompression is the process where the effected diver is put into a hyperbaric chamber; the pressure on his or her body is increased according to a prescribed regimen, and gradually reduced until the nitrogen in the bloodstream is absorbed back into a liquid thus avoiding the bends."

"Hey Wes, we are not one of your sport diving classes - where are you going with this?" was voiced by my good friend and ex SEAL, Stu Martin.

Wes went on, "As we cannot decompress in the standard way, we will always decompress in the sub's recompression chambers; so let's settle on decompression as the term even though it will always occur in a chamber. There is a Diving Medicine Officer (DMO) on board who will oversee all recompression activity. Your computers will track bottom time and warn you as you near no decompression limits, which, as Doug just mentioned at 135 feet, is approximately 10 minutes. The time required to depart the boat at 60 feet, surface, descend to 135 feet, and then return to 60 feet to reenter the chamber will require both teams to undergo decompression.

"One final point on our initial assault. To expedite our arrival after we leave the pod, we have the two battery powered diver tow sleds that we practiced with during training. Due to their compact size, they can be stowed inside the chamber and moved easily through the exit hatch. Their GPS systems have been programmed with the coordinates of the cave and they contain a HOME command that will take them back to the Virginia, even if she moves. Upon exiting, both teams will surface and be towed on the surface to the cave's location guided by the coordinates programmed into the sleds."

"Why go in on the surface, we would be less visible underwater?" came from Tony Drake.

"Each sled's GPS system needs an antenna above the water to function. Also, going in on the surface will reduce bottom time which will cut down on the decompression. By the way, the Virginia's HOME command is not GPS and will work underwater. Once we locate the pen, a similar device will be installed in its entrance which will permit underwater location.

"Steve and I will enter the cave and hopefully surface inside and be able to do a quick reconnaissance. So, expect us to return after team one.

"Any more questions?"

As Wes looked at his team, he could see the weariness is their eyes. They had been on the go for over three months straight and except for the day and a half rest in Bahrain, were still trying to adjust to their new underwater environment. Now they had elaborate playbooks that laid out complex tactics that they would have to learn and execute.

"OK. That's it. I've given you a lot of information to digest. Study your playbooks. Learn your roles. Tony Drake and Edgar Stone will have all the gear for the two teams laid out in the LOLI when we arrive on station. In the meantime, try to get some rest. "

As the group filed out of the ward room, Wes made it a point to catch up with Hector Villa. "Mr. Villa, can I have a few minutes of your time?"

Villa, looking somewhat surprised, replied. "Uh...Sure. How about my cabin?"

Due to his status, the journalist had been provided private quarters which, again, surprised Wes because of his prior military experience and how things had changed in the short 10, or well, not 10, but closer to 30 years since he retired.

As Villa showed Wes into his quarters and closed the door, he said, "You are quite an adversary. Are you really what you exhibit or are you just mouthing the party line?"

Wes studied the man for a few moments, then responded. "Mr. Villa..."

Villa cut him off, "Call me Hector, please. Now that we are all cozy and informal. I would offer you a drink, but the Navy does not allow alcohol on board their submarines."

Wes began again, "Then you can call me Wes. Hector, I think it is important that you understand how all this came about. And why this team is here, and what motivates it."

Villa had taken a seat at a small desk on which sat a lap top, some pencils, and yellow legal pad. "I'm all ears."

Wes spent the next 20 minutes relating all the details that led up to the present. Hector seemed surprised by the parts about General Castillo's findings concerning the previous failed missions and that the team was totally voluntary. As Wes related the circumstances and studied the man's reactions, he saw a series of expressions running from enlightenment to compassion. When Wes finished his recount and Hector finally spoke, it was in a hushed voice. "Colonel, ah Wes, I am at a loss for words, and for me that is almost unheard of. The information that you have just relayed humbles me somewhat, and I am not a man given to be humble. One question. Why are you doing this? Why are you all doing this?"

"Before I answer that, I have just told you how my team and I happen to be here. How did you become part of this mission?"

Hector grinned and replied. "My editor just called me into his office one afternoon and told me to be onboard the Virginia when she left the states for the Mid East. I do know that President Stanton and my editor went to college together and are fraternity brothers. My guess is that the President was uneasy about the Advance Pardons that you coerced him into issuing and figured that my presence would temper your actions."

Wes, having surmised as much continued. "That makes sense to me. OK, why am I doing this? Hector, I can't speak for the rest of my team, but I suspect that their motives are similar to mine. As for me, I have a lot of misgivings with our current government and how it has been usurped by the courts starting with the Supreme Court on down, and most of all the new American work ethic of do as little as possible and the government will take care of me. Sure proves that old adage of ignorance is bliss. Today's American citizens would rather watch TV, drink beer, and wallow in how great their country is, than take the time to educate themselves on the issues and the people that are running the railroad. They have the vote, but refuse to use it responsibly. One of these days they will wake up in a totally communist or socialist country and wonder how it happened."

All the while that Wes was talking, Hector was scribbling on his yellow pad. He looked up and repeated. "Same question. Why then do you risk your life for this government?"

"Hector, first, I have been a part of defending the United States most of my life, to the point that it has become second nature. And, in my opinion, with all her faults, the US is still the best country in the world to live in. A hackneyed cliché, but a true one. As for this mission, it is not about our fucked-up government, it is not about one party or the other; is about 27 innocent people who did nothing to anyone and have had their freedom taken from them. It is about 24 civilians and 3 military, 7 women and 20 men; each with lives, loved ones, parents, wives, husbands, children. They have hopes and dreams, and futures. Who is anyone to interrupt their lives for no reason except some political game? That's 80 % of the why. The other 20% is our country's image. The United States has been there time and again for other nations around the world. Even after World War Two, who was it that provided the lion's share of everything to rebuild Japan, the very nation that killed so many of our people? I know that one small voice in the crowd can't fix the government that is in place; it has become too large and has too much power. Power, I might add that we have relinquished due to our complacency. But, at my level, when an opportunity arises to be part of anything that demonstrates what our country stands for (maybe I should say, stood for, for the new world order seems to be changing our value system), something inside of me demands that I be a part of it. I'm tired of having our country's image diminished, and if in some small way this shows that there is a semblance of resolve in our nation's will to protect its people, then good for me and good for this team, and to hell with all the political rhetoric and fanfare. I've had it up to here with doubletalk and unfulfilled promises and excuses. On rare occasions, there is a chance for action. This is one of those occasions. Does that answer your question?"

"Colonel.., Wes, I have never had the chance to sit and talk with a military commander as we are talking now. I must admit that your views are quite different than the way that I picture military men's attitudes. I always thought of you people as glory hounds, macho shoot-em-up, all testosterone - damn the torpedoes and all that. Now, speaking as an investigative journalist, where do you see all this going?"

This was a question that Wes had asked himself many times at different stages of his life and his response was well thought out. He cleared his throat as he began. "It is my opinion that the United States is on the decline as a world power. Sadder still, it is becoming a third world nation. We blame this on the illegal immigrants, when it is not rampart immigration, but the nation's lack of resolve to enforce its laws. Drugs account for a majority of crime in this country, but the drugs and resultant crime are the effect; the cause is the same as the immigration problem, our nation's unwillingness to pass and enforce laws that will stamp this plague out. Then we come to the penal system with our courts bloated with blood-sucking ambulance-chasing lawyers bringing cases before the bar that are clearly arbitrary and capricious, while murder cases are allowed to drag on for years. Everyone accused of a crime has the right to a speedy trial. What about the victims - are they not entitled to the same process of justice? And look at some of the cases that 50 years ago would have been no-brainers that are decided for the criminal. The guy robbing your house gets spooked and while running away, trips on something in your dark back yard and sues you AND WINS. Prisons have become rehabilitation centers rather than punishment by confinement facilities. In many instances, prisoners live better than our military and are afforded more opportunities than the homeless who have never broken a law. They get educational rights, room and board; learn a trade, free medical, and the list goes on. In effect, the country, starting with Congress on down to the lowest city government has turned over the law making to the legal system. The people pass a law and the courts, hiding behind the Constitution, strike it down. I'm not a scholar, but, I don't feel that the drafters of the Constitution ever intended laws on the books ever to not be enforced, or the will of the people struck down by legal smoke and mirrors. Until, our government is set back to where the courts interpret the laws, not make them, we are not much better than a dictatorship where the citizen's desires are subject to the will of the judicial system.

"How about the thin blue line? Look at their rules of engagement - take a round before you draw and fire your weapon. And though we have touched on the military rules of engagement, think about this. What motivated Captain Calley during the My Lai massacre was the insanity of war. His conviction was the start of watering down the rules of engagement to the deplorable situation we see today. Our fighting men and women should answer to no one but their military chain of command. And this thing of our country even considering an enemy combatant bringing any kind of charges against our troops makes me want to puke."

Villa broke in. "Colonel, do you mind if I publish some of this?"

"Why should you have to? Isn't it apparent? Is everybody in this country asleep? Sure write what you please, but the mission itself is still classified."

"Understood. You briefly alluded to our government with a deleted expletive. Would you care to elaborate on that feeling?"

"Hector, I am dumping years of pent up frustrations and you ask for more. You truly are a sucker for punishment. OK. Congress, both houses, has become a career instead of a temporary assignment that state representatives take a few years off from their professions to go to Washington to insure that their state's best interests are not overridden by the federal government, that the Constitution is upheld, and that the best interests of the nation are promoted. So their priorities should be country then state. But, by changing this from a temporary job to a career, the priorities become, me (get reelected), party, state, and last, if there is any time left, country. Seems incredibly backwards to me." In the course of that first priority comes the favor swapping for funding. And yet, there is a simple solution - term limits. Granted this would not fix all the crooked bureaucratic politics, but it would be a start. Will it ever happen? No."

Hector once again asked. "So where are we going?"

"Hector, this part is off the record and is strictly my personal opinion, and cannot be repeated as coming from a military officer. Agreed?"

Villa set his pencil down, turned to face Wes and replied, "Agreed."

"My personal feelings are that as we slip more and more into the third world mentality with the middle and lower classes being melted into one that is primarily dependent upon the government for support, that new, lower/middle class will continue to become increasingly disenchanted with the ruling class as the gap between the two increases, which will eventually result in a revolution or civil war depending on how history chooses to call it. The other scenario is that we continue to weaken our military to the point that one of the emerging super powers conquers us. Russia has had that goal for generations. My greatest fear in that direction is China or some coalition - Russia and China or Russia and Iran, or, you name it.

"There is a third possibility, though, probably the most unlikely. The judicial system continues to increase its power; the two parties unite and continue to abdicate their legislative powers to the courts, which eventually gravitate into a dictatorship. Amidst all this, the newly formed dictatorship could be absorbed by the One World Order. But, no matter how you slice it, eventually the subjected outnumber the ruling class and a revolution occurs. This has been repeated time and again throughout history."

Villa looked at Wes and shook his head. "I have heard the revolution conspiracy theory for several years now. Do you think that could really happen in this country?"

Wes replied. "Still off the record. I do, and it is what scares the hell out of me, not for me personally, or even my kids, but my grandkids and their kids. We have not only destroyed our image, our work ethic, our religious heritage, our financial stability, but also our culture. We are no longer a United States, but rather a country made up of Mexican communities, Russian Communities, Asiatic communities, an ever growing Islamic community. Funny, how these people have migrated to a foreign country and managed to keep their heritages, while we have so freely surrendered ours. America is literally being divided and conquered from within. We have sold off so much American soil to other countries that even something a ludicrous as building a mosque almost across the street from where Muslims destroyed more American property and killed more American citizens in the continental United States than any foreign power ever before, becomes an item of contention to our leaders. By the time our wimped-down government got done with its legal rhetoric, the mosque was built and we have, once again acquiesced rather than take a stand against injustice. Why? Who knows, to gain some votes, to comply with the politically correct bullshit, a really far out belief that if we continue to roll over, the enemy will leave us alone - we tried that with Hitler. It is true; we don't learn from history, we just keep repeating it. Talk about insanity."

The Captain's voice sounded over the ship's intercom. "We will be on station in 15 minutes. Dive teams report to suit-up area immediately."

Wes looked at Villa and said, "Well Hector seems our talk has been cut short. I hope we can finish this later."

To which Villa replied. "Wes, you can count on it."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

October 16, 2013

Off the coast of Bandar-e Maqam, Iran

11:30 P.M.

While making his way aft, Wes was running the exercise through his mind. This was it. In a few minutes, he and five of his closest friends would depart the safety of their titanium sanctuary and embark into the hostile Iranian/al-Qaida domain. Even though everything had been diagramed out and studied by the two teams, missions such as this carried more chance of failure, or at least "glitches" than pure, unobstructed success. They would leave through the forward LOLI chamber as the aft chamber was mated to the Advanced Seal Delivery System submarine. The Virginia would level out at 60 feet, discharge its swimmers, and remain on station until their return. The dive teams would be towed to the programmed GPS coordinates to locate and explore - what, a cave or the hoped for abandoned submarine pen? All the bases were covered - sure they were.

Each wore a standard ¼ inch wet suit which was donned prior to entering the LOLI chamber where Tony and Edgar, the team's Diving Tenders, waited to assist the divers in suiting up. A third presence was about in the form of Boomer who meticulously helped with the suiting up, though his expression clearly betrayed how much he wished that he was going on this dive. The specialized gear, much of it still in its experimental testing stage, made each member look like something out of a science fiction movie. Starting with the full face mask, more like a helmet that fit over an optic/communications module (OCM). The optic module could be switched from normal, to night vision, to infrared with zoom capabilities in any of the settings. The modes were controlled by a waterproof remote that was velcroed to each diver's wet suit. A button on the side of the OCM also permitted changing modes when the units were used for land operations. It also contained a voice recorder and a digital camera that could record movies and still pictures in any of the modes. The communications module was built into the unit with ear pieces fitting over each ear and a microphone enclosed in the chin strap. The audio portion of the OCM contained some stealth and security features that were way beyond any of the team's expertise to understand. All of this was crammed into a bizarre looking package that resembled a Bakelite doughnut or headband that fit over the eyes and ears of the user, secured by crisscrossing straps over the head and anchored by a chin strap. Though quite compact compared to most state-of-the-art Night Vision Devices (NVD) which make the wearer look like a deformed anteater, modified full face diving masks were required to accommodate the additional bulk and still effect a watertight seal. In addition to the structural modifications, the masks also contained a plasma screen panel, showing depth, tank pressure, compass readings, time, and decompression monitor negating the diver having to look down at the various instrumentation attached to his tank or worn on his wrist and weight belt. A considerable amount of time during the team's two month training period had been devoted to learning how to use and trust this equipment. At first, as was to be expected, whenever you teach old dogs new tricks, there was a lot of bitching; but the more they used the gear, the more comfortable they became with it, finally rolling over on their backs and admitting that there had been some changes in the last 30 years. The masks and OCMs of individuals with visual and/or hearing problems had been modified to provide corrected sight and sound.

Their twin 71.2 cf steel tanks would be added in the ASDS. Most wore buoyancy compensators (BCs) which only added to the bulky un-humanlike appearance of the group. Wes wore his standard Mae West type floatation gear which made him look 20 pounds lighter than the rest of his team. Rounding out the high tech gear, each of four man team carried instrumentation that would allow them to measure the size of the opening, while Wes and Steve carried air quality measuring equipment.

Wes watched his son as he helped each diver into their gear. He appeared happy and went about his business with a purpose that seemed to indicate that he had finally found something that he could identify with. Like many of us, Edgar had struggled most of his childhood and early adult life with finding himself and during that journey, had made some mistakes. To further complicate his life, he had inherited the alcoholic gene. After becoming aware of their son's disease, Wes and Char had spent a great deal of time learning about it. What they discovered changed their whole outlook on problem drinkers, and put them on a tightrope for the last ten years. Questions such as where that nasty little gene came from, how to help someone afflicted with it and not become an enabler, and, most difficult of all, how to keep the family intact, were constantly being addressed. They learned how hard it was for someone with this condition to deal with it in a society that attributed drinking to all walks of life from celebration to camaraderie, to manliness. True, Edgar had been clean and sober for over a year, but he was still searching for something in this world that he could do well and feel comfortable with - his little corner of existence. As a father, Wes wanted that with all his heart, as he watched and hoped, and said a silent prayer. "Please Lord, let this be it."

With all the divers suited up except for their full-face masks, they performed a final buddy check. Wes watched as Edgar, Tony, and Boomer dropped through the hatch into the Virginia. Boomer, took Wes's arm just before he slipped through the hatch and said, "You take care out there big Colonel."

Wes thought how unusual it was that a strong bond could be formed between two people who had only known each other for a short period of time, while true friendship eluded many lifelong acquaintances.

The hatch was sealed and the LOLI chamber began to fill with seawater. When it was partially filled, the divers donned their full face helmets and performed a communications check between themselves and the Virginia's comm center. The filling continued until the chamber was completely flooded.

The top hatch was opened and Wes gave one last check, giving each a thumbs up prior to their departing the chamber. Levine and Torintino had been assigned the tasks of launching the mini-sleds which simply amounted to guiding them through the hatch where the two teams were grouped on deck behind the sail. The chamber's hatch would remain open and flooded until the first team returned, at which time it would be closed, the chamber drained, and the team extracted. It would then be reopened to the sea in preparation for the second team's return.

It was a little after midnight, as the divers made their way to the surface for a quick orientation and positioning of the sled's antennas. Thereafter, GPS systems were activated and the sleds powered up for the quarter mile trip to cliffs of Bandar-e Maqam. The experimental underwater night vision functioned as advertised, both under and above the water, which was a relief to Wes who had seen Murphy's Law work against him on numerous occasions in the past. No matter how many times a piece of equipment was tested in a lab or pool, something usually went wrong in the field.

For the trip to the coordinates, each sled pulled three divers on the surface which not only conserved air but by distributing the sleds' payloads, maximized their speed. There was a sliver of moon showing, but the divers in black wet suits being towed behind the dull black sleds were practically invisible.

It took a little over ten minutes before the night vision's pea-green surrealistic optics displayed the gentle surf that indicated where sea and land met below Bandar-e Maqam. The lights of the city quickly faded as the sleds angled north towards the programmed coordinates. A few minutes later the GPS systems indicated that the teams were on station. Though radio communication was available, it was to be kept to a minimum, especially while on the surface. Wes pointed to his eyes, then to Steve, and finally signaled team one to hold as he and Steve began their descent down the underwater side of the cliff. At 135 feet a depression appeared in the cliff's side. As they hovered outside of the opening, something did not look right. It was small, fifteen to twenty feet in width, not symmetrical and appeared to be a product of nature, not man. A cautious venture into the aperture confirmed that it was merely a natural underwater cave, nothing more.

As they exited, Steve's voice came over Wes's headset, "Well buddy, we tried." This said, he started a slow flutter kick towards the surface. Wes reached up and grabbed one of his fins, halting his ascent. Steve descended back to Wes's side and held out his hands, palms up in a what? gesture. Wes pointed down and began to sink, feet first as he exhaled reducing his buoyancy. 150 feet flashed on his helmet readout, then 165, then, just as Wes was ready to terminate the dive, something appeared below. They continued their descent to the seabed floor 185 feet below the surface and stood on the sandy bottom gazing into a huge symmetrical opening that rose at least twenty feet from the ocean floor.

Wes's dry humor emerged as he quipped, "Well I guess we've got to the bottom of this."

Steve provided a technical assessment, "I'll be damned!"

Wes scanned his readouts, concerned mainly with air consumption. He immediately contacted team one and directed them to descend to 185 feet with the sleds and begin their assigned task as he motioned Steve into the opening.

They swam into the crevice until it changed from a flooded underwater cave to a cave that was filled with water, had a surface, and...what? As Wes and Steve broke the surface, they found themselves within a monstrous chamber so large that their night vision could not penetrate into its farthest reaches. The first thing they noticed was that it was a natural cave that had been extensively modified by man. But that revelation was quickly diminished by a more startling discovery. Moored to one of what appeared to be two concrete docks, was a World War Two German submarine with a huge U-337 painted on the side of its conning tower and the Reich Sadler emblem, an eagle with spread wings over a swastika in an oak wreath on the front. Completing the bizarre discovery was the Kriegsmarine flag, with its iron cross and large swastika, mounted to the side of the conning tower. Under the number was a shield with three fish swimming in formation. Steve's comment was. "Dis must be da place."

Realizing that they were still using tank air, Wes removed his air quality measuring meter, turned it on and hoped for at least a marginal breathable air quality reading. He was pleasantly surprised to see not a marginal, but a far green reading which meant that the air was not only breathable, but of a very good quality.

They removed their helmets, took several breaths and confirmed what the meter had conveyed. But how? They listened for any mechanical sounds, generators running pumps to purify the air. Nothing, in fact, there was absolutely no sound.

Wes's headset came on. Team two, this is team-leader, team one. "We have finished assignment and are departing. Have planted homing device at the cave entrance. One sled left."

Wes responded. "Copy that. We will be along shortly. Take care."

Wes and Steve did a quick reconnaissance of the great room, taking pictures with special low/no light digital cameras that virtually work in the dark, trying to capture as many details as they could on film and voice recorder during this short in and out operation. As much as they wanted to extend their stay, Wes knew that their mission had been accomplished and further exploration would require a larger team with specialized equipment. He also knew that the longer the Virginia lingered in shallow water, the more vulnerable she was to discovery. It was time to leave.

They reconnected their headsets to their dive helmets, checked each other's gear and slipped into the water retracing their route to the pen's entrance where they powered up the awaiting sled. As soon as the Virginia's homing button was activated, the sled took off arching up from 185 feet towards the 60 foot mark where the Virginia awaited with its open chamber to recover them. Wes kept a wary eye on his air supply which was down from 3000 psi to 800 psi, and though they both had small reserve pony bottles attached to their main tanks it was uncomfortable to cut it this close. They started out riding the sled side by side, but as air consumption become an concern, they stretched out in tandem with Wes in front and Steve hanging on to his fins, the idea being to reduce drag and make better time.

Wes let out a sigh of relief as a darker section of green took on a definite shape which finally became the Virginia. It only took a few minutes until Wes, Steve, and the sled were safely inside the LOLI chamber, the seawater drained, and the bottom hatch cracked. Drake and Ed were immediately in to help remove gear, then clearing the chamber by taking it to the storage area for washing, tank refilling and battery recharging. The Diving Medical Officer was waiting as they descended the ladder into the sub, to remove their decompression computer modules from their weight belts. As Wes and Steve wriggled out of their wet suits, two seamen came down the companionway with robes and coffee. Both were gratefully accepted, and, as they knew from their helmet readouts, they would require decompression; they slipped into the robes, and followed the DMO to the recompression chamber. Team one was being treated in the aft compartment of the ASDS which is a full hyperbaric chamber. They would be treated in the Lock Out Lock In Trunk. After the prescribed and carefully monitored time in the chambers, breathing O2, the DMO pronounced the six team members fit for duty.

Wes found the Captain and the XO in the control room and gave them a quick update on the findings. The Captain said, "Then it's a go?"

Wes responded. "For Phase Two."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Things moved very quickly after the initial exploratory dives. Colonel Sansota had led a second team into the pen, spending 48 hours on site. During that time, it was determined that the entire compound was light proof which made sense as the Germans would have been as concerned about light being visible from the surface as the Special Ops team was.

Wes was concerned that the ASDS had to be pressed into service before the sub pen was secured, but the added depth made using SCUBA gear into the pen, without on-site recompression capability, too risky.

Benny's team had completely explored the facility learning that there were three exits. The most apparent was a ladder that rose from the main chamber to the surface. It would have opened almost at the very brink of the cliff and was probably used as a signal point to guide incoming U-Boats. The hatch dog wheel was frozen solid and, not knowing what was above, it was decided to make no attempt to open it.

A corridor led from the main room to living areas where there were small suites for the officers and barracks like rooms with double deck bunks for the enlisted personnel. Each of these areas contained shower and latrine facilities. A complete mess hall, small infirmary, and what appeared to be a lounge rounded out the living accommodations. Other non-living, work areas were supply rooms, parts storage, and different workshops. There was also a generator room to supply the power to light the facility and run the equipment. One exit was discovered at the end of a long corridor that ran from the lounge and the second off a similar corridor running from the dining area in the mess hall. Both exit corridors slanted noticeably upwards, perhaps at close to a 30 degree angle, and ran for several hundred feet. Each exit hatch contained the same type dog wheel that secured the cliff entrance. Each was frozen, but after a great deal of effort was freed allowing the doors to swing in. Here was where the real problems began for behind the doors were rock obstructions. It took Benny's team several hours to free one of the exits enough to allow passage. Not knowing the exact location of where it was in relation to the prison compound, the work proceeded slowly in order to maintain as much silence as possible.

Eventually both doors were freed and the rock obstructions beyond cautiously removed. To the team's relief and the mission's good fortune, each door opened into a cave and was far enough back that crawling was required to get to the entrance. Both were ideal portals to the outside and positioned in such a way that they could be re-concealed quickly, with minimum effort and little chance of discovery.

After clearing the exits, Benny's team made exploratory ventures outside to determine their locations in regards to the prison compound. For the remainder of the mission, the caves were designated lounge cave and mess hall cave. The lounge cave came out in a fairly secluded area out of sight of the compound, however, the mess hall cave entrance was ideally positioned as it came out in a rocky area about 150 feet from the NE guard tower.

***

As soon as Benny's team returned and provided their findings, Wes called the team together and outlined Phase Two. He would spend a week observing the camp's routine, identifying personnel strength, recording guard changes, etc., after which the full scale assault could be planned and executed.

Steve Levene queried. "I have a question. How come you have put exploring the German sub off-limits?"

Wes responded. "Because, the Germans are notorious for booby-trapping things; and the sub would be a prime suspect. This also holds true for the generators"

Doug Zahrn added. "Come on Wes, we have enough EOD expertise on board to defuse anything that World War Two technology could come up with."

"Look Doug, if they rigged it, the explosives used are older than you, and that means they are unstable which only adds to the danger of defusing them. As it doesn't figure in our battle plan, why risk it?"

Jack Segar spoke for the first time, "How come the Intel said 135 feet and we end up working in 185 feet of water? That's a pretty big discrepancy."

"Who knows Jack? Good chance it was a typo, either in the initial report or our intercept. At this point, all that matters is that the pen is there and we can take advantage of it."

Some grumbling arose as Mark Cono put the meeting back on track. "Who's your buddy on this one?"

"No buddy. This is the most dangerous part of the mission and from it will be the determination as to whether or not we proceed. I do this alone."

Sheldon added his two cents. "No way Jose. We have had a cardinal rule that we work the buddy system. No lone wolves."

Wes's determination was conveyed in his reply. "Look, I promised each of your significant others that I would do everything in my power to bring you back in one piece. I am doing just that by going this on my own. I can't go to those who I gave my word to and say, 'Hey, this is a really dangerous one, and I want to take your husband on it. Notwithstanding what I previously said; is that OK?"

"No you can't, but, you can go to a wife and ask that." came from Celena who was standing in the back of the room.

Wes immediately realized that he had been trapped by his own words.

"OK Celena, what do you propose?"

She quickly came back with. As Colonel Sansota and I are the only two significant other team on this boat, I propose that one of us accompany you on the Phase Two reconnoiter. Further, as Colonel Sansota just returned from a mission, and he is second in command, it boils down to one, me."

Wes stood up, walked to the side of the ward room and then back to the table. Celena's logic was right on. In addition, to her point, she was one of the three younger team members. "Celena, you've very skillfully put me into a corner. Benny, what do you say?"

"Hey, I'm only a teacher, she's a doctor. I always do what the doctor orders."

"You're a great help. OK, I can see where your sentiments lie. Do I hear any objections or comments from the rest of you?"

It was Al who capped it off and added some much needed humor. "Wes, in training, she out shot you, outran you, and, being as kind to you as I can, was your equal in hand to hand. The only thing that you outdid Celena in was diving and that's because you helped lay the keel of the Calypso for Cousteau."

The rest of the team roared. Wes looked at Celena and said. "Get to the equipment area and wait for me. Tell Drake that a two ma, I mean, person patrol will be departing within the hour. Have him alert the ASDS crew to be ready to go. The meeting is over. Benny, let's talk."

While the room emptied, Wes and Benny sat at the small table. Wes gave him a list of tasks and quickly explained what he wanted done while he and Celena were ashore. As Wes started to leave, Benny took his arm and said. "Wes, I made pretty light of this, but I understand the danger and your reluctance to take my wife's well-being into your hands. I know that you will do everything in your power to keep her safe, but let's not forget one thing - she is a member of this team, like any of the other members. She's trained and competent, and she volunteered."

Wes looked his old friend in the eye and realizing that there was nothing more to be said, gave a silent nod before turning and heading for the equipment area. The Captain had previously been briefed on Phase Two so there remained nothing more to do except put it in motion.

***

Wes and Celena were hunkered down in a small clump of sagebrush and rocks which they had expended a great deal of time modifying to provide both concealment and an unobstructed view of the camp. Since their arrival six days ago, they had gathered a massive amount of information. The camp was located in a small half-moon shaped valley surrounded on three sides by rocky hills that steeply rose from the cliff several thousand feet into the Iranian interior. Using their night vision and infrared eyes, they had been able to move entirely around the camp locating four optimum shooting sites for taking out the guards in each tower. Thanks to more experimental equipment in the form of high speed, telephoto, digital cameras, they had been able to film each of the hostages and most of their captors. All of this information would be given to Jenny who would incorporate it into the play books and the mission log.

In addition to the four elevated towers, the compound consisted of five buildings; a barracks housing 30 troops, a VIP building occupied by two officers, a small shack with a large antenna that was obviously the communications center, a medium sized building which turned out to be a field mess, and a second barracks where the hostages were housed. All of the buildings had window air conditioning units except the prisoners' quarters. There was a barbed wire fence around the compound with a guard tower at each corner.

After three days of observation, the routine of the camp had been pretty well documented as to when the guards were changed, and how the prisoners were treated. Both the troops and the hostages ate outdoors though the cuisine for the captors was much more substantial than that of the hostages. The officers were served within their quarters.

The military structure was apparent as the troops were assembled each morning and evening for roll call, had an exercise period, and fired a limited number of rounds at makeshift targets set up in a nearby clearing. They also had various chores to perform throughout the day, all worked around the five daily prayer calls (dawn, noon, midafternoon, sunset, and night) which were broadcast from a speaker on top of the communications shack. The prayer calls probably originating in one of the mosque's minarets in Bandar-e Maqam.

One very strange thing that they noted was that three times a day, shortly after meal time, the prisoners were let out for a one hour exercise period. During this period, most of the inmates just wandered around the compound talking, some walked, while others just sat in the sun. One, however, a tall, well built, suntanned guy in his mid to late 30s ran the perimeter of the compound every break. He would stop at the guard tower nearest their hiding place to adjust his shoes and pull up his socks. This routine was followed religiously each time he was allowed access to the courtyard.

Something began to eat at Wes. So far, the Intel had been right on. Everything checked out, but, a couple of buts. Why so many troops to guard 27 non-combatants? And these are not your run of the mill rag-heads, these are real militia. The guards in the towers appeared almost lackadaisical, yet the discipline of the camp indicated otherwise.

Then, on the fourth night of observation another interesting thing occurred. They had settled in for the night expecting the camp to lie dormant when, just after two in the morning, two officers accompanied by three enlisted men stomped to the front door of the hostages' barracks, unlocked it, and entered. There immediately followed a scuffle within and when the party emerged, they were dragging one of the hostages and yelling at him. The front door was immediately sealed while the officers began to beat the captive. As soon as the barracks door was closed and locked, the prisoner stood up, shook hands with one of the officers and followed them into their quarters. Celena captured all of this on film. In an hour, the same man was returned to the hostages' barracks with a few bruises and a limp. Neither Wes or Celena spoke, but the conclusion was obvious - a mole!

On Friday, they had observed a full week of activity and could pretty well predict the camp's routine. That night at 2200 hours, they covered over their observation position, and slipped back into the sub pen. Activity in the camp was sparse, as most Muslim nations observe Thursday and Friday as the weekend which accounted for some of the staff being away, probably off in Bandar visiting wives and family.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Tired and sprouting several days BO, Wes and Celena made their way back through the cave and into the corridor that led to the mess hall. As they left the mess hall, Celena grabbed Wes's arm as she noted light coming from the great room of the sub pen. Wes quickly dispelled her concern. "Relax. Your husband was taxed with setting up a base camp here to make things easier when we get to the extraction."

As they left the tunnel from the mess hall, the interior of the sub pen was seen for the first time in natural colors. Small generators whirred powering the banks of shop lights set up around the dock area. Wes continued to wonder how the air in the chamber remained breathable, even with the generators running, finally chucking it off to German ingenuity. Even when illuminated, the God made, man modified cave was a dismal mixture of varying grays with the only splash of color provided by the striking red, white, and black of the Kriegsmarine standard mounted to 337's conning tower. Sitting in the berth next to the German U-boat was the ASDS. Jack appeared and informed them that Benny had left him in charge when he was called back to the submarine by the Captain. Wes asked Jack how many team members were in the pen. "Three, including me, plus the pilot and navigator. I assume you are ready to return to the Virginia?"

At that moment, Boomer's head emerged from mini-sub's hatch. "Colonel, you didn't think that I was going to let you have all the fun? I love these mini-subs and, though I'm not an officer, I'm qualified as both pilot and co-pilot. Don't even ask how that can be; just chalk it off to the clout that Master Chiefs have. How was your shore leave?"

Wes very pleased to see his new friend came back with. "Great, but the sightseeing was limited due to people with guns ready to shoot tourists. Are you guys ready to go?"

"Whenever you are Colonel."

Wes turned back to Jack. "Shut everything down here and let's head back."

Jack had the generators shut down, except for one which would be left running to make their return a bit easier. Wes noted that the team's primary and secondary arsenals had been moved in along with a small computer workstation. Though a no casualty scenario was planned using the tranquilizer guns and gases, conventional weapons would be deployed in case things went sour. .50 caliber machine guns would be set up in the four towers and each team member would carry an automatic weapon and side arm. Wes knew if it came down to a firefight, they would take heavy losses and be forced to run for their lives. That buzzing in the back of his head kept gnawing at him and would not go away. Something, but what?

Back on the Virginia, Celena immediately headed for a shower. Wes briefly spoke with Benny and passed the cameras to Jenny, He then showered, changed into a fresh jump suit and headed for the ward room. By the time that he arrived, the entire team was assembled along with the Captain and Boomer. Commander Irwin was on duty in the in the Control Section seeing to the well-being of the Virginia.

When Wes and Celena finished their recount of the camp's routine, the mole, the number of troops, and the terrain, everyone was raring to go. Cries of, "hit em tonight" and "piece of cake" (which always forebodes bad tidings) echoed through the ward room.

Wes spoke. "OK, OK, hold it down. First, we are ahead of schedule, so let's not rush it, and screw things up. The pictures that Celena and I took will be in your play books tomorrow, as will our narratives concerning terrain, camp layout, routines, and let's not forget the mole. I want every team member to study the data that we have as it is probably all that we are going to get. By the way, you all should have seen the updates in your play books showing that we have gone to plan B on the extraction. Plan A, the Virginia sailing into the pen and loading the hostages like a cruise ship would have been nice, but the measurements we initially took of the pen's entrance preclude that which is not surprising as the average beam of the old German U Boats was 25 feet and the Virginia's is 34 feet. So, we use the ASDS as a shuttle from the pen to the Virginia. OK, enough for now. Tomorrow we will meet to discuss actual roles - who shoots who, when, the nitty-gritty specifics of the mission down to the exact timing. For now, everybody get a good night's sleep."

Some grumbling persisted, but the room emptied. Standing in the back was Villa who greeted Wes with. "Welcome back, Colonel."

"Thought it was Wes."

"Sorry, welcome back, Wes."

"Thanks, it's good to be back."

"Look, Hector, I really want to talk more with you, but right now, I have to see a young lady about a twitch."

"I think they frown on that sort of thing even more than alcohol on nuclear submarines."

As Wes headed off down the catwalk, he answered back. "Sorry guy, it is not that kind of a twitch."

Villa shrugged as Wes vanished through a hatch.

As soon as she came into view, Wes called out, "Jenny, are we still able to send and receive?"

"Believe so."

"Here's what I need. There are two pictures in the group that I just gave you - one of the mole, and the other of the runner. I want to know everything that you can find out about those two people. Check with the Captain to be sure we can send as well as receive without blowing our cover. I'll be in my cabin recording my narrative and then crashing. Wake me when you have the information."

Wes sat at the small desk in the cabin that he and Benny shared, fired up his laptop and began typing. It was two in the morning and the spell check would be on overload, but he knew that he was running out of gas and that the thoughts, spelled right or not, had to be recorded before they were lost. After fifteen minutes, he found himself nodding off and decided to call it a day. As one gets older, sleep becomes less and less predictable. Many times, it is hard to get to sleep, other times you keep waking up and then can't get back to sleep. None of those issues prevailed as Wes's head hit the pillow.

The next thing he knew Benny was shaking him and it was 0600 hours. As he opened his eyes, he saw Jenny standing behind Benny, paper in hand.

She chimed in. "Good morning, Colonel. I trust you slept well. Here is the information on the two photographs you asked me to gather. They could be poster boys for good and evil."

Wes, now wide awake, snatched the papers from Jenny and rapidly read through the pages. When he finished, the twitch was gone, replaced by a full up twang as he shouted, "That's it!"

***

By 0630 hours, the entire team was once again assembled in the ward room. There was some grumbling (which was starting to become the team's theme song) as sleeping routines are difficult to establish and even more difficult to maintain on a submarine, especially one that is submerged for long periods; therefore, when one is fortunate enough to get to sleep, they would rather be left in that state.

Wes began. "I've been wrestling with some feelings about the mission which, until this morning, I have not been able to put my finger on. Generally, it all seems too easy, and whenever something seems too good to be true, it usually isn't. I still can't put it all together, but some of it is coming into focus."

"Let's start at the beginning. Why would high visibility hostages be relocated to a prison camp on the coast when any number of more secure camps ranging from the worst, Evin, to hidden caves or locations deep within Iran's borders exist? Then, why have a company of thirty guarding 27 mostly non-combatants? And finally, why put a mole into such a group? Top all this off with four apparently dimwitted guards watching over the whole shebang at night."

Doug Zahrn commented. "The extra guards could be because of the camp's vulnerability; maybe even the mole?"

Jack responded. "I see where Wes is coming from. Why create a situation that requires all this in the first place?"

The group began conversing among themselves as Wes patiently waited a lull in the chatter. When it came, he continued. "I had Jenny provide me with the bio on the guy who runs around the camp each exercise period. He is a Marine Gunny Sergeant, Recon Division, 26 years' service, saw combat in Somalis, Desert Shield and Desert Storm. During those tours, he was captured twice and persistently tried to escape, eventually succeeding each time to fight again. Ladies and gentlemen, my question to you is; why is Gunny Sergeant Elmer Greenberg with an extensive background in survival, still a prisoner who meekly runs around a laxly guarded compound three times a day?"

This time it was Celena. "It could be that he has tried and failed because of the mole."

Jacobson checked in. "That is a good possibility, but I know these guys and they have instincts. My guess would be that after one or at most two failed attempts, he would have withdrawn to where he trusted no one and gone it alone."

"Unless the mole is really good and is on or leads the escape committee." came from Al who, after a slight pause continued, "If you think of it, with the mole, four guards are plenty. Even if a SEAL or Ranger team takes out the guards, as soon as they start to evac the hostages, the mole sends a signal and the whole camp comes alive."

Drake added his two cents. "Speaking of this mole, who is he?"

Wes looked at Jenny who responded. "What I was able to gather is that he is Canadian, and uses several aliases. The ones we are aware of are Jim Thorpe, Bill Weathersby, and Tony Cramer. He is a mercenary, fluent in several Mid-Eastern languages, and very anti-American. He has masterminded and personally participated in a multitude of terrorist activities, and is on the FBI's most wanted list. Because most of his operations have resulted in considerable loss of life, he has been nicknamed Scorpion."

"And we can't take him out." was Al's comment.

Hector Villa who also had a standing invitation to the team's meetings surprisingly added, "You mean, you have a known terrorist and you will let him go free?"

Benny finished the thought with. "No causalities on either side. Bummer."

Wes's next comment shocked the group. "Well, what it boils down to is that I am going to have to talk with Sergeant Greenberg!"

It was Sheldon, always the comedian, who responded first. "No problem, just walk up to him, say Hi, we need to talk. When the guards ask what you are doing; I'm sure you'll think of something like, hey bug off, his subscription to Home and Garden expired and..."

Sheldon was cut off by Benny. "Enough. Wes, how in the world can you even consider such a thing? We've been lucky so far just doing our recon, but there is no way we can talk to the hostages. What are you thinking?"

Wes answered. "Well, barring a miracle, I would need to go in at night, dig in close enough to where Gunny stops and try to make contact."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." came from Steve.

"Come on Wes. We have enough information to pull this thing off right now. Let's just do it" from Mark.

The team fell silent waiting for Wes to respond. As he did, his words were quiet, composed, but indicated a serious side that seldom made its way to the public's eye. "I am here today, because I trust my instincts which at this moment are screaming that something is wrong. I need to tie up that one loose end before I will commit this team to Phase Three of the mission. I..."

It was Celena who cut Wes off. "You said barring a miracle. Well, I think that I can give you that miracle!"

Everyone looked at her in amazement. Wes was the first to break the silence, addressing her formally. "Mrs. Sansota, you never fail to amaze me with your bizarre solutions to seemingly unsolvable problems. Exactly what do you have in mind?"

Celena went on to inform the group that the young Lieutenant she was bunking with was a sonar technician and had been telling her about a patent which she recently obtained for a sound projecting device that she called the Acoustic Transmitting Gun or ATG. If Celena understood the process, the device allowed sound to be projected to a very narrow range of parameters, such as a man's head. The Lieutenant called it a sound bullet.

The XO was up and to the boat's intercom. "Now hear this. This is the XO. Lieutenant Monahan, report to the ward room on the double."

A sudden hush fell over the room, as if everyone was talked out. A light tap on the ward room door broke the silence.

"Come" responded the Captain.

A trim, tall, 20 something young lady with dark hair entered; her intense green eyes scanned the room, and upon locating the Captain, she stiffly proceeded to where he was sitting, stood at attention and said. "Sir, Lieutenant Monahan reporting as ordered."

The Captain put her at ease and told her to sit. Four team members almost collided as they jumped up from their chairs. Al won, which seemed to please him immensely. The Lieutenant, having no idea why she had been summoned, was ill at ease and found no humor in the carryings on of this, in her eyes, formidable group. She glanced at Celena who gave her a reassuring smile which seemed to lessen her anxiety; however she still sat straight backed at attention in her chair.

The Captain quickly outlined how her expertise fit into the rescue mission. As soon as she realized that she had not done something wrong, and that her assistance was needed, her bearing took on a completely different appearance. Her expression went from fear to interest and, though her posture remained professionally military, the cardboard stiffness vanished.

As the Captain finished his introduction, he looked at Wes and said. "Colonel Stone."

Wes began. "Relax, Lieutenant. We have run into a problem that is jeopardizing our rescue mission. As you and the entire crew of the Virginia are aware, we are a Special Ops team assigned to rescue 27 hostages being held in a prison compound in Iran. We are presently off-shore of that facility and pretty close to making the assault, however, we need one more piece of information and that is where you come in."

Monahan shifted uneasily in her chair, her eyes fixed on Wes as she responded. "I'll do anything that I can, but I am confused as to what my role in this could possibly be."

Wes went on. "You are a sonar technician, and from what you have told Celena, have patented a device that can focus sound. Depending on what you tell us, that device may prove crucial in our mission. But, before we go too far, could you build your device with components available on the Virginia?"

Monahan thought, then replied. "There would be some jury rigging, but yes, actually the components are pretty common."

"How long would it take to fashion?"

The Lieutenant replied. "With help from some of the electronics technicians and a machinist's mate, I could do it in 24 to 48 hours, working almost around the clock and assuming I had no duty watches to stand."

***

As promised, Lt. Monahan finished her contraption, as Wes nicknamed it, ahead of schedule and had it set up for a demonstration at one end of a 50 foot corridor that had been cleared through several compartments. She then asked Colonel Stone to stand at the other end of the corridor with Lieutenant Colonel Sansota beside him. After a few adjustments, she spoke into a microphone and Benny raised his hand.

Wes was confused and asked. "What gives?"

Benny, realizing what had happened, laughed and responded. "You didn't hear a thing did you?"

Then Wes heard, "What do you think Colonel, is this the cat's meow or what?"

Wes glanced at Benny who obviously had not heard the last transmission. Damn, he thought, it works! Several other demonstrations showed that distance was critical as anyone not at the exact distance would hear nothing. Monahan demonstrated this by having three people stand in a line, one behind the other, with the middle one programmed to receive. She sent the same message to the first who heard nothing and stepped aside, then the middle who received it loud and clear, and finally to the last subject who also heard nothing. The only drawback to the system was that it was one way - it could send, but not receive.

Wes walked back to where Lieutenant Monahan was operating the jury rigged ATG and said. "Lieutenant, it works like a charm. I need you to check me out on its operation. Can you do so in the next couple of hours?"

Her response was instant and confrontational. "No way! Though I make it look easy, it is quite a delicate balance of measurements, calibration based on surrounding conditions, and some sonic Kentucky windage. Add to that two years of experience designing and assembling this, as you call it, contraption, and you may begin to understand how complicated its operation is. No sir. There is no way that you could learn to operate this in a couple of hours, maybe a couple of months."

The Captain, and XO had witnessed this outburst and started to reprimand Lieutenant Monahan, but Wes, with a hand gesture and slight shake of the head was able to quell their displeasure, as he asked. "Captain, can I see you for a moment."

Jacobsen and Wes broke away from the group and found a quiet area.

"Jake, she is right. I have tried a little sonar work and failed miserably. That machine is state of the art and there may be nobody on this planet that can operate it except Lieutenant Monahan."

Jake broke in, "I see where you are going with this; and it's a hard call. First, she would have to volunteer. She is an integral asset to the boat, and if anything happens to her, it weakens my combat capability. And finally, you would be taking on the responsibility of an untrained person in a combat environment. Are you up to that?"

Two weary military professionals stood in silence. Each had been here before. These were the decisions that commanding officers were faced with since the waging of war became fashionable.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Lieutenant Monahan, say, what is your first name?

"Samantha, but my friends call me Sam."

Wes thought, that figures, the first woman in a heretofore man's world. "OK Sam, on this mission, and only on this mission, I'm Wes and you're Sam. Got it?"

"Got it. You are one of the strangest officers that I have ever met"

Wes thought, lady, you don't know the half of it, then responded. "And you one of the strangest submariners that I have ever met."

Sam bounced back with. "Touché."

"Sorry. Did you enjoy the mini-sub ride over?"

"I always wondered what it would be like to ride in one. Now I know."

As they stood in the great room of the sub pen, Wes proceeded to give Sam her final instructions for the mission. He explained the corridor, exit, and the observation point that he and Celena had created. They would take up positions slightly before dawn and be ready when Gunny Sergeant Greenberg came to rest about 600 feet from their position. Fortunately, he always stopped next to one of the barbed wire fence posts which gave Sam a target to home in on. It would be dicey, as she would have to do some slight realignment quick enough to establish communications before Greenberg took off. From the videos that Wes and Celena had previously made, they knew that he stopped between 45 seconds to a little over a minute, depending on why he stopped which varied from catching his breath to retying one or both shoes. Sam would time his stops to insure that they did not draw the attention of the guards.

Sam now wore cammies and was holding her headset loaded with instrumentation. Wes was very pleased that back on the Virginia, Tony had let Edgar, not only run the checks on the headset, but also do the briefing on its working. Though Edgar acted quite nonchalant, his dad could see the pride in being given this responsibility. At that time, he had repeated his silent prayer.

As they ascended the corridor leading to the mess hall exit, each carried their OCM and a bag containing the components to set up the Acoustic Transmitting Gun.

Wes paused, looked at Sam and said. "Are you sure that you are up to this?"

Sam stopped, thought for a moment, then, not looking at Wes, but staring off into space, responded. "I have been in the Navy for six years, and am touted as something of an anomaly because I am the first woman to serve on a submarine, yet, I am nothing special, no different than any of the other crewmen when it comes to my job. There are a lot of SONAR technicians in the submarine service who are leaps and bounds above me; so, because I am a woman, I am singled out as being special. Sometimes I let vanity get a hold of me and revel in my success, but mostly, I want to merit being thought of as a model sailor and officer. This is a unique opportunity, to actually be a part of an ashore Special Ops mission, and to use something that I invented to aid in that mission. Am I up to it? Hell, Yes!"

Wes, somewhat surprised, but impressed responded with. "Let's go."

The seaman, detailed by Captain Jacobsen to guard the exit snapped to attention as Wes and Sam came into view. "At ease, sailor. We're going out for a little midnight skinny-dip."

Both Sam and the seaman chuckled.

The guard extinguished his small battle lantern that was illuminating the corridor and opened the hatch. Wes and Sam carefully removed the façade of rocks concealing the entrance and made their way to the observation point where they quickly assembled the ATG. The sun came up and Sam was treated to watching the camp's routine - morning muster, headcount, physical training, firing, chow, and finally, what they had been waiting for, the hostages brought out for their morning meal and Sergeant Greenberg's run.

At first light, Sam had taken readings and focused her equipment on the all-important fence post where in a few minutes they would be communicating with the Recon Marine. Prior to the mission, the team had brainstormed what questions to ask, and as voice transmission was one way, how he could be instructed to reply. With a maximum 60 second plus window, there would be no time for miscues.

Greenberg started his run and, as expected, stopped at the fence post. As he bent down to retie one of his shoes, Sam pointed to Wes and said, "Go."

Wes began, "Sergeant Greenberg, if you can hear me stand up and scratch your ear."

Greenberg did not respond.

Sam swore as she tweaked the system. "Try now."

Wes repeated his initial statement. Greenberg flinched, stood up, and scratched his ear.

Wes went on "Elmer, my name is Colonel Stone. I am leading a Special Ops mission to rescue you and the rest of the hostages. First, mark your position with a rock or mark on the ground so, on your next trip, you can take the exact same position. Second, talk to no one about this. You have a mole in your group.

Sam whispered; "60 seconds."

Wes advised Greenberg; "Now, you must finish your run. We will talk more on your next cycle. Go!"

Greenberg did as requested and took off.

During his afternoon and evening stops, communications were immediately established and Wes was able pass all the information on the mole along to Greenberg who, through a series of gestures, acknowledged that he knew who he was. Greenberg also confirmed Wes's suspicion that there was another military contingent somewhere nearby in the hills above the camp.

As soon as night fell Sam and Wes packed up the ATG and sat waiting for complete darkness prior to making their way back to the sub pen. Just as they were about to depart, a siren blared disturbing the silent desert night and troops poured out of the barracks and scurried to positions around the compound. Wes and Sam watched in amazement as the soldiers opened hidden fox holes jumped in, and pulled the covers closed, obscuring the positions. Wes had reset his optic array to infrared and could see other bodies taking up positions above the compound.

Suddenly, noise was heard directly behind them as one of the Iranian soldiers took a position in the rocks just above their cave entrance.

Wes reached out and took Sam's arm, in a don't move, just hold on gesture. With his other hand, he reached for the 9 mm Sig Sauer P226R, fitted with a suppressor, which he prayed to God that he did not have to use for, at best it would abort the mission, at worst, it could get everybody killed or captured and put a nuclear submarine at risk.

An hour passed during which nobody moved, a second hour and then a short belch sounded and lights came on from everywhere. The area inside the four guard posts was lit up like a sports arena, bathed in what must have been fifty high intensity flood lights. They were temporarily blinded as they switched from night vision to normal. Sweat was pouring down Wes's face and he could only imagine what Sam was going through. When the lights came on, each of the mini pill boxes popped open with a weapon aimed into the center of the prisoners' area. After another few minutes, a wavering siren sounded and all the bodies went back into motion. The compound troops scurried back to their barracks to get a few hours sleep before morning and the higher ground troops retreated to some unknown place. It was comforting to hear the individual in the rocks just over their heads, depart. Wes felt Sam relax and finally surrendered the grip on his Sig, slipping it back into its holster. After 30 minutes of no activity, they retraced their steps to the cave, gave a series of taps, after which the guard opened the hatch, and they returned to safety through the mess hall exit.

Sam hadn't spoken a word since their return and as they exited the corridor into the sub pen, Wes was concerned about her mental state. He inquired. "Sam, are you all right?"

She looked at him with fire in her eyes and blurted out. "Damn, what a rush! That was incredible! I feel great!"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The team was once again gathered in the ward room for what might be the last time. Wes had just relayed what he and Sam had observed and summarized the data. It was now clear - everything was on the table, there were no more loose ends; this whole thing was one big trap and the hostages were the bait. As soon as Wes and Sam returned to the Virginia, Jenny was jumping up and down and waving a copy of a FLASH message that had come in from General Castillo. Its contents added the final piece to puzzle. It stated that at approximately 2000 hours Zulu time, a SEAL team departed on a mission to Somalia. That would coincide with the alert that Wes and Sam had witnessed and confirm the General's theory that the al-Qaida has a pretty sophisticated Intel system. Not only did they know almost instantly when the SEAL team departed, but two hours later, they knew Bandar-e Maqam was not the target. Having seen how the whole compound area could be lit up with a strategic deployment of enemy troops, it became obvious that a killing field was in place that would devastate any rescue force unfortunate enough to enter it. Even the Intel concerning the new location of the hostages was probably bogus.

Wes looked out at the assembly. The only new member was Lieutenant Monahan who, after the close call in the field and her contribution had earned the right to be included in the rest of the mission.

He began. "Well, now we know just about everything and it looks pretty grim. It may be time to pack up and go home."

Wes waited for some reaction, but as there was none, he went on. "I would like to tell you a little story, after which we can make some tough decisions. When I first moved out into the country, I bought two and a half acres and put a manufactured home on it. Now remember something, unlike Sheldon and few others of you, I was a city boy, born and raised in Chicago, and living in cities most of my life, so I was taken by surprise by some of the rural life style things that I encountered such as wells, septic tanks and bottled gas. But, one of the most frustrating was dealing with mice. Not surprising, the two and half acres that I cleared for my home and grounds displaced a lot of wildlife. For the first year, I was battling field mice which was frustrating, but also a learning experience. What I learned was that some of those mice were pretty damn smart. I would put out the old style spring loaded traps which I baited with cheese wrapped tightly around the trigger. For those of you who have never used this type of trap, the trigger is a hair trigger - just look at it wrong and it snaps. Trust me; I have the gnarly fingers to prove it. Anyway, some of the mice that I was competing against could strip that trigger clean taking every bit of the cheese and never trip the trap. Eventually, I did get most of them and my problem was solved.

It was Roger's analytical mind that drove his comment. "So which mouse are we, the one that gets the cheese or the one that gets the trip to mouse heaven?"

Wes went on. "Well, it is my belief that they were one in the same. I think that the mice that could strip the cheese clean knew the danger of the trap, but were willing to live on the edge and risk the consequences, in pursuing the prize. And I believe that, like any dangerous activity, at some point in time, their luck ran out, and they lost the game."

Sheldon, always making his presence known, quipped. "Well Dr. Seuss, what's your point?"

Several cat calls from the group shut him down.

"My point is this. Like the daring mouse, we know about the trap. The question now becomes; do we still pursue the cheese, knowing the risks, or do we cut and run? It's the same decision the mouse had to make and with the same mortal danger."

It was Jack's turn. "But there is still an unknown. What does the second installation look like? Your infrared photos show several..."

Roger interjected. "I've isolated an additional 23 new bodies."

Jack continued. "Point in case, there are probably as many people in the second camp as there are in the hostage camp, maybe more. How would you recommend we proceed?"

Wes responded. "Before we even begin any forward planning, let's look at the tactical side of it. First, and foremost, we must consider the safety of the Virginia. Captain Jacobson has the final say on that. No boat, no going on. Second, this is not what you signed on for. The dynamics of the mission have changed significantly. We are no longer facing one contingent guarding hostages; we are facing trained troops who vastly outnumber us, and on top of that, have a battle plan that encourages rescue attempts."

Captain Jacobson took the floor. "Speaking for the Virginia, I will do nothing to place her or her crew in undue peril, but like any U. S. Navy ship of the line, she is commissioned to perform combat missions and those missions, by definition, entail taking calculated risks. So far, I have heard nothing that significantly changes the risk factor of this boat."

Wes continued. "Thank you Captain. This brings us to the major issue to be dealt with. As I mentioned, we are now beyond the job you all signed on for, and the risk has increased tremendously. I want each of you to take a piece of paper and write either Go or No Go on it. Fold it and give it to Roger. If we get one No Go, the mission will be scrubbed and we'll go home"

The process was quickly completed and the pile of folded papers set on the table. Each was opened and read. There were 14 Gos.

Wes went on. "Jack, you asked how I would proceed. I propose that we send out a two man patrol to locate, observe, and report on the second contingent. This would be similar to the mission that Celena and I performed early on."

"A whole week's observation?" was added by Stu Martin.

"Stu, we know nothing about this facility. A week will provide the detail to make an educated decision as to proceed or not. Any questions or comments?"

Benny jumped in with. "I take this patrol, you took the last one." It was more a demand than a request.

"Fair enough. Who do you want for your team mate?"

Looking at Diamond, Benny answered. "Sheldon; you are the most experienced woodsman in our group. Are you with me?"

Sheldon quipped back. "Do I have time to do my laundry? I have absolutely nothing to wear."

"I'll take that as a yes. Colonel, I don't think there is a lot of planning on this one. We exit and systematically search the area above the valley. I would like to leave tonight."

Wes responded. "Go for it. But you guys will have it a lot rougher than Celena and I did. Because of our proximity to the mess hall exit, we were able to take turns using the pen's living accommodations to handle our basic needs and replenish our field rations. We were even treated to a hot meal on two occasions courtesy of Boomer and the boat's galley. You two will be on your own."

Sheldon could not resist and blurted out. "You city people are real wimps. We mountain men thrive in the field, including dealing with our basic needs. If necessary, we live off the land." He paused, then added. "Benny, be sure and load up on rations and toilet paper!"

Laughter followed this outburst which pleased Wes, as the group needed a light moment. He thought, Good for you Sheldon.

"OK, guys, use the lounge exit as it is out of sight of the camp and a little higher up. Captain Jacobson has placed a guard on it who will seal it after you depart."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"3 - 2 - 1 - 0." The warm desert night muffled the swish of the four simultaneously fired air guns that silently delivered their sleep inducing darts causing four unsuspecting guards to crumple in unison. Three fell to the enclosed bottom half of their guard stations; the fourth fell forward, slumping over the railing. The snipers' rifles were unique weapons, very likely the only four in existence. Wes had been introduced to cartridge fired projectors while visiting Sheldon Diamond, years back, when Sheldon had been assigned to locate and tranquilize a Black Bear that was to be relocated to Yellowstone National State Park. The weapon he used was a Model 389 rifle manufactured by Pneu-Dart with a 4x32mm scope. It weighed almost nine pounds, and with a muzzle velocity of approximately 1240 fps had a penetration range of 100 yards. The weapons just fired weighed less than 6 pounds, had a muzzle velocity of 2,500 fps with an effective range of 300 yards. But the real new technology was that unlike the 389, which fired syringe-like darts that actually injected the chemical into the animal; our weapons fired a needle-like projectile with a colorful feather attached. And, while the Black Bear had taken almost two minutes to succumb to the tranquilizer, whatever the needle tips were coated with caused instantaneous immobilization as long as the target was hit in the chest area. Unsure as to the effectiveness of the drug, four Knight's Armament SR 25 Sniper rifles fitted with noise-suppressers and Leupold 10X scopes were also trained on the guards.

Team members then brazenly moved under the lights across the compound, to each building where small holes were strategically drilled into their walls, allowing the insertion of one inch tubing which was then mated to cylinders of compressed sleep gas. While this was taking place, the four Rangers with the tranquilizer rifles took up positions in the towers to provide added cover in case a straggler had been missed. With extreme care, they then removed the darts from the unconscious guards, placed them in special containers and secured them in their backpacks. The small red punctures that the guards had suffered would quickly disappear leaving no trace of what caused their untimely dereliction of duty. This was the chorography that had been studied and re-studied in the play books for the past several weeks. Now the dance began.

A quarter mile to the east and 1000 feet higher, a similar raid was taking place on the second facility. Benny and Sheldon had found the compound, which was a carbon copy of the hostage compound, except it was well camouflaged obscuring it from satellite observation; all part of trap. After their week-long observation, it was determined that a small team of five could make the assault. Here was an example where the al-Qaida's excellent Intel worked against them. It was assumed that there was some type of air surveillance in place, and maybe something on the cliffs, in case there was a sea assault, but, for the most part, it appeared that everything relied primarily on early notification from their deep cover sources. No guards were posted at night. There is no allowance for complacency in war.

It took a little over twenty minutes for both facilities to be secured. As on previous sorties, voice communication though available, was not used. A double blip in each team member's headphones indicated that Benny's team had accomplished its objective. Wes walked across the courtyard to where the prisoners were housed and using a battery powered socket wrench, removed the lag screws securing the locked hasp and slowly opened the door. He stepped in, closed the door, turned on the lights, and looked at 27 sleepy, startled faces.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Colonel Wes Stone and I am in charge of the United States Air Force Ranger Team that is here to take you all home." There were some subdued cheers, but not the reaction that Wes expected. He went on. "I'm confused. Are we in the right place? I kinda expected a little more exuberance."

A young man, about 20, spoke up from the back. "We've been through this before. This is a trap man and you are all going to be killed."

Another voice chimed in. "Yeah, I don't know how you got this far, but when that fuckin siren goes off, you guys are toast."

Now it made sense. Wes went on. "First of all, we know it was a trap, second, we are not going to be killed, and last, and most important of all, that fuckin siren is not going to go off!"

Now there was stirring within the group as if someone had suddenly pumped animation into it.

Wes went on. "Where is Gunny Sergeant Greenberg?"

"Here sir; pleased to meet you in the flesh."

"Gunny, did you attend to that little matter that we discussed?"

Two days prior to the assault, Sam and Wes had made a final venture topside and used the ATG to alert Sergeant Greenberg of the exact time and date of the attack, and direct him to immobilize the Canadian mole.

"Yes sir. He's over there, out like a light. And I did find a signal device hidden under his mattress and a second one on his person. Trust me; he did not use either one of them."

"Well done, Gunny. One of you with a tranq pistol, pop that guy, so he stays out."

Gunny then asked. "Do you have choppers coming in? They have a pretty good air defense."

Wes, in one of his "things are going well, let's have some fun" moods, responded. "No Gunny, no choppers. We are going to crawl into a hole and vanish!"

Greenberg shot Wes a surprised look and replied. "Colonel, after what you guys have pulled off so far, I will believe anything you tell me. How can I help?"

"Take your people over to the guard station closest to where you stopped during your daily runs. You will be met by some of my team who will escort you down the rabbit hole."

Greenberg looked at Wes with an expression of disbelief and responded. "You're serious about that hole thing, aren't you? OK, Colonel, whatever you say."

As the hostages approached, Jenny and Edgar, who had been recruited to supplement the double assault, met and led them the short distance to the cave that led to the mess hall exit. More of the rocks had been cleared away which allowed to group to descend to the corridor leading to the sub pen without crawling on their hands, but it was still a tight fit, especially for the bigger members of the group.

Wes watched the last of the hostages vanish into the cave, followed by the members of his Ranger team. The sleeping camp was now deserted except for him and the four tower guards. If the tranquilizer drugs worked as advertised, the enemy troops would not awaken for at least twelve hours more like sixteen to eighteen. He sent a triple blip to Benny's team which was the recall signal, then made a final round of the camp, replacing the locked hasp. The one remaining touch that he had hoped to be able to add was a personal ceremony that only the guards in the towers would witness. He ran down the Iranian flag and replaced it with the American flag and directly under it, the yellow Gadsden flag with its black coiled rattlesnake, boldly stating "Don't Tread on Me". He ran the flags up, stood at attention, and saluted. The guards in the towers followed suit, after which they were ordered back to the Virginia.

The three caves were wired with charges that would completely obliterate access to their entrances. A similar charge was in place to destroy the submarine. As hard a decision as it was, it could not be left to fall into unfriendly hands. After Benny's team returned and a muster accounted for the hostages, the Special Ops team members, and the Navy shore party personnel; the ASDS mini sub shuttled hostages and military from the sub pen to the Virginia where after a final headcount was accomplished; the three cave entrances were sealed by remotely detonating the previously positioned explosives. The German U-Boat suffered the same fate. The ASDS was secured; the nuclear behemoth descended to 200 feet, went silent, and headed back for Bahrain. It was now 1:00 A.M., November 24, 2013.

At the same time that the Virginia was taking on her passengers, a C-5 Galaxy from the 437th Airlift Wing, out of Charleston AFB, South Carolina, was on its final approach to Muharraq Airfield, Bahrain. The flight had been set up by General Castillo immediately after being notified of the team's finalized battle plan.

Barring some unforeseen event, such as an unscheduled inspection of the compounds by an Iranian General or women brought in for the officers, the hostages would be flying out of the Mid East before anyone knew they were missing.

As Wes, dropped down through the hatch out of the ASDS, he was met with sounds far removed from the quiet hum and professional atmosphere that had prevailed in the Virginia for the past several weeks. The addition of 27 people, some barely in their 20s who were adjusting to the relief of being freed, riding in a miniature sub and finally the unique experience of being on board a nuclear submarine, created a noise factor that was on the verge of getting out of hand when Gunny Greenberg and Boomer stepped in to help the Boatswain Mate assigned to settle the group in. XO Herb Irwin was supervising the final securing of the ASDS and shot Wes a frustrated look which seemed to say, give me strength.

As Wes started forward, Irwin said. "Colonel, the Captain would like to see you as soon as you get cleaned up. He said that if he was not in Control, he would be in his quarters."

Wes replied. "Got it. I will hunt him down as soon as I wash Iran off."

Wes chuckled to himself as he finished showering and slipped into the one piece blue coveralls once known, and still referred to by many old salts, as poopie suits. Though quite comfortable, why couldn't they have come up with a more elegant name? Oh well, all the services have their idiosyncrasies.

On his way to see Jacobson, he stopped by the computer area where Roger informed him that General Castillo had acknowledged receipt of the mission's successful outcome, and, in the same message, confirmed that air transportation would be standing by upon their arrival in Bahrain.

Wes checked Control and found Irwin in charge of the con, looking much more composed after escaping the turmoil in the torpedo room. "He just left for his quarters."

"Thanks Herb."

***

"Come.

"Wes, come in. Have a seat. You look as tired as I feel."

"Jake, I am beat, but it's a good beat. We did it, we actually pulled it off."

Jake responded. "You pulled it off."

Wes flashed a bit of frustration as he came back with. "No, Jake, we pulled it off. This had to be a team effort or it never would have worked. Without you, your crew, and the Virginia, it never would have happened."

"Wes, I fought you tooth and nail from the time you came on board until the very end."

Wes was dog tired and struggled to not get into an argument with this man who he had come to respect and who he considered a comrade in arms. "Jake, we had our disagreements at the outset, and, as I told you during our first meeting, I understood your feelings, and you were professional enough to hear mine and, though we started with different expectations of the outcome, you became part of the team early on, whether you knew it or not."

"How so?"

"During my initial briefing when Hector..."

"You're on a first name basis with him now?"

"Actually, he is not such a bad guy, once you get to sit down and talk with him. Anyway, before we were on a first name basis, and I was ready to put him on house arrest, you jumped in and supported me. That's when you came on board with the team."

"In my mind, I was only looking after my boat. Oh yeah, it was great to hear someone take on the rules of engagement and embedded journalists."

Wes responded. "In my mind you were starting to think that there was at least a possibility of success. Then, when things looked darkest, in that crucial meeting, you committed the Virginia to continue the mission."

Jake looked down at the table and replied softly. "What you did for Ensign Arbuck was incredible. I figured I owed you one."

"Jake, call it anything you want, but you were part of this team from almost the very beginning. You just didn't know it. By the way, any word on Arbuck?"

"None. Anyway, we are a little less than two hours out. I have received a communication instructing me on how we will off-load your team and the liberated personnel."

"I'm all ears."

"Seems we reverse the rescue. The ASDS will shuttle you and your team and the freed hostages to a shielded area in the Navy yard. Busses will transport the entire party to a waiting aircraft and you will be gone. I then continue to the open sea, after which, new orders will be furnished. Sounds simple enough."

The Captain went on. "Wes, as I said, when you first arrived, I had prejudged you and was convinced that this whole thing was a political show. Then, when the repair dive went awry, I was sure that you were the cause until Boomer gave me the facts. And then Ensign Arbuck. As you slowly started winning over my best crewman, Herb, Boomer, Lieutenant Monahan, even some of the seamen who went ashore with your teams, I was jealous. I finally had to admit that you were one good son of a bitch. Wes, we may never see each other again, so I will say this here and now. You are one of the finest officers that I have ever served with and I am honored to have been a part of this mission."

With that, Captain Jake Jacobson fell silent.

Wes, who never took complements well, sat, embarrassed by Jacobson's candidness, and finally responded. "Jake, thank you for sharing your feelings with me. Though I don't think that I deserve your assessment, I appreciate your professional opinion. As I understand it, the Virginia's home port is in Maine, is that correct?"

"That is correct. The Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, Kittery, Maine."

"Well, one of my sons and his family live in Westerly, Rhode Island and my wife and I visit them once or twice a year. I would like, during one of those visits to meet with you for dinner or a few drinks in a less stressful atmosphere."

The boat's PA system boomed. "Captain to Command."

Jake scribbled his home phone number on a note pad, tore off the page and handed it to Wes as they left his quarters. "Give me a call when you are in the area. If I'm still there, I would very much like to get together and share war stories, not to mention some good old fashioned adult beverages."

Wes started back to his quarters and ran into Hector who had been stalking him like the dreaded slasher watching for the unsuspecting heroine in a B horror movie.

"Colonel, Wes; can we finish our talk now. Sorry to be so pushy, but, as I understand it we will be coming into Bahrain in less than an hour and I really want to hear the rest of your observations on our government."

"Hector, you are scheduled to be airlifted out with my team, so there will be plenty of time for us to talk on the return flight. Right now, I am a little busy attending to last minute details and some personal matters. Sorry to keep putting you off, but I assure you, we will finish our conversation."

Hector Villa retreated, looking like a little boy who had his heart set on something and just could not wait to get it. Wes made a mental commitment to finish their conversation and felt something akin to urgency, maybe even, hope! "Nah, it could not be that."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

With less than an hour until their scheduled arrival at Bahrain, Wes had several things that he needed to attend to. First, he tasked Benny with making sure that the Ranger team was ready to disembark upon arrival. That not only included personnel, but also the specialized equipment, diving gear, tranquilizer weapons and gasses. Tony Drake and Edgar Stone would handle that part of the cleanup. A big part of the personnel transfer from the Virginia to the aircraft would be to insure that everyone was on board when it took off. Wes had devised a plan using Roger and Jenny with laptops at the busses and then at the aircraft as personnel boarded to insure that no one was left behind.

Just across the companionway from their quarters, was women's territory, more specifically, where Jenny, Celena, and Lieutenant Samantha Monahan shared a cabin. Wes tapped lightly on the door and received a feminine "Come." Jenny was gone, probably with Roger preparing the team's computer support equipment for transport. Celena was packing up her meager trappings, and Lt. Monahan was preparing to go on duty. For the first time since the voyage began, Wes addressed Celena by her military rank, "Major, would you give us a moment alone." Celena zipped up her B4 bag, set it in the companionway and departed the cabin.

Wes left the cabin door open, as he studied the young lady sitting on her bunk. He felt pride as he thought, here is the youth of America; this woman and countless others like her, and her male counterparts are what make our country great. Why do only the sleaze-bags get the publicity?

He began, "Lieutenant, as you know, we will be arriving at Bahrain shortly, and I will probably never see you again. Before we part company, I just wanted to say that your performance on this mission has been exemplary, and it will most likely earn you some awards. You told me earlier that you wanted to excel, not because you are a woman in a heretofore man's realm, but because, how did you put it, you wanted to be a model sailor and officer. Well, young lady your role in this mission technically and under combat conditions easily meets those criteria. I have a feeling that your acceptance among your shipmates has changed quite a bit for the better. Anyway, Sam, well done. It has been a pleasure serving with you."

As Wes started to leave, Sam stood, closed the cabin door, and said, "Colonel, I have been struggling with my future for some time. A lot of it was the things that I told you. But there was more, I just felt that I was wrong in choosing this field, that I did not belong, that I was doing something bad to the Navy. I questioned my motives - was I doing this because it was my calling or was I just trying to prove something. I felt adrift and worse, I felt guilt."

"Sam..."

"Let me finish. Then you put your faith in me to do something that I had not been trained for; something that was critical to the entire mission. Out there, when you put your hand on my arm, as scared as I was, I was determined that I would not betray that trust. And you know what, something happened. While we were sweating out those two hours, I reevaluated my life and came to some positive conclusions. I am performing a critical function on one of the world's most awesome war machines and, yes there are others doing the same thing, maybe even better than me, but I am still doing it, and doing it well. I love my career field and you showed me that I can reach beyond myself and succeed. Does any of this make sense to you or am I just babbling like a teenager?"

"Lieutenant, you make perfect sense. When I came in here, I was worried about your future and how the things that you shared with me might cause you to make some wrong turns. I can see now that my concerns were needless. Trust me, you are right on course. You just keep doing what you are doing and thinking the way are thinking now and you will have a great career and even better, a wonderful life. Take care."

Their eyes met momentarily; as a father looking with pride at his daughter, and a daughter reinforced by her father's recognition and confidence in her; after which, they exited together, Lieutenant Monahan to stand her sonar watch; Wes to say one last goodbye.

Making his way aft, Wes observed the three different groups, preparing for the unloading exercise. Though there was a great deal of activity, he was happy to see order and best of all, there was very little noise. He found Boomer supervising the preparation of the ASDS for its final shuttle runs.

"Master Chief Thompson."

"Sir."

Boomer lumbered over and asked in a friendly way, "What can I do for the good Colonel?"

Wes replied, "Give me a few minutes of your time, if you feel that doing so won't interfere with the landing preparations."

Boomer called out to one of his subordinates to take over and turned back to Wes, "No problem."

"I just wanted to say goodbye and express my gratitude for everything that you did for my team and the mission. Without your early support, I'm not sure those 27 happy people would be here."

"What? I don't understand. What did I do?"

"You stood up to the Captain and by so doing established my credibility."

Boomer came back with, "All that I did was tell him what happened on the dive. No bells or whistles, as they used to say on Dragnet, just the facts. Look, I've been in the Navy just about all my adult life. I know quality when I see it and I know a phony when I see one. You're quality, Colonel. Only one thing bothers me. You don't talk like an officer; you sure as hell don't dive like any officer that I've ever met; and, you run your team more like a Marine Gunny Sergeant than an officer. What gives?"

Wes tactfully responded with. "OK, you blew my cover. I did come up through the ranks."

Boomer was delighted. "I knew it, I just knew it. Colonel, you just made my day."

Wes could not contain himself and burst out laughing. "Boomer, you old seadog. Things are going to happen pretty fast when we begin the final off-loading, so I will say my goodbye here and now. It has been a pleasure knowing you and diving with you. It is without trepidation that I leave the Virginia in your capable hands."

It was Boomer's turn to laugh, but there was a glaze in the big man's eyes as he responded. "Thank you sir. I wish you a safe flight home." With that, he turned back to his previous endeavor.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The off-loading of personnel and equipment went smoothly, which was one more testimonial to Benny's organizational skills. Between Jenny and Roger, all personnel were accounted for from the Virginia to the busses to the waiting C-5. Edgar and Tony accomplished the same feat with the team's gear.

Wes was the last off the final bus and was met by Jenny at the bottom of the C-5's sprawling rear ramp. A unique feature of the Galaxy is that it has both front and rear ramps which allowed the team's equipment to be loaded through the front ramp while personnel were boarded from the rear. This not only expedited the process, but made it easier to insure that no one was left behind. She was checking off each person as they boarded on a mini hand-held computer rather than a laptop. Wes's mind shot back to his childhood when computers occupied whole buildings. Then came the desktop which had as much or more capability as the building-sized monsters. Then the laptop, now the hand-held. He wondered if men's minds were capable of adjusting to the ever increasing advancements in technology. Jenny's voice snapped him out of his musings.

"You are the last. Everybody is aboard and Tony reported all gear accounted for, stored, and secured."

Wes queried. "Did our package get delivered?

"Yes sir, it's on that plane just taking off"

"OK Jenny, let's boogie."

At the top of the ramp, Roger confirmed that all were present and accounted for by his hand held. Ah, redundancy, you gotta love it.

Wes noticed his son talking with one of the aircraft's loadmasters who was supervising the ramp closure and final preparation for take-off. This was a real breakthrough for Edgar was not a social animal. It took him a long time to warm up to strangers and for him to strike up a conversation with someone that he did not know was quite unusual.

As Wes started into the aircraft, he was pleasantly surprised to find a totally different configuration from the Galaxy they had flown over in. There were 15 rows of double seats on each side of an aisle, airline style. The main difference between a commercial airliner and our Air Force transport being that there were no windows. He could smell food which was being prepared in the on-board galley and would be served after takeoff.

As he passed up the center aisle, he acknowledged team members whose faces reflected both weariness and relief and, yes, quite a bit of pride. The freed hostages, on the other hand were cutting up and joking with each other. Wes thought; how nice it was to be young and carefree. Many of this group might never realize how much grief they were spared by the efforts of his mismatched crew of Air Force Rangers.

Just as he reached the door leading into the forward area of the cargo bay, it opened and a smiling General Castillo appeared and opened with. "Welcome back, Wes. Well done. Please come down to my cabin for a minute while we are taking off."

The General's quarters were divided off from the rest of the bay by a make-shift bulkhead which provided a bit of privacy albeit, bit, should be taken at face value. Three standard first class airline type seats were positioned against the starboard side of the compartment. A good sized conference table, six chairs, a small computer work station, and one metal file cabinet completed the furnishings of General Castillo's VIP accommodations. At best, the quarters were Spartan, borderline depressing, and the hum of the engines only added to their dreariness.

Wes whistled softly and said. "You sure travel in style General."

"Well, we all can't fly all over the country in plush transportation, so don't rub it in. I never had my own private jet at my disposal and I am a General." He said this in a friendly, good-natured way that not only established a cordial atmosphere, but also expressed his relief that the mission was over.

Comfortably strapped in as the C-5 taxied to its takeoff position, the General began. "Wes, I know that you were surprised to see me when you boarded. My purpose for being here is to accomplish your team's debriefing and get everybody home for Thanksgiving. But, the main reason that I am here is because I owe, actually your country owes you all a great deal and, as it was I who sent you all on this mission, I sure as hell belong here when you complete it. You guys did a great job and the President asked me to personally convey his gratitude. So, for now, as soon as we are air borne, let's get some chow and chat a bit before the debriefing process starts."

"Bob, that sounds great to me. I'm hoping that the mission log that Jenny and Roger kept will satisfy most of what you need. Each member kept a personal day-to-day log which was turned over to my automation team at the end of the day. They rolled the members' logs into a central log and labeled multiple comments and individual comments. This in conjunction with the playbook, camera records, and viewgraphs should pretty much provide everything that you need. Everything has been incorporated into CDs which you might want to take a look at before we physically meet for the debriefing. And, don't forget the Virginia's log."

The C-5 climbed to its cruising altitude of 28,000 feet; the pilot trimmed the aircraft, and set the auto pilot for its first course correction on the way to Charleston AFB, South Carolina. A small feeding frenzy was in progress as the stewards began serving the passengers. The menu was simple, but offered a variety of hot, nourishing food which was eagerly devoured by the freed hostages. The Rangers, having been fed quite well on board the Virginia for the past month and a half demonstrated more reserved dining manners than their newly freed charges.

Though food would be available during the entire flight, the majority of the chowing down was over soon after take-off. Wes and General Castillo chatted as they ate their ham and eggs washed down with black coffee. Wes gave Bob the CDs and filled him in on some observations not specifically spelled out in the logs.

"We were damn lucky, Bob. Had Sam and I not been out their communicating with Gunny Greenberg, we would not have learned about the trap. Speaking of Sam....."

Castillo. "Who?"

"Sorry. Lieutenant Samantha Monahan. SONAR Technician on the Virginia. Her voice projecting device was another God send, as was stumbling on to the mole. It's all in the log. There were too many lucky breaks going our way. I firmly believe that the Lord had a hand in this one. I never asked you, are you a religious man General?"

Castillo looked a little uneasy as he responded. "I came from a Catholic family, was married in a Catholic ceremony, and my one son was baptized into the church. But I don't practice my faith anymore. Too many things got in the way. My career, my divorce, my son's death. I still talk to God, maybe more complain to Him, but I have not been to church for years. So, by society's standards; no, I am not a religious man. Does that answer your question?"

Wes, realizing that he had opened old wounds responded, "Bob, religion is a very personal thing. Sure, society has its formal structure which is a good thing, but true faith is within, and how one communicates with God is a one on one thing."

Not wanting to cause the General anymore embarrassment, Wes changed the subject.

"There is something that has been bugging me for the past 30 some odd years and this seems like a good time to ask it. Back when you were our OIC at Tyndall, you invited Freddy, Gerald, Char and me to dinner. My wife and I could not make it as we had to return to California to attend her mother's funeral; but Freddy and Gerald did. When I later talked to them, they were very closed mouth, but did tell me that it went poorly ending with them being asked to leave. What happened?"

A smile crossed the General's face as he prepared to clear up Wes's long-standing mystery. "Well Wes, they got caught in a firefight that had been going on between my wife and me for some time. A little background first. My wife, Constance, and I were married in our fourth year of college. She knew that I was planning an Air Force career and thought that the military would be all glamour, parties, dress uniforms, hobnobbing with the upper brass. When she found out where a second lieutenant fit in the military officers' food chain of command, she was devastated, and even though I tried to explain that we would move up in rank and status, she began to hate my career and her role in it. It was my idea to invite you three for dinner to establish myself as part of the team not just in the field but on a more personal basis. Your wife was included as you were the only married member of the team. If you recall, you three were like the three musketeers, the heart of the team. Anyway, I was pleasantly surprised when Constance not only agreed to the dinner, but actually seemed receptive to it. What really confused me was that after declining several dinner invitations from you during our tour, she was willing to play hostess to the enlisted side of the house. I finally came to the conclusion that though she felt it beneath her status to mingle with the troops in their homes, she felt some sort of benevolent charity in allowing the underprivileged into her domicile. She might have picked that up from the Officers' Wives Club.

"Now Constance, even though she was from a middle class family in Nebraska loved to put on airs, so she set an elaborate table, with a good wine; hell back then I didn't know the difference between a Chablis and a Cabernet. Even today, as much as wine is all the vogue, I prefer a cold beer or a Glenlivet on the rocks. Anyway, she prepared a gourmet meal with all the trimmings. Notwithstanding her many hang-ups, she could really cook. Anyway, enter Freddy and Gerald who were not polished dinner guests, but who made up for their lack of sophistication by their honest down to earth personalities which, by the way, was why I liked them.

"Things were going well with normal dinner conversation when Constance asked what professional divers did for recreation. Freddy, and Wes, I know he was one of your closest friends, and that his passing must have been extremely hard on you; Freddy responded with, 'we go diving.'

"Constance then pressed on asking why, if that was what you did for a living; you would waste your off-duty time doing the same thing. To which Freddy replied, lobster. I could see a mixture of interest and irritation coming over Constance and was hoping that interest would win out. It didn't. Constance then asked what he meant and Freddy went on to explain his, and I believe yours too, love of catching and eating lobster, or as he put it gooster (the slang that you guys created for langouste).

"Constance then asked Freddy to keep her in mind if he ever had any extra gooster. Here is where it fell apart. Freddy, with his homespun sense of humor proceeded to expound on how hard it was to catch bugs (another more common term among divers for lobsters) and that there was no such thing as extra ones. Knowing Freddy, he would have loved to present the Castillo family with some of this prize and was probably formalizing how soon he could do so. Anyway, the shit hit the fan. Constance, who had probably been looking for the right moment, exploded and proceeded to verbally abuse Freddy about his lack of good manners and what a poor dinner guest that he was. Gerald, who had said little just sat dumbfounded. She threw her napkin on the table, forcibly stood up knocking her chair over and stomped out of the room. She made such a ruckus that our two year old son woke up crying.

"I made my apologies to Freddy and Gerald who departed like missionaries running from cannibals. We never spoke of the incident again. Constance and I stuck it out and were still married when you retired, and though our relationship was far from perfect, it was tolerable. I had made Captain and she was starting to feel like upper class when our son was hit by a car while riding his bicycle and died of injuries three days later. Shortly after that, I received orders for a tour in D.C., Constance filed for divorce, and we parted company. Ironically, just as my career was starting to take off in the direction that she had so passionately longed for, she cut me loose.

"To finish the story, she eventually remarried, a banker I believe, and I have had no contact with her for over ten years. Wes, after meeting Char, I envy you. Contrasting the dinner that I had at your house with the incident that I just related seems like two different worlds. How fortunate you are."

Wes was fascinated by the General's revelations, and could see the sorrow in his face as he got deeper into some of the events that had transpired. "Bob, I did not mean to pry and cause you any pain. I was just interested in what had happened to two of my oldest friends."

"Wes, no apologies necessary. Sometimes it is good to unburden things. Believe it or not, I have never told anyone what I have just shared with you. Thank you for listening. I needed to get it out. As I said back in your study, you are an exceptional person, and in spite of our long separation, one of my most respected friends."

"Do you still dive?"

"No. Funny, I had such wonderful visions of teaching my son; his name was Charles, to dive, and sharing hours of father son time together. That all ended with his death. So no, I haven't been diving for years. After his death, I just zoned out of everything for a period. Eventually, I was able to recover from my sorrow and get on with my life. Unfortunately, diving was lost forever."

"General, one last thing. We will be arriving at Charleston AFB on the 27th of November. Is there any chance of getting the freed hostages and my team home for Thanksgiving? I can have Jenny and Roger do some grouping as to how this could be done with the least amount of transportation. And, General, if you have no plans, I would be honored if you would join my family and me for Thanksgiving dinner - that is assuming Edgar and I are home in time."

"It's already taken care of. Here are the groupings for your team and the hostages. Be sure that everybody knows which aircraft they are to transfer to after we land. You and your son will be home in time and as much as I would like to share Thanksgiving dinner with you and your family, I must be in Washington to brief the President before he goes public with the rescue. Wes, I need to be sure about a few things. Are you positive that all the entrances to the sub pen are sealed and that the U-Boat was destroyed?"

Wes thought, then replied. "As sure as our ordinance guys can be. The remote detonations were confirmed by them as good blows, and sonar tracked four distinct blips coinciding with the firings. We were on board the Virginia when the detonations were triggered, thus there was no eyeball confirmation. So, positive, no, fairly sure, yes."

"OK, good enough. Next. Are you sure there were no fatalities?"

"General, that is another tough one. No weapons were used other than the tranquilizer guns and sleep gas. From what I know about this technology, effects vary a great deal between individuals. We did not do a vital sign check on each of the enemy combatants. however, we did check the four tower guards, as whatever was on those darts had to be pretty potent to cause instant unconsciousness. They were alive and well when we departed. When it comes to the sixty some remaining gassed troops in the two compounds - you may want to pose that question to the lab folks who developed the gas.

"As for the mole, or should I address him by is proper name, Mr. Scorpion, he is in perfect health and on his way to the awaiting arms of the FBI.

The General finished with, "Sounds about as conclusive as we can be. Capturing the Scorpion was the icing on the cake. I'll take a look at the computer logs that you left and if they are as concise as I suspect, I'll run with them. I'm sure that later, after my analysts get through reviewing them, there will be more questions. Wes, you look awfully tired, why don't you try and get some sleep before we land. And, I would like a rain check on that dinner."

Realizing that the General was talked out, Wes responded in an understanding tone. "You got it. Well, I will leave you to review the discs and be ready with Benny and Jenny if you need to fill in any blanks. Ha, Benny and Jenny!"

"Thanks, Wes, a poet you are not."

As Wes entered the rear portion of the Galaxy, Mr. Hector Villa stood up and came down the aisle to meet him. "OK, Colonel, time is running out and you promised me that we would finish our conversation."

Wes was dog-tired, and the recent experience with General Castillo had left him mentally drained, however, he had promised and still had a feeling that continuing this dialogue was important.

"Hector, you got me. Your seat or mine?"

Hector led the way to two empty seats at the far rear of the aircraft away from the chatter and crosstalk that was being generated by the freed hostages and some of the Ranger team.

As they sat Wes began. "Let's see, where were we...oh yes, off the record stuff. We talked that one to death. Back on the record.

"Hector; let's look at some simple solutions to what most people see quite clearly. First; the budget: Take an average couple, raising say three children. It should go without saying that what they spend each month should not exceed what they have to spend. This is pretty simple stuff that most junior high students can get their minds around."

Wes went on. "OK, now, let's stay with our family. The bill payer looks at the budget and sees that expenditures exceed their income. Now what? Well, for a short time, they can max out their credit cards - let's say they do this. Somewhere down the road, they are still paying out more each month than they take in. Now what? Can they go to their employer and say, hey, I am short each month on my bills, so I need a raise to cover the difference and expect their boss to say - Sure, how much do you need? No way. Can they go to their credit card companies and ask that their credit limit be raised and expect that to happen. Again, no way. So, other than bankruptcy or defaulting on their obligations, the responsible family looks to ways to balance their budget. How? Jr. high school stuff again - reduce spending. Hey, this is not rocket science.

"Food and shelter would be primary needs, then maybe gasoline to get to and from work, and so on down the line. Some nice to have items such as cable TV, eating out once or twice a week, going to the movies, would have be reduced or eliminated.

"So, now we have the micro financial unit, the family, the heart of any society. How about our government's budget? Do not exactly the same premises apply as those of the family of five? Two glaring differences. They do go to their employer (the taxpayers) and ask for more money to cover their shortfall and, they have the power to make us give them that money by raising taxes. They also, again, within their control, can raise the country's debt limit. So, the two checks that somewhat control responsible money management at the basic level of society, are completely removed at the federal level. By the way, they also incur that spiraling out of control debt with enormous interest payments.

"Why doesn't the federal government do what the family of five does? Simple. They have different agendas and are using different money. The family of five is just trying to survive and using money that they have worked for. The federal government is composed of people who are concerned about getting reelected, promoting their party, and using other people's money to stay in power. And, as I just mentioned, unlike the family, they can increase their money intake by raising taxes, and if the government approaches default, raising the debt limit.

"Can this be fixed? Yep. By a simple balanced budget amendment. Will that happen? Nope.

"Look Hector, most of the causes of our current state of affairs are clearly visible and corrective action is just as apparent. Here is my list: First, career politicians - Term Limits. Second, rampart government spending - Balanced Budget Amendment, Third, The courts running the country - Tort Reform, Fourth, size of government - downsize it (and I don't mean start at the top with defense spending, social security benefits, etc., and no I am not proposing that we throw grandma off the bridge in her wheelchair). That would be like the family of five opting to stop paying rent and go on the street in order to continue to be able to go to the movies. They should start at the bottom and work up with agencies that contribute little or nothing to our country such as the EPA, GSA, DOE, a multitude of grants to arts programs, and to states for bridges that go nowhere. And, how about cost savings for existing projects - Look at Yucca mountain, where the government, remember, using your and my money has invested billions, only to have some political SNAFU, fight bringing it on line and proposing that it just be abandoned and a new repository be created from scratch at some other site. I ask you, is this sanity?" Think about the Postal Service. It is a dinosaur that just won't become extinct (and the EPA is not even involved). With banks providing automated bill paying, internet credit card buying and e-mail, 99% of my paper mail has vanished. I even pay my income tax online. I would venture to say that this is true across the country. So how does the post office deal with their reduction in volume? By raising rates which only causes customers to look for more ways to avoid using it, which only causes them to raise rates, and, I might add, reduce service. Here is one to think about. With all the automation that the Postal Service has added to deal with increased volume and with that volume greatly reduced, is the return on investment to run and maintain that equipment justified, or would it be more cost effective to go back to pure manpower? Think about it. And if you want to eliminate a whole massive piece of government bureaucracy, change the tax structure to a flat tax or the fair tax, or whatever which would just about do away with the IRS."

Villa just sat; scribbling as fast as fast as his pudgy little fingers would let him.

"Hector, you have heard my take on things, and know my feelings about how futile I believe one voice from the crowd of average citizens can be to being about any changes to the big picture. You have just witnessed the actions of a group of average citizens and seen their attempt to make a difference, which, I am sure, won't even be a blip on the big picture's radar, but nevertheless, it made a big difference to 27 human beings. Now it is your turn. What can you do about it?"

Hector was caught off guard and thought as he tapped his pencil on the fold down tray from the seat in front of his. "Wes, I am a journalist and my writings have a pretty good following. They must or the Times would not keep me on. To honestly answer your question; I don't know. Needless to say, the insight that I have gained talking to you, Captain Jacobson, the members of your team, and the crew of the Virginia, will greatly impact my future editorials, but as to my role in attempting to change the picture, big or little; I will have to give that a lot of thought."

Wes interjected. "But don't you see opposition to any really positive things you write about our military and worse yet the wars that they are fighting and dying in? Won't your editor green-line all that stuff so it never gets into print?"

Villa replied, "Yes. That is why I said that where I go from here will take a lot of thought. One thing is sure, I have been going down the wrong path, and a new direction is called for."

"Well, Hector, that in itself is a start. We will be landing in about six hours and I need to get some shuteye. I hope you find that new direction and it brings you some inner peace. You take care. I will be watching for your writings."

Wes shook Hector's hand and departed for his seat where he hoped to remain until they touched down at Charleston AFB, South Carolina.

***

"Wes. Hey old buddy, we will be touching down in Charleston in about 20 minutes."

Benny was standing over Wes grinning as usual.

"Thanks, Benny. The General was supposed to call me if he had any questions. Seeing it did not happen, I guess he was satisfied with the discs. Say, I need to address the group, but I want to do it while among them. Can you get me a hand held?"

Benny responded. "He did have a few questions, but Jenny and I were able to field them. Figured you needed the rest. By the way, the General did ask me to tell you that he received word that Ensign Arbuck has been transferred to Johns Hopkins and would probably regain 80 to 90 percent of the use of his hand. You did good old buddy. I'll check with the crew on a mike."

Wes heaved a sigh of relief and silently gave thanks to the Lord.

As Benny made his way forward towards the flight crew's compartment, he passed through General Castillo's area and asked. "Sir, Colonial Stone is going to address the passengers. Do you want to say a few words?"

The General looked up from his computer and replied. "No. This was his and your show. You should be the ones to finish it. I'll listen in and make a brief statement when he finishes."

Wes looked out over the forty plus faces and tried to recall the events that had transpired during the last four and a half months. He was still tired and struggling to shake the sleep from his mind. What do you say to these two groups? The Ranger team had performed flawlessly and would probably get no recognition for their effort. The freed hostages, except for a few like the Gunny, were pretty much oblivious to their good fortune. Oh well, like many of his actions, he usually made it up as he went along. He began.

"Ladies and gentlemen may I have your attention. We will be touching down at Charleston AFB in a few minutes and in order to get you all home for Thanksgiving, things are going to happen pretty fast. I want to take this opportunity to be first to wish each of you a Happy Thanksgiving, perhaps not on American soil, but at least in American air space."

"To my Air Force Ranger team I say thank you. I cannot convey how good it was to see you old timers again and to be part of a team effort with you. As for you newcomers; well done. You fit in and you performed outstandingly - you all performed outstandingly. I don't know what fate has in store; for most of us; this may be the last opportunity we have to be together. As for me, how fortunate I feel to have been given this opportunity."

"Now, for you rescuees, especially you young ones. What you have just been a part of was a labor of love performed by a group of individuals who risked everything to save your sorry hides. The next time you hear anyone, anywhere bad mouth our military, I expect, no I demand, that you set them straight. Your prison stay was short by past experiences, so I believe that you were spared at best, many hardships, and at worst injury and possibly death. Don't sell what you have been given short."

"OK, you all have your numbers. When we land, deplane quickly and go to the bus with your number. I wish you all God's speed, and a safe voyage home."

As he finished, Wes handed the mike to Benny who started for the flight deck. General Castillo appeared, took the mike and addressed the assembly. "My name in General Castillo and I am the one who convinced Colonel Stone to lead your rescue mission. What you don't know is that this team is composed entirely of volunteers--the men and women sitting among you had no obligation to the military or, for that matter, to the U.S. Government to take this on. My presence here today is to welcome you all back and to thank and commend the Air Force Ranger team for a job well done. In addition to their selfless effort, don't forget the contributions of your government - that nuclear submarine that you hitched a ride on is a multi-million dollar piece of hardware, as is this airplane. So, I echo Colonel Stone's admonition, cherish your good fortune and don't ever forget the men and women who made it possible. Welcome home."

With that, he handed the mike to Benny and returned to his computer.

While Benny headed for the flight deck to return the mike, Wes made his way through the aircraft saying his final goodbyes to lifelong friends, comrades in arms, most of whom he would never see again. His feelings were elevated by being granted such an opportunity and saddened by the realization that the whole thing was coming to an end. Quick handshakes with most and a few parting words. He made it a point not to miss a final handshake with Gunny and Villa who were seated near the front of the compartment.

As the hustle and bustle of landing preparation and last minute collecting of personal belongings proceeded, he slipped into the General's VIP area. Castillo was packed and prepared to exit on touchdown. He motioned for Wes to sit next to him during the landing. As Wes fastened his seat belt, Castillo began. "Well Wes, it has been a fantastic ride. By the way, that sub you discovered, U-337, was officially listed as lost in the North Atlantic. Guess it will remain so. Let me tell you, the first impression of just about everyone you came in contact with was negative. But, not long after, and especially by the end of the mission, you won the respect of them all. Well, all but one, Admiral Bumgardner."

Wes interjected, "We were not ashore in Bahrain long enough to become buddies but frankly, I did not like the guy; he struck me as your typical arrogant, pompous top brass. 'His base, my nuclear submarine'. But, what about the President? We did not exactly hit it off face-to-face and then with my insubordinate e-mails."

Castillo came back with. "You know, he is inclined to react prematurely at times. The further you got into the mission, especially when you confirmed the sub pen, the more he started to trust you, and believe that the rescue might be possible. By the way, he heard what you said during your meeting. For what is worth, I believe that he agrees with a lot of it. Captain Jacobson's communications to the Secretary of the Navy about you went from hostile, to lukewarm, to total support."

"General, something else has been bothering me."

"Shoot, Wes"

"Well, we just pulled off a mission without a shot being fired, any casualties, and no collateral damage. Have we inadvertently created a surreal image of war? Will those pseudo intellectuals sitting back in D.C. jump on this as the model for the rules of engagement - will this mission do exactly the opposite of what I had hoped it would do? Maybe those pantywaist, baby-skinned kids who seem to be running things will decide that the next international confrontation will be resolved by a tennis match, or a chess game, something that no one gets hurt in. And, when the losers go home and get their nuclear weapons, we're back to square one."

Castillo looked at Wes and smiled, "My good friend, we can only do what we are called to do in life. This was your calling and you responded in the only way that you knew how. You are a credit to the Air Force, but much more than that, you are an honorable man, as are those men and women who took part in this mission, and believe me when I say there are far too few honorable men and women left in our society. What will come from all of this is unknown, but what is known is that 27 of our countrymen have been given back their lives. That is not such a bad thing to be responsible for."

The slight bump and short screech of the wheels as the massive cargo plane touched down signaled arrival on U.S. soil. Wes and the General exchanged a final handshake. They would never see each other again.

EPOLOGUE

January 2, 2014

Washington Times

Washington D.C.

Hector Villa, long time journalist for the New York Times was terminated today. Rumors have it that his writings have become too controversial for the Times mainline reporting posture.

March 15, 2014

Washington Times

Washington D.C.

Hector Villa's internet Blog, entitled "The Scoop" has caught on like wildfire after only two months of airing.

May 30, 2014

Washington Times

Washington D.C.

With funding from various sponsors hoping to gain an advertising advantage and some silent backers, Hector Villa launched his independent newspaper titled The Scoop. The unique format of this paper carried over from his Blog is simply the five Ws (who, what, where, when, and why. He only reports substantiated facts and never uses the word alleged. He will print nothing from an informant speaking under the terms of anonymity. Sources are cautioned that The Scoop will make full disclosure of where it obtains its information especially when criminal or national defense issues are involved.

April 18, 2020

Tri-Cities Herald

Kennewick, Washington

It was announced today that Mr. Hector Villa has been awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Journalism due to his outstanding contributions to printing as he puts it, all the news that's fit to print, no more, no less. Since the inception of his newspaper, The Scoop, in 2014, its circulation has grown to number one in the nation encompassing 80% of the country's readers. It was Mr. Villa's credibility for reporting facts rather than biased opinions and the editorials that he wrote supporting many of President Rayburn's government streamlining initiatives that helped the President consistently succeed in getting those initiatives passed into law.

January 15, 2021

White House, Washington, D.C.

5:00 P.M

"My fellow Americans. Tonight, I come before you to present my farewell address as your 45th President. Let me start by saying that I am proud that you, my employer, saw fit to hire me on for a second term. Quite frankly, had you not done so, most of the initiatives that I have fostered would not have come to fruition. But you put your faith in me and I pray to God that I have not let you down. So, briefly, here is what we have accomplished, and, make no mistake, it was, we. Without your constant support by bombarding your representatives with e-mails, letters, and phone calls, I would have been dead in the water.

"First, laws we have enacted: term limits and a balanced budget amendment. I'd like to take a minute or so to talk about these legislations. The balanced budget amendment was pretty straight forward once our country's true financial mismanagement was made clear to the public. What made it different was that you, the American people rose up in such numbers, that your representatives felt so threatened that they acquiesced to the will of the people. What a novel idea! You saw the problem and the solution and acted. Based on how effective and supportive you were on that bill, I floated the term limits. Granted, that issue was much more complex than the balanced budget legislation, and it probably would have gone nowhere until two things happened. First, it was modified to grandfather in all existing Representatives and Senators, which allowed members of the sitting Congress to serve as long as they were reelected; and second, you the people, once again rose up and created such an outcry that that same Congress had to listen. Faced with either being voted out of office or voting for the term limit bill, which allowed them to continue doing their business as usual, they once again chose the will of the people, not to mention a path forward that was in their best interests. And, I might add, the Supreme Court, try as it may, could not find these laws unconstitutional.

"But, with extreme freedom comes extreme responsibility, and by bringing term limits into law, you have created a double edged sword. On one side are the good things - no more career politicians spending a majority of their time on getting reelected instead of tending to the nation's foreign and domestic welfare, and our Government being freed from many of the undesirable effects that result from such a structure such as legislators selling their votes for party support, or promising favors to states and lobbyists for campaign funding.

"The other side of that sword is that you, the public have lost one of your most effective weapons - the threat of not voting for your representative come next election. This creates a huge responsibility on each citizen to become more involved with their government. Take the time to understand the issues. Let's talk a moment about that. We live in the age of technology; the days of one or two sources of information are gone. With the internet, you have hundreds maybe thousands of sources of information at your fingertips; and it does not take long to sort out those that furnish real information from those that are biased in one direction or another. Use them. The same holds true for your candidates, become familiar with them; learn what their core values are, what their local and state histories are - know who you are putting in office.

"OK, I have said enough on that subject.

"Second, things we have accomplished: revised rules of engagement for our military have been put in place, Yucca Mountain nuclear repository is operational, and shallow water off-shore drilling for oil and natural gas has begun in various high-yield locations such as the Alaska coast and the Gulf of Mexico.

"Third, things started that will be passed on to my successor: tort reform, tax reform, and developing an alternate source of energy. Though our borders are now secure, the illegal immigrant issue remains and must be dealt with.

"Programs put back on line: Our military has been strengthened substantially and will continue to receive maximum attention. For the first time in a decade, the criticality of defense research and development has been recognized and bases such as China Lake, Naval Air Warfare Center, U.S. Army Aberdeen Proving Ground, and Kirkland Air Force Base are being adequately funded and staffed. NASA has been reinstated as a viable and necessary program with manned moon and Mars shots planned for the next decade.

"And finally, we have a good beginning at fiscal responsibility, as evidenced by a slight reduction in our national debt, and being able to initiate and accomplish programs such as those mentioned with no increase to the taxpayers. Though, only a beginning, it is forward progress in coming out of the recession that had this nation to the brink of a depression.

"So, as I depart from my Presidency, I do so with a sense of pride - pride in my nation that, when things looked darkest, stood toe-to-toe with adversarial forces and said, not no, but Hell No!; a sense of fellowship - fellowship that emerged when you the people seeing how bogged down your leadership was, threw off partisanship and rose up as Americans to do what was best for the country; a sense of gratitude - that I was able to be a part of this great adventure in democracy.

"In closing, let me ask you to give President Sizemore, the same support that you gave to me. I feel confident turning over the stewardship of our nation to this man, and know that he will continue to guide her towards new and greater horizons.

"Good night and God bless."

January 15, 2021

Tri Cities, Washington

8:45 P.M

As Char tapped the remote, shutting the TV off, she glanced down at the scrapbook on her lap, and slowly began leafing through the pages. The first clipping, now faded to the point of near illegibility, was a short article dated November 30, 2012, stating that the 27 hostages held by the Iranian Government had been rescued by a Special Operations Team. It was buried on page five of the international news section just under an article on how badly Asiatic countries treat their animals.

Next to it, and just as faded was a front page article announcing the FBI's capture of the international terrorist known as Scorpion.

The articles on Hector Villa were neatly arranged from his firing to his Pulitzer Prize. Another clipping had just arrived from General Castillo. It was from the Navy Times and announced the frocking of Lieutenant Commander Samantha Monhhan to Commander, and her new assignment as Executive Officer aboard the nuclear submarine Virginia. The article went on to state that she was the first female in the history of the Navy to become XO of a nuclear submarine. She would be serving under Captain Herb Irwin, who himself had recently been promoted upon the retirement of Captain Jake Jacobson.

Also on her lap was the most recent letter from her son, MSgt Edgar Stone, who was currently serving as a loadmaster on a C-5 Galaxy based out of Dover AFB. Delaware.

As she ran her hands over the scrapbook's contents, tears began to run down her face. "Damn you Wes, why aren't you here to see this?"

After coming home, Wes had filled Char in on all the details of the mission, the high tech gadgets - tranquilizer guns, underwater night vision, sound bullets, but she saw his real passion was in the people. He was animated as he described the most memorable Navy players, Mr. Hector Villa, and of course, the President. Three, pushing four generations of American patriots who had restored his faith that the spirit of his country was alive and well. His whole personality had changed. Whether or not this was what the Lord had put him on earth to accomplish he would never know in this life, but he had done for his fellow man as he hoped they would have done for him. Though he still professed that one man could never make any significant changes to the big picture, he was content with his small contribution. Wes died at the age of 73 at peace with himself.

Char sat back, closed her eyes and whispered. "You thought that you were rescuing 27 people, but look how many lives you touched starting with our son and reaching as far as the President of the United States. You see my dear husband; one man did make a difference."
