Jean shook her head. Wherever her husband was, she hoped he didn't see the report; he'd be sure to get on her case about how dangerous flying was. Over the past nine years, several of Jean's aviation acquaintances had been killed in various accidents. Every time a helicopter went down, it struck close to home.
Mitch had never asked her not to fly, probably because he knew how important it was to her. Thinking about her husband made her wonder where he was. It had been a week since he'd left and she hadn't heard a word. She knew better than to try to call Yongsan. If Mitch hadn't called her, that meant he was doing something classified.
As she finished her meal, Jean said a silent prayer for whoever had been in that aircraft. She hoped the pilots were no one she knew.
Hossey put on his beret and left his office. He had done all he could today in wrapping up loose ends from the mission. The hard part would come tomorrow. He got in his car and drove to the officers' club.
Walking into the pub, he spotted Jim Trapp and the other four healthy members of Team 3 sitting at a table in the corner. Dressed in clean uniforms they looked better than they had getting off the helicopter this morning, but as he drew close, Hossey noticed that their eyes were shadowed from fatigue and their faces were tight with anger and grief.
As Hossey approached their table he was intercepted by the club manager. "Sir, I see you're wearing the same patch as those men. Are they yours?"
"Yeah. Why?" Hossey bristled.
"Sir, some of them aren't officers, so we can't allow them in here. I asked them to leave, but they've ignored me. Perhaps you could tell them to leave."
Hossey glared at the civilian in front of him. "They can drink any goddamn place they want. If they choose to drink here then I think I'll join them. You going to kick me out, too?"
The manager backed away from the angry colonel, deciding he could overlook the isolated table in the corner. "No, sir."
"Thanks," Hossey said dryly. He walked over to his men. "Mind if I sit down?"
"All yours, sir." Jim Trapp pulled over another chair. The tabletop was littered with empty beer cans and shot glasses.
That's one way to deal with it, Hossey thought. Seems like a good one, too, right now. "How's O'Shaugnesy?"
Devito glanced up from his mug. "He's doing fine. Going to have some pretty ugly scars, though. They've got the infection under control. Should be able to fly him back to the States in about a week for recuperation."
Hossey looked at Lalli. "How's the leg, Paul?"
"A little stiff, sir, but other than that, it's OK."
He turned to Trapp next, who was obviously well on his way to a major drunk. "You going to be all right to travel with me tomorrow?"
Trapp glared at the colonel with bleary eyes. "Sure, sir. Just celebrating our successful mission, is all."
Hossey glanced around at the rest of the room. Nobody was paying them any attention. "I'm awfully sorry about those guys. If there was anything that could have been done to prevent it, or anything we could do now, you know I'd do it."
Trapp nodded slowly. His glare had been directed at the situation, not at the colonel. "I know that, sir. It's just that I've been doing this shit for more than twenty years now. I just don't know what the purpose is anymore. We lost some good men back there. Dave Riley was the best damn team sergeant I ever worked with. I don't know what he died for."
Hossey had to agree. "I don't know what he, or the rest of them, died for either. But I tell you one thing we can do. We can have a toast."
He raised his shot glass. The survivors of Team 3 all raised theirs.
Hossey said it for all of them: "To those we left behind."
The team's junior engineer, Smitty, looked up angrily. "Bullshit," he slurred. "Why are we kissing those guys off? We don't know for sure they're dead. Remember what top and the captain always said? Never quit on a plan. Always follow through, even though it looks like a waste of time. The plan, if someone wasn't exfilled, was to monitor the high frequency. How come we aren't doing it?"
Hossey felt tired. "Mister Trapp and I saw the imagery of the crash site. There was nothing in one piece on the ground. The helicopter must have disintegrated in midair. No one could have survived the explosion."
"Besides," Lalli added, "we torched the PRC70 on the pickup zone, Smitty. You know that. How the hell are they going to come up high frequency if they don't have an HF radio?"
Smith sank sullenly back in his chair.
Trapp stood up abruptly. "If you gentlemen would excuse me, I need to rack out to be prepared for the fun and games tomorrow." They watched as Trapp walked unsteadily out into the dark night.
The chilly night air slapped Trapp in the face as he scrunched his beret down on his head. He thought about what had been said inside. He turned and looked at the stars.
To those we left behind, Trapp thought. I agree with Smitty. Bullshit.
General Yang was upset. It had taken the idiots in the 3d Aviation Regiment five hours to get the information concerning the crash site to his office. He turned to his chief of staff, Colonel Tugur, who had just had the unfortunate responsibility of relaying the late information. "Obviously, the fool in command of that unit needs help. This information should have been here hours ago. First thing tomorrow we must search the wreckage. Maybe we will find the bodies of our so-called terrorists. But maybe some of those terrorists survived the crash and are even now still in the area."
Yang looked at the dark features of the Mongol officer. It was difficult for someone of Tugur's ethnic background to make such a high rank as colonel in the Chinese Army. But Yang appreciated and rewarded ruthless efficiency and competence. Tugur excelled in both areas. He was the right man for this job.
"You will fly out tomorrow morning to personally supervise the search down there. Arrange for your plane to depart at first light."
15
"He selects his men and they exploit the situation.
Hearing the knock on his door, Meng turned down the image on his computer screen so it could not be seen. "Come in." He relaxed slightly when he saw it was only Wilson carrying the debrief file.
"All done in Tunnel 3. Those US-SOCOM guys about broke down the door heading out. I guess they have an early flight down home to Florida."
Meng took the file. "Everything shut down?"
"Yeah." Wilson sat down on the other side of the desk. "This was a pretty straightforward mission. The computer didn't throw them any curves. I guess US-SOCOM will look pretty good over at the Pentagon when they see the after-action report on Dragon Sim-13."
Wilson noticed something on the desktop. He picked up the copies of the imagery that Meng had ordered the previous day from NSA. "What's this?"
Meng thought quickly. "It's part of a variation of the simulation. One of the possibilities called for one of the exfiltration helicopters to be lost on the way out. That picture is supposed to represent the crash site."
Wilson whistled. "Damn. Nothing could have lived through this. You can't even see there was a helicopter there. Where'd you get these pictures? Is this some real crash site?"
Meng shrugged casually. "I don't know. NSA sent over satellite pictures when I requested them during the initial programming for 13. I imagine it's an old crash site they drew out of their files."