Moore took the photos from Grant. “Whatcha got in mind, sir?”
“I’ll try to get more intel from D.C. Maybe Naples had another transmission from the guy in the AFN building. Gotta try something.” He stood and waved Brewster over to him.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yeah. I’d like to talk with Colonel Cummings again. Possible?”
“Sure. Follow me.”
Once inside the cockpit Grant requested that a radio call be patched through to NIS, so he could try to get any updates on the situation. He leaned against the bulkhead, hoping they’d be able to get a call through, hoping for news.
“Captain, your call is ready. Just plug in that headgear over there.” The flight engineer pointed to a headset.
Grant slipped it on and adjusted the mouthpiece.
Torrinson spoke loudly, hearing the sound of engines. “Grant?!”
“Yes, sir. Any new transmissions from AFN, sir? Do you have more intel for me? Any more on hostage situation?”
“One came in two hours ago, confirming some hostages are being held in the old hangar.”
Grant looked up at the overhead, relieved. “That’s what I wanted to hear, Admiral!”
“Not to burst your bubble, Grant, but we still don’t know who the hostages are or how many.”
“I realize that, sir, but at least we’ve got more than we had before. At least we’ve got people to rescue.” Grant pressed one side of his headset against his ear as he asked, “Admiral, do you know if there’s been any contact yet with the Palermo organization?”
Torrinson spun his chair around, got up and walked to the window, looking out across at Chrystal City, and the last of the early morning lights still shining. Rubbing a hand across his tired eyes, he answered, “I’ve got a call into the bureau chief in Naples, a man by the name of Jack Edwards. He’s running that op. Hope to get word back from him within a couple of hours.”
“We’ll be on the ground by then, sir. Any chance you could get an answer before we make our jump at 1730 my time? And maybe you could get a name for me, the name of the Palermo ‘boss.’”
Torrinson laughed. “You don’t want too much, do you?”
“Who? Me, sir?” Grant responded with a smile in his voice.
“And just how do you plan on communicating with the Italians, I mean, do you speak that language, too?”
“Not my speciality, but Petty Officer Russo is fluent. He’s volunteered his services, sir.”
“‘Volunteered’?”
“I didn’t have any hand in his decision, sir.”
“All right, all right. Let me make that call.”
Torrinson glanced at the wall clock. “I’ll get back to you with an answer before you exit.”
Torrinson had just pulled the phone away from his ear, when he heard Grant call. “Sir!”
“Something else, Captain?”
“Yes, sir. Just a thought, but there’s usually more than one guy manning the AFN center, right?”
“Don’t know how many, but yes. Only one was in the building at the time.” Torrinson's brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Well, sir, if we're lucky enough, maybe we can make contact with someone who hadn’t arrived yet.”
Now Torrinson was really curious. “Then what?”
“May need to borrow some civilian clothes to help us blend in.”
Torrinson was beginning to feel uneasy but also knew he had to trust Grant… whatever he was planning. “I'll see what I can find out. Just try and keep me in the loop, okay?”
“I’ll do my best, Admiral.”
“Now, is there anything else?”
Grant’s mouth curved into a smile. “Negative, sir!”
Handing the headset back to the flight engineer, Grant said, “I’m expecting the admiral to call again.” Then Grant asked Cummings, “How’re we doing on time?”
“On schedule. Weather’s clear all the way. There might be some turbulence up ahead going through the Alps, but it shouldn’t slow us down. Once we’re through that, it’ll be good. Ground winds shouldn’t be more than five knots. As of now, you can still plan on exiting at 1730 hours.”
“We’ll be ready.”
Grant went back through the cargo bay, feeling more relieved than he had since the mission started.
“Well, sir? Any news?” asked Moore, holding out the photos, anxious for a positive response.
Grant reached for them and sat down. “Yeah, Ray. Last transmission from AFN was two hours ago.” He pointed to the building in the photo. “This is where the hostages are being held.”
“Hot damn!” replied Moore, as he pounded a fist against nothing but air.
“You hot to trot for some action?” Grant laughed.
“Damn straight, sir!”
“For now that’s what we’ll have to go on and only hope they haven’t been moved.” He pointed to a building in the photo. “So, if this is the hangar, then our best shot will be the shortest route, coming in from back here, from the eastern side of the facility.” He lifted the map off the deck, with his eyes zeroing in on the town of Enna, then he traced a route that would take them by a large lake, closer to their DZ. From that point it would be about another fifteen miles. Then he tapped the map with an index finger. “This will be our LZ, gentlemen, about three klicks northeast of AFN. Colonel Cummings has given us a drop time of 1730 hours.” He looked at his watch. “It’s now 1530.” The men instinctively glanced at their watches. Grant continued, “Between the LZ and the compound is mostly open country. And it should be almost dark by the time we jump.”
“Just the way we like it,” Simpson grinned. “The darker the better, right, sir?”
Grant gave a quick nod, but he knew that night jumps weren’t a favorite of SEALs. They weren't always the best course of action to take. The level of risk increased dramatically. But when circumstances called for a quiet insertion into a hostile environment, a HAHO jump, a high altitude, high open technique, couldn’t be beat, night or day.
Moore took a couple of steps toward the center of the cargo area, balancing himself with legs apart as the plane hit some turbulence. Standing with his hands on his hips, he looked at Grant with a questioning expression.
“Something on your mind, Senior Chief?” Grant asked with his brown eyes narrowing. He leaned back, hooking a hand in the webbing.
“Sir, you planning on using that new GPS thing?”
“Used it on my last two missions, Ray. Believe me… it works like a charm. Wouldn’t surprise me in the least if in a couple years it became standard equipment. Got any doubts?”
“No, sir, I believe you. But would you mind if I used my old standby compass?”
“Not at all, just as long as you hang close and follow me in.”
“Of course, sir. You know it takes awhile for us old guys to break our habits!”
Grant knelt down next to one of the containers. “Understand.”
He raised the lid and perused its contents. Inside was all the sensitive equipment, scopes, transceivers, NVGs (night vision goggles). He looked up at Moore. “Have the men start getting the M16s ready. Don't know what else the admiral had packed for us, but think there'll probably be some pencil flares and maybe some thermite grenades. Whatever there is, just divide up like we usually do.”
“Aye, aye, sir. We’ll get started.” Moore just had to give the men a look and they gathered around the container, kneeling down, working methodically.
Grant reached into the container and took out two Starlighter scopes. Similar to NVGs, peering into a Starlighter was like looking at a negative, only images were light to dark green. He put them on the seat before pulling out a throat mike. A small battery with a dangling antenna, attached to a waistband. A wire ran from the battery to the throat mike and earpiece. To communicate, the user would press and hold the PTT (push-to-talk) button then release it when finished. Each man had exactly the same equipment, allowing them to hear all conversations.