A look of wonder spread across the young man’s face. “Wow! I read all about you and all the stuff you did aboard this ship,” the young man said as he shook Hammond’s hand. “I’m Kurt and this is Tommy and Chuck.”
Hammond nodded. “Yes, I heard there was a troop aboard. How do you like our ship?”
“This is cool,” said Tommy. “I don’t even know how this thing floats,” he said.
“Me either,” said Hammond. “You need to see if they’ll let you go all the way to the top. It’s the best,” Hammond said pointing upward.
“Do you think they would?” asked Chuck.
“I think I can arrange it. By the way, who brought me the blanket?”
“We did,” said Kurt. “We were exploring some last night and saw you up here, so we brought up one of the blankets and they said we could come back when it was daylight.”
“Well, I appreciate it. I was pretty tired after the concert. Did you guys like the music?”
“Yes sir!” exclaimed Chuck. “I’m learning how to play the trumpet.”
“Well, good. Keep practicing and you can get as good as my guys,” Hammond said.
There was a shuffle outside the citadel and Brian Davis stuck his head in. “About time you woke up,” he said with a grin. “We have orders to get you back down to San Diego. We’ll be getting underway in an hour,” he said.
“I can drive quicker,” Hammond said.
Davis shook his head. “No, sir. Admiral Johnson told me personally that I was to bring you. I’ve arranged for one of my officers to drive your car down.”
Hammond sighed slightly. He looked at the scouts beside him. “See. Even admirals get told what to do sometimes,” he said. “See you around again,” he said to the boys as he shook their hands again.
Standing outside the citadel the sentry and agent were now joined by “Boats” Patnaude. “Boats, you still here?” asked Hammond.
“Hell, somebody’s gotta be your wet nurse,” Patnaude said with a grin. Then he got serious. “Look, Captain,” he said quietly. “Let us know if there’s something we can do. You know you can count on us.”
Hammond looked the old man square in the eye. “I know, Boats. Tell the guys I appreciate it. If you guys can help in any way, I’ll call,” he said placing his hand on Patnaude’s shoulder.
A twinkle appeared in Patnaude’s eye. “You better,” he said.
Hammond started to leave when he turned suddenly. “Boats, how about seeing that these guys get the chance to go up to the 0-11 level. They deserve a look,” he said with a grin.
Boats nodded and waved as Hammond and the others left the bridge. He looked at the three young boys standing nearby. He eyed them intently, sizing each young man up, then mumbled, “Three future recruits.” After a moment he nodded his head. “Okay you three shitheads wanna see the real Navy? Let’s get going,” he said firmly. Patnaude was going to show them this ship if it killed them.
One hour later, USS Kings Mountain took in her moorings and departed for San Diego. From her bridge, Hammond watched as Patnaude, in his old white helmet, had thirty young boys in their bare feet lined up on the Iowa’s deck holystoning like real sailors.
Major General Claire Richardson sat in her office in a foul mood. The Chairman, General Black, had called her personally to get her up on what had happened and told her that he wanted her to organize a team. As the Chief of the Pentagon’s new Special Operations Division, she had plenty to choose from, but not enough answers to make any decisions. Already she had contacted the Defense Intelligence Agency to get her those answers. Now it was time to organize a team. Her chief of staff was already working on a list or options, but until things started falling into place, there wasn’t much she could do. That left a bitter taste in her mouth. Hammond was one of her friends and she knew the President, another friend, needed her help.
The Special Operations Division had been formed to gather the very best from each service to take care of the growing number of problems around the world that couldn’t be done with an army or navy. She was like a surgeon’s scalpel. She could go in and cut out a problem and then let the wounds “heal.” Already her teams had rescued some students in Kenya, a diplomat in Indonesia and some kidnapped businessmen in Angola without a single loss and without anyone knowing what had happened. This was going to be one of those type operations. Already the alert had gone out to teams One through Six, although Team Five was currently finishing up some intensive training in the swamps of South Carolina. In the mean time, everyone was getting equipment ready and waiting for the call.
She was checking one team’s readiness report when there was a knock on her door. Captain Chris Spalding opened the swinging door and stepped in.
“Excuse me, Ma’am, but you have visitors in the waiting room. It’s the Dickson family.”
All her concerns were swept away as the smile spread across her face. She had met the Dicksons upon the death of their son, one of her own officers, during the war. They had adopted a young Korean boy who their son had saved from a grenade attack. Since that time she had followed the family and the young boy closely. She rose from her desk and walked to the reception area. There sat Mr. and Mrs. Dickson and a tall, thin 11 year old boy who jumped to his feet and saluted. She stopped and returned his salute. He then rushed up to give his Aunt Clair a hug.
“Hey there, Marine. How have you been doing?” she asked with glee.
“Real good, Aunt Claire. We’re gonna see the memorial today,” he exclaimed.
“Well, I know you’ve been looking forward to that,” she said, and then turning to the Dicksons, she gave each a hug. “I’m so glad you could come by. Thanks for bringing my little boy to see me again. Come on it the office.”
The three followed her to her office and sat down at a couch and two chairs opposite her desk. For the next fifteen minutes they caught up on everything going on since their last visit nearly a year before. Richardson was particularly interested in seeing how Jua Jing, whose name had now been changed to William, was doing in school and with other children.
“Well, we had a problem recently in school. Will got suspended for a day,” said Russ Dickson, stifling a grin on his face. Obviously he was holding something back.
Richardson turned to look at young Will. She gave him a skeptical look. “Suspended? Now how did this happen? I thought you were a straight “A” model student.”
William hung his head slightly, then looked up at her. “I got in a fight.”
The typing and rustling of papers in the outer office ceased and Richardson heard a couple of chairs ease back along the floor as the occupants quietly came to the door to listen. Everyone in the office liked the little boy and he had become their “mascot” once they had heard of how one of their own had personally saved him. Three faces appeared at the door.
Richardson noticed, but continued her concerned look. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
Will looked over at his Mom, then his Dad nodded to go ahead. He looked back at Richardson. “Well, there’s this guy at school. He likes to pick on me because I’m Korean.”
Richardson nodded. “You’ve had things like that happen before.”
Will nodded. “Yes, Ma’am, that doesn’t bother me too much,” he said. “But he started saying things bad about my brother.”
Richardson almost heard a growl from outside her office. The guys were listening intently. Even she was getting upset. His adopted brother, also named William, had made the ultimate sacrifice to save this boy’s life. This would be a very painful memory. She looked at Will. “I understand. So what did you do?”
“Well, Mom always told me that I shouldn’t get into fights at school, but what he said just made me angry,” he said almost shamefully.