Three officers were no longer watching from Vulture's Row, but hurrying down the ladderwell leading to the flight deck. Screwing down their caps, they stepped onto the flight deck, staying close to the island, as they watched four men from the first medical responders unit running up the ramp, carrying a stretcher into the cargo bay.
"Were any transmissions received indicating a change in the injured man's condition?" Torrinson asked, without taking his eyes off the chopper.
"No, sir," XO Justine answered.
Within no time, Diaz was on the stretcher, then being hustled toward the superstructure.
The three officers kept their eyes on the stretcher until it disappeared inside the island. Hearing a sound of boots on the ramp again, they turned seeing the six men of A.T. surrounding the four boys who had blankets wrapped around them.
"How the hell did those kids survive … everything?" Conklin questioned, with a slight shake of his head.
Torrinson redirected his eyes to the men of A.T. as they walked across the flight deck. Each man was bruised and battered. Clothes were mud-caked, torn, and bloodied; blood seeped through bandages on faces, hands. While their eyes showed frustration and anger, it was the fierce determination Torrinson recognized, having seen that look many times in the past. He already knew these men would be going back out, in pursuit of those who seriously injured one of their own, and with premeditation, killed or destroyed the lives of young sailors aboard the Preston.
Grant stopped in front of him. "Admiral."
Torrinson placed a hand on his shoulder, while letting his eyes go from man to man. "Come on. You all need to get to sickbay. We'll talk later."
A decision had been made. The order given. The Preston was turned into the wind. Flight ops were finally underway. For the past two and a half hours, and every 45 seconds, one of four catapults sent an aircraft hurtling down the flight deck, launching it in 2.5 seconds. F-14 Tomcats, A-6 Intruders, AE-6B Prowlers. Rescue choppers had been in the air before the first plane launched.
Within Flag Country space, located a level below the launch shuttle of Cat 1, the sounds and vibrations of aircraft launches were extraordinary, deafening. The three men within the room somehow managed to ignore the disturbance.
Torrinson sat on the front of his desk, sipping on a cup of warm, black coffee, waiting for Captain Conklin, anxious for the meeting to begin.
Sitting on a black leather couch on the opposite side of the room, Grant and Adler also waited, wearing their service khakis. New sets of camies, bought from the ship's store, hung in their stateroom.
"There're some donuts and pastries on the credenza," Torrinson said, looking specifically at Adler.
"No thanks, sir," Adler responded with a slight shake of his head.
"Well, that's gotta be a first! Joe Adler refusing food?!"
"Yes, sir."
"Listen, you've both gotta be relieved Frank came through surgery without complications. Grant, didn't Doc Palmer say he'd make a full recovery, even without his spleen?"
Grant swirled the black coffee around in the cup, then looked at Torrinson. "He did, sir, but I don't know if Frank will be rejoining the Team."
"Oh, come on, Grant. You haven't even talked with him."
"You're right. But he was injured on another mission. That's when he decided he needed to spend more time with his son — until he learned about the training facility. I know it was a tough call for him, but he wanted to stay with us. To tell you the truth, his decision surprised the hell out of me.
"My main concern now is that he'll be more susceptible to infections. Doc Palmer probably told you the same thing, sir, and well, that could become a problem — for him and us. The Team has to depend on everyone." Grant ran a hand across his face. "It might be best. His kid needs him."
"You planning to have a discussion with him?"
"I have to." Grant put the coffee cup on a side table, then abruptly stood, unable to stay still any longer, wanting to get the mission underway. Hooking his thumbs in his back pockets, with his eyes downcast, he started pacing.
Torrinson put an arm out, blocking his path. "Grant."
"Yes, sir?"
The locking of the square jaw, grinding of teeth, were a sight Torrinson was very familiar with. "You know you've got to wait for more information before you even think about going back out there." A knock at the door. "Come!"
Conklin rushed in. "Sorry, Admiral."
"Problem resolved, Jim?"
"Yes, sir."
"And none too soon. I thought Grant was about to explode."
Conklin looked at Grant, then Adler. "Before we get started, Admiral, there are two things I'd like to report. Doc Palmer said the only injuries the kids suffered were bumps, superficial cuts, and bruises. They're somewhat undernourished, and for now all he can do is give them vitamins and get some food and milk into them. The nurses outfitted them in the smallest size pants and T-shirts they could find.
"We contacted Family Services in Subic Bay for advice, since there's no way to tell where their families are, or even if they're alive. As soon as arrangements are finalized, we'll fly them to Subic by either chopper or the next COD."
"All right, Jim. What's the second thing?"
"One of Captain Stevens' men turned in a tin containing pills. They were red in color, not orange, but were analyzed anyway." He looked toward Grant. "I hate to tell you, but those didn't have the ingredients that our men ingested."
Grant went rigid, pounding a fist against his thigh. "Goddammit! The whole mission was useless?! A waste?!"
Silence in the room, until Conklin asked, "Did you find anything else?"
Grant didn't immediately respond, as the mission flashed through his mind, until he heard Torrinson's voice. "Grant!"
"Sir?"
"Jim asked … "
"Oh, right. Sorry. Ken said he saw a pill-making machine, and in the back of the room was a stash of ingredients. That was another reason the places exploded so violently. Chemicals. As far as evidence, well, just about everything was either blown all to hell, or went to the bottom of the river." Then, a thought came to mind, and he commented, "Just because those killer pills weren't in that tin doesn't mean they weren't produced there earlier, right?"
Conklin nodded. "Possibly."
"Maybe the red ones were for distribution among the local population. He couldn't take the chance of having locals dying."
Adler added, "His business would go right down the shit-strainer."
"Right, Joe."
Conklin tapped a finger against his mouth. "So you think the bad ones had already been shipped to Subic?"
"Like you said, it's possible, but unless we find the bastard, or get his connection in Subic, I can't see us proving it."
"Captain Conklin, did anyone question the kids?" Adler asked. "I mean, they must've heard names mentioned."
"They were quite traumatized, and justifiably so. Getting anything from them was a struggle, especially since it was determined they were originally from some out of the way villages up north. We had one of our stewards try to communicate with them but he only got two names: Myint and Hawk. We assume the 'Hawk' was a code name. Those poor kids experienced a lot of trauma in their young lives."
"They were treated like slaves," Grant said quietly.
Torrinson turned his attention again to Grant. "Okay, Grant. Start from the beginning."
"Well, sir, the mission was going just as planned." Grant sat down, then continued outlining the op, right up until the unknown chopper attacked. "Bad luck, sir, it was freakin' bad luck, and bad timing." He leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs, rubbing his hands together. "The bastards in that chopper couldn't have known we were there. They were on the hunt … just like us."