Grant ducked low, then ran toward the gangplank. Motioning with his arm, he shouted, "Let's go! Let's go!" With the ramp already lowered, as soon as the wheels touched earth, four Team members and their prisoners were aboard within moments.
Grant was halfway up the gangplank, when Alder came running from behind the chopper. "Let's get the hell outta here!"
Crew chief Milton stood on the ramp, finally seeing Grant and Adler racing toward the chopper.
Grant stopped near him. "Keep ramp lowered, okay?" Milton gave a thumb's up. Grant immediately hurried through the cargo bay to the cockpit. "Lieutenant! I've requested the ramp remain open. Once we're over water, we're gonna set off explosives aboard the barge."
"Okay, sir! Ready for takeoff?!"
Grant looked back at his men and prisoners. "All secured! Go!"
The chopper lifted off, going from hover to forward flight, simultaneously banking hard to starboard. The lights of Bangkok came into view, a brilliant glow surrounded by total blackness.
Grant balanced himself as he walked through the cargo bay, heading toward the ramp. He met up with Adler. They held onto an overhead bar, one above each side of the cargo bay. "You make the decision when to let it rip!"
"With pleasure!" Adler replied, holding up the remote.
Grant immediately went to Mendoza, unfastened the seat belt, jerked him up by the arm, then led him toward the ramp. "Get ready to say bye-bye to your supplies and transportation!" The Team remained seated, but leaned toward the aisle, preparing for the "fireworks" display.
Adler stayed focused on the barge. When the chopper was at a safe distance, he pressed the red button to arm the device, then he flipped the toggle switch.
A sudden blinding white flash. Milliseconds later an orange and red ball of fire erupted, blowing out the barge's main deck, starboard and port sides. The wheelhouse blew away from the deck, landing on the barge moored behind the stern. The forward section of the old wooden barge, still above water, disappeared in the fire.
The explosives around the Huey blew it apart. Rotor blades snapped, shooting off in different directions, smashing into the buildings opposite the dock, and spinning across the water's surface. Suddenly, ammo, grenades, rockets caused secondary explosions, adding to the mayhem. Fire rained down on what remained of the wooden structures not already destroyed by the blast itself. Black smoke rose high above the docks.
The sound heard inside the chopper was thunderous. Slade and James pumped their fists in the air. "Hooyah!"
Holding onto Mendoza's arm, Grant shouted above the noise, "Show's over! Now I want the name of your contact in Subic!"
"Go to hell!"
"I probably will, but I guarantee you're gonna get there ahead of me!"
Unseen by Mendoza, Adler fastened a safety line around Grant's waist, with the other end secured to the bulkhead. Team A.T. looked on, anticipating the upcoming G2 would be noteworthy. Maybe more impressive than the explosion.
Crew chief Milton backed up against the starboard bulkhead. He spoke softly into his wire mike, keeping the crew informed.
The expressions on the three seated prisoners changed dramatically. They immediately realized there was a strong possibility they might not make it to the carrier. Their fears were reinforced when Adler released Flores' seat belt, yanked him up by his shirt, then leaned close to the terrified man's face, as he pointed to the ramp. "Pay attention! You might be next!"
Grant hooked his fingers through the back of Mendoza's holster belt, then pushed him farther out to the middle of the ramp. Wind swirled around them. The chopper vibrated. Grant spread his legs apart, trying to maintain his balance. He yanked Mendoza closer, forcing him to look over the side of the ramp. "We're doin' about 140 knots, at 100 feet!" Mendoza struggled, trying to get into the cargo bay, but Grant held him fast. "I'm positive your friend, Flores, will give me the answer after seeing you disappear into space! One little shove and you're on your way to hell!"
With his arms still tied behind his back, Mendoza had no leverage, no balance. Trying to make it more difficult for Grant to control him, he started collapsing. Grant jerked him up, giving him another shove, this time stopping him less than two feet from the ramp's end.
Milton's eyes went wide. "Holy shit!" he whispered.
The chopper's nose pitched up. Mendoza started falling forward. "No-o-o-o!"
Grant jerked him back. As Mendoza started to fall, Grant let loose of the belt. Mendoza landed hard on the ramp and rolled sideways. His legs dangled over the side as he tried desperately to push himself back.
For an instant, Grant pictured in his mind the young sailors, dead because of this bastard. It'd be easy to accidentally assist him in going over the side. But instead, he knelt down, and grabbed a handful of Mendoza's thick, windblown hair, pulling on it as he demanded, "Gimme the goddamn name or I fuckin' promise you, you're a dead man!"
Mendoza blurted out, "Avelino Cruz!" Details would follow.
Grant blew out a long breath. "Now, your boss, Artadi. Does he go by any other names?" Mendoza shook his head. "You know all his hiding places?"
"Yes!"
"I'll bring you back to the cargo bay if you'll give us those specific locations. If not, well, I can question Flores. You'll no longer be needed."
"All right!"
Grant looked toward the crew chief and twirled two fingers. A motor whined as the ramp started closing. Getting hold of Mendoza's shirt, Grant dragged him into the safety of the cargo bay. Slade came down the aisle, lifted Mendoza, and dropped him on a seat.
Grant asked, "How's the arm?"
"Butterflies and battle dressing did the trick."
"Good."
"Haven't lost your touch," Adler said, as he sat down. "And just so ya know, Flores gave up the same name of 'Cruz.'"
Grant nodded as he pulled off his watch cap, and tucked it under his belt. He reached into his chest vest, removed a small pad and a pen, then gave it to Mendoza. "Write." As Mendoza started writing, Grant sat next to Adler. "Did Hawk hear that name mentioned?"
"Don't know. I didn't see any immediate reaction."
"So, there might be two contacts that'll have to be dealt with. Looks like a more thorough G2 is called for. Do me a favor, Joe." He looked down the aisle, toward the ramp. "While I go have a word with the crew, move Hawk to the end of the row. We can have a one-on-one there. And you may as well make them more comfortable for a while. Tie their hands in front."
"Done."
Grant stopped by Milton, who had returned to his post near the open window, with his NVGs focused on the area off the starboard side. "Petty Officer, any chance to get an extra helmet? I'd like to question one of my prisoners."
"Sure, sir."
"Just give it to Lieutenant Adler while I go to the cockpit." Grant stood just behind the two seats. "Lieutenant Feith, Lieutenant Gore, I just wanted to say thanks for the excellent job you did."
Gore answered, "Our pleasure, sir. We always enjoy these missions! They keep us boned up on our flying skills!"
"Well, you did one helluva job for us!" Grant leaned forward, getting a better view out the windshield. Nothing but blackness. No land, no ships, no other aircraft in sight. "Where are we?"
"Southern part of the Gulf of Thailand, sir."
"We gonna fly NOE again?"
"Yes, sir. Coming up shortly," Gore answered, pointing toward a one o'clock position.
"Listen, as soon as you can, notify Captain Conklin that we're bringing four detainees, so the master-at-arms will be ready."