"I spoke to Campion before I got in the air. He said they will be within helicopter distance later in the day. He hopes to get to Tioga before sunset, local time."
Of course outside the window dusk had already come to the Midwestern United States. For Campion, half a world away, it was barely lunchtime.
Friez continued, "I'm on my way to you with a stopover at Groom Lake. You are now command and control for this mission, at least stateside. Everything is to be funneled through Darwin."
"Understood, General. But sir, so far this appears to be a natural occurrence. It's possible that an eruption of some kind is at the root of this disaster."
Friez looked out the window again and spied a stretch of golden fields crisscrossed by irrigation canals and access roads. Somewhere down there a farmer worked his field and a family got ready for dinner.
"You're forgetting the Edelweiss call, Colonel, and I don't like the sound of this mystery mining company, either. Until we know what happened to the insertion team and why the Secret Service sent out that alert we assume a worst-case scenario."
Worst-case scenarios are, after all, what we're about.
Two CH-53 Sea Stallion helicopters flew west over the South Pacific. Ahead of them the sun of a dying day hung low over the horizon, creating two long shadows dancing atop calm surf. The gray beasts were big and brutish, designed for rugged missions ranging from special forces insertion to medical evacuation under hostile fire.
Captain Campion sat on a bench seat in the fuselage of one chopper, accompanied by Salvatore Galati and Dave Roberts, a soldier whose boyish face made him look a lot closer to fifteen than twenty five. All three of the Archangel members wore black ball caps and BDUs but with short sleeves, acknowledging the high temperatures waiting for them on Tioga.
A pilot and co-pilot from the Peleliu manned the controls.
Big and brutish was more than just a description of the Sea Stallion's appearance; it fit the feel of the interior as well. Everything shook and shimmied with the power of the twin General Electric turboshafts seemingly funneled right under the passengers' butts.
The voice of the pilot spoke with a gasp over Campion's headset: "Jesus Christ, look at this shit."
Everyone heard, so all three passengers stood and approached the cockpit to share the view. Several more gasps erupted.
It seemed as if the horizon was on fire. Several columns of black and red smoke rose into the air in spiraling vortexes, combining in the sky into one long drift. Flickers of orange and yellow flames simmered at the base of each plume while crack-like spindly fingers of fire reached across the island.
"Take us in," Campion told the pilot, who clearly did not like the idea. "There seems to be some open ground to the east. Tell the other chopper to hang back."
The co-pilot radioed, "Stag Two stay back; we're going in for a pass."
The pilot warned, "Lots of smoke, lots of heat. Could be some thermal updrafts. It might get shaky real fast."
Campion did not feel the need to respond. He accepted the pilot's expertise on the matter. Others in his unit might spout words of bravado such as, “I don't care, my friend is down there” or something like that.
No, Captain Campion would not put the helicopter or other soldiers at risk. That made no sense. He hoped to find Major Gant and the rest of the insertion team, but not at the expense of losing additional assets.
The lead helo swung around the island at distance for a broad look at the hellish inferno. On the next pass it dipped lower, approaching from the south and staying clear of the rocky outcroppings of the shoreline there.
Ahead stood a wall of smoke and fire. Banyan trees burned like matchsticks, and rivers of black rock oozed across the ground. A rolling ball of yellow and black marked the ignition of something volatile to the northeast, perhaps a fuel storage tank that had succumbed to the heat.
Some of those rivers of black rock had reached the coast and hit the ocean swells in an explosion of steam.
"Nothing but smoke ahead," the pilot pointed out the obvious. "We don't want any part of that."
He did not wait for permission. The Sea Stallion turned right and traced the coast a few feet above the rocks and beach where the Archangel team had landed about sixteen hours ago.
Over the radio came the voice of Master Sergeant Ben Franco from aboard the other chopper: "Looks bad up here. Maybe some clear spots on the northeast side and the southeast but it's hard to see through all the smoke. Things look any better up close?"
Annoyed at the pointless chatter, Campion radioed back, "We are investigating. Stay on station at distance until further instructions."
A "yes, sir," was Franco's reply but it sounded a lot like "fuck you."
Stag One inched inland a few hundred yards by finding a path over a stretch of forest reduced to smoldering ashes, and hence giving off less smoke. They saw a number of buildings that had avoided the streams of molten rock yet had still burned.
From his vantage point peering between the pilots, Campion made out a cluster of blackened buildings that might have been the town center, but the inferno had left only a few walls, beams, and floorboards behind.
Campion felt a weight against his back and then saw Sal Galati's face — glasses and all — push over his shoulder to steal a glance.
"Shit doesn't move that fast," Sal said. "When I was in Hawaii we took our quads up the side of this volcano. Way up, man. And then it erupted and the shit was coming down but we got out of the way fast."
Knowing Galati's penchant for storytelling, Campion mentally translated the tale. Sal must have been in Hawaii and come across one of the many rather breathtaking but not unusual lava flows on that volcanic island. The Captain did not know much about volcanoes, but he knew that on Hawaii those flows did not tend to be dangerous and did tend to be predictable, to the point that they were part of the island's tourist trade.
At some point Galati had decided that the image of him riding a quad up the side of an active volcano and then down again to escape a massive eruption would make for good storytelling, probably to impress a woman.
Of course, it was possible the man had never even been to Hawaii.
Does he know he is full of crap, or has he convinced himself these tales are real?
At some point every member of the Archangel team pondered that question, but Campion did not have the time to think about it now, nor did he want a distraction.
"Go sit down, soldier."
Sal shrugged and retreated.
"There," the co-pilot pointed across the pilot's chest. "Looks like some high ground and … wait a second, are those bodies?"
Suddenly Sal's head rested on Campion's shoulder again, but the Captain could not blame him this time.
The helicopter flew under a stream of smoke and emerged on the eastern side of the island. Two orange and yellow rivers of lava came out of the burning forest and rolled down a slope toward a stretch of beach. Between those two rivers stood a flat, rocky stretch leading toward a sharp dropoff.
Bodies lay strewn on the open surface there, at least a dozen of them, maybe more.
"Take us down," Campion ordered.
"Sir, they look dead," the pilot said. "No movement."
The co-pilot added, "Could it be gas from the eruption or something? Can't volcanoes do that?"
"Either way we need to get down there," Campion repeated his order.