“Our target was living in a small house not too far in from the beach at a camp where they trained people like him. Rick led the way using the information the CIA had given us. We found the building where our target was supposed to be sleeping. It was guarded by two men. We killed them with silenced pistols.”
That had been the first time Lake had ever killed or used a Hush Puppy. Kneeling in the dark, feeling Rick’s hulking presence at his side, the older man whispering out a three count and both firing at the same time. The two guards crumpling to the ground, their brains splattered against the cinder-block wall behind them. There was no time then to think or feel about it. That would come later, and by the time later came there was much more to think and feel about.
“We went into the building fast. It was one story, only three rooms. The target was sleeping in the back room.” Lake’s voice, had gone flat. He was reciting it just as he had in the debriefing. “He was just sitting up when we kicked open the door to his room. We both fired and killed him. We immediately left the building.
“Everything had gone exactly as planned up to that point. Then it went to shit. The hole in the fence must have been found. We had tied it back together with fishing line so it wouldn’t be so obvious, but one of the sentries must have spotted it. Then they had followed our trail to the cache site. There were six men standing right where we’d left the rebreathers. They weren’t exactly expecting us to come up. They were too excited over finding the gear. We weren’t expecting them to be standing there. It was one big jug-fuck.” Lake shook his head. “We came tearing down this ravine and there were these guys. Rick just started shooting and I followed suit. They fired back and it was like World War III. We hit four of them and the other two went to earth right on top of our gear. We heard other guards yelling in the distance and these two guys were guiding them in.
“Rick grabbed me. He yelled in my ear for us to forget the gear and head for the beach. So we did a left-face, scrambled up the slope of the ravine, and then made our way shoreward in the next ravine. The guys back at the cache site were still shooting; we could see their tracers flying through the sky.
“We came to the fence, except not at the point where we had cut the hole. That was about two hundred meters farther up the beach and we could see flashlights up there. So we used our wire cutters and went to work where we were. But by that time the sentries were out in force. A squad came up the fence from the south and spotted us. They opened fire and hit Rick in the initial burst. He went down. I fired over his body and made the bad guys take cover.”
Lake finally paused in his story and looked at Harmon. She was perfectly still, as if any movement on her part might derail his memories, but he was into it now. He felt the gun in his hand, jerking from the recoil as he fired at muzzle flashes. Rick lying at his feet, the sound of surf pounding, the crack of bullets flying by. If there had been any other expression on her face, any movement on her part, he knew he couldn’t go on. But there was something about her that drew him in and the story out.
“Rick was alive. I grabbed him and pulled him away from the fence, then I used a satchel charge to blow it. No more time for niceties. I just pulled the activating cord and threw it at the fence. It blew and there was a gap. I grabbed Rick and threw him over my shoulders.”
Lake didn’t add that Rick demanded that Lake leave him. That the older man had insisted that he be left behind to cover Lake’s withdrawal. That he knew his wounds were too severe to make it back to the sub. For the first time since he had joined his SEAL team, Lake had ignored his senior NCO.
“I ran across the beach.” Lake shrugged. “I don’t know why I wasn’t hit. I wasn’t exactly setting a world record in the fifty-yard dash with Rick on my shoulders. I hit the water still running. When I was waist-deep I realized I was in a little bit of a predicament hauling Rick. I quickly took the safety lines from around my waist and hooked it into his, but I couldn’t swim like that. So I looped it around my neck.”
Lake touched his scars. “I finned with my legs and pulled with my arms as hard as possible to get out of range from the shore. By then the rope had dug in to my skin so far I couldn’t get it out so I just kept it there. I swam for six hours to get to the rendezvous site.. My biggest concern was that the blood from Rick’s wounds and my neck would attract sharks.”
He didn’t add in the agony of the rope ripping into the flesh and then the salt water washing over it with each stroke. The rope buried into the torn and swollen flesh, sliding back and forth just a little bit each time. The shifting from swimming on his back to his stomach then back again to use different muscles, each move tearing new flesh around his neck.
“The sub was at the rendezvous spot even though we were late. They surfaced and pulled us in.” Lake let out a deep breath. “Rick was dead.”
When Lake didn’t say any more for a minute, Harmon finally spoke. “I’m sorry.”
“I kind of knew he was dead shortly after leaving the beach,” Lake said. “He was too hard core of an old cuss to just be towed along like I was doing. I didn’t ever stop to check, though.”
“But…” Harmon’s voice trailed off.
“But why. didn’t I leave him if he was dead?” Lake asked.
Harmon nodded. “He must have slowed you down. What if the submarine had not waited and left your pickup point?”
“I couldn’t abandon him dead or alive,” Lake said flatly. He pointed at the box on the desk. “Enough chitchat. Let’s get back to work.”
“I had to know,” Harmon said. She stood and walked behind him. Her hands reached up and she lightly touched his neck, her long fingers tracing the knotted flesh.
“Know what?” Lake was caught off guard, still feeling the resonating effects of telling her what had happened so many years ago and the unexpected pressure of her hands.
“Know who you were. Are,” she amended.
“Why?”
“Always the questions,” she said with a low laugh. She withdrew her hands and walked back around the desk and tapped the paper in front of her. “So I could decide if I should tell you what Cyclone and Forest stood for.”
Lake slowly sat down and waited.
“I have an earlier Japanese message,” Harmon continued. “It tracks the American Task Force 54 in January and February of 1945. IF 54 had six battleships, five cruisers, and sixteen destroyers in it, so the Japanese were very concerned as to its whereabouts. In the. beginning of 1945 it was at both Cyclone and Forest, according to these decoded messages sent out to the Japanese fleet commanders. Since / know from history where Task Force 54 sailed to and from in those days, I know what Cyclone and Forest stand for.”
Lake continued to wait. The mood in the basement had changed. It was growing colder and darker.
“Cyclone is Ulithi, as we guessed. Task Force 54 sailed from there to conduct a preliminary bombardment of Iwo Jima between the sixteenth and eighteenth of February. The battleship Tennessee was damaged in the action.”
Lake’s mind was racing one lap ahead. “So Forest is Iwo Jima!”
Harmon doused that with one word. “No.” She was looking down at the piece of paper in front of her.
“Well?” Lake finally insisted.
-“Task Force 54 sailed from Forest before arriving at Cyclone or Ulithi. Forest is the Japanese navy code word for San Francisco.”