“I know the colonel very well,” Bulldog added, clearing his throat.
“We were stationed together at CMC headquarters.
My wife and I spent a lot of time with them during that tour. Walt Ashworth is a damn fine Marine.”
Captain Ellison pulled his handkerchief and blew his nose.
“And a damn fine hero, too. Unfortunately, the colonel’s wife was one of those murdered by those sons of bitches. Later today, Intell will brief what we know on that attack and the car bombing that killed Admiral Phrang, his wife, and his PA. He will also brief on the other attacks that have occurred in the past seventy-two hours.
“We believe these to be state-sponsored attacks. Everyone in the intelligence community is working hard to identify who is behind them. Admiral Phrang’s death and the attack on Sixth Fleet… you’d have to be stupid not to see that those two attacks — the car bomb attack on the USS La Sane and the USS Simon Lake, moored together in Gaeta, and the attempt late yesterday against EUCOM-are coordinated actions.” A sigh escaped.
“Damn cold.” His double chin bounced as he blew his nose.
“Here is what I expect to come our way, once the powers that be start reacting, and each of you needs to plan accordingly. First, we will be told to cease the PONOPs.
Second, Gearing will be ordered off station. When those two events happen, we will recover the Harriers conducting the combat air patrol and steam at full speed to take station over the horizon from Algiers. Once at MODLOC, we must be prepared to conduct an evacuation of American citizens, who are gathering in the American Embassy compound even as we speak. I want to emphasize our role in this internal conflict going on in Algeria. We are going in and out. Do it quick. Avoid any entanglement in this civil war. I don’t want us involved other than to evacuate our citizens. If they want to kill each other, let them, but we’re going to stay out of their war. We do not want to be lulled into doing something stupid that will cost unnecessary lives. We saw what happened in the Balkans when we got entangled in someone else’s war.”
Duncan rubbed his eyes. What the commodore may fail to realize was that staying out of wars was harder than getting into them. America had been a player in every modern war in the past hundred years. That didn’t mean Duncan didn’t agree with what the commodore was saying. Most military officers agreed that it was best to avoid combat whenever possible; unfortunately, they also knew, with the demise of the draft years ago, the military experience in government had declined to where using the military as a foreign policy instrument came easier — and, often, it became the first choice. Wholeheartedly, he agreed with the commodore. In and out. Do it quick and don’t get involved.
But he knew from his own combat experience that events had a way of reeling you into them regardless of how hard you fought to avoid them and stay out.
Duncan shifted his weight in the chair. He may as well be comfortable. His left butt cheek needed some fresh circulation.
Rank did make for a captive audience, and the commodore obviously enjoyed that perk of rank. He tuned his ears back to the commodore.
“Yesterday, as most of you know,” the commodore continued, “we airlifted, via two helicopters, a company of Marines into the American Embassy — thankfully, before the Algerian insurgents gained complete control of the area.
That gives the thirty Marines at the embassy an additional thirty with our two fire teams. Tunisia has been a great help, allowing our helicopters to refuel at their air bases.
One of the helicopters returned late last night. The other chopper took small-arms fire, somewhere along the way, and is sitting disabled at the Tunisian Western Area Air Base. We’re flying a repair crew off later today.”
Beau leaned over to Duncan.
“I’d also ask Admiral Hodges, before you kill him, if he lost those golf games.”
“Colonel Stewart,” the commodore said. He pointed his finger at the lean Marine.
“You, as the commander of the amphibious landing force, are to be ready to conduct the evacuation immediately upon our arrival at the operating area off Algiers. While we hope that the Algerians will give permission to bring our people out, we must be prepared to conduct the evacuation in a hostile environment.
Please ensure everyone understands the “Rules of Engagement’ issued by Sixth Fleet when we in chopped the Med.
I do not want us initiating combat, but if we’re fired upon we will return it. That being said, I would like a quick rundown on where we stand right now.”
“Aye, Commodore. My staff and I worked through yesterday and the night brushing off the contingency plan for an Algerian evacuation. My intentions are to send a full combat-ready company with the first two CH-53s. They’ll augment the embassy security force and the Marine fire teams inserted yesterday. They will reinforce embassy perimeters and engage any element perceived to be a threat to the evacuation. Accompanying the 53s will be four Cobra attack helicopters. Two flying ahead, to sanitize the corridor, and two flanking, to protect from small-arms fire and manpack surface-to-air missiles.
“According to Commander Mulligan”—Bulldog continued, nodding toward the pudgy intelligence officer sitting beside Captain Farnfield—“Algiers has fallen. Complicating this operation is the lack of a proper government to arrange peaceful flight operations.”
“Okay, Colonel. I would like you to get together with Captain Farnfield,” the commodore said, “so the USS Nassau fully understands your requirements.
“Captain Farnfield, the professionalism of your ship and crew in the next few days will determine the success of our mission. Please pass to your officers, chiefs, and sailors that I expect each to do their duty, as the lives of American citizens depend on them as well as us.”
The commodore took another sip of the water. He swished it around his mouth before swallowing.
Then, before independent conversations erupted, Ellison continued, “Captain James, it will be your job to organize the Spec War teams needed to support the Marines and, if necessary, conduct rescue of any hostages. Admiral Hodges told me that you wrote the book on hostage rescues; here’s a chance to add another chapter. Bulldog, I’m adding a third helicopter for the SEALs, so incorporate a third 53 in your CO NOR “Sir,” interrupted a lieutenant commander, straightening from where he had been leaning against the bulkhead, “we only have two CH-53s available. The third is damaged and sitting at the Tunisian base. The one that returned from the embassy run has to go through a maintenance check; two are down hard, awaiting parts, and the other has a chip light that we are still troubleshooting.”
“Is it a valid chip light?”
“Appears to be, Commodore. Most likely shavings from a bent piston rod. If so, then we’ll have to break down the engine to replace it and—”
“Okay, Commander,” Ellison interrupted.
“How long do you estimate until the helo is up?”
“If we have the parts on board we can have it operational in two days. Otherwise, we’ll have to fly them in from Sigonella.”
“Okay, Colonel, substitute the third 53 with a 46 from the USS Nashville. Captain James, welcome to my staff as the senior Navy Special Warfare representative. I want a CON OP on my desk by eighteen hundred hours, showing me two plans. One to support embassy security and a second for hostage rescue. You’ll need to coordinate your communication requirements with the staff’s COMMO.”
Two hours later, the briefing finished, bladders bursting, the commodore departed. Duncan hated conferences, meetings, briefings — anything that rooted him to one place for more than thirty minutes. He wished he hadn’t drunk the coffee. The Navy was probably right in SERBing him and sending him home to his farm in Georgia. He slid his chair under the table. Where is the nearest head? Then, intuitively, he followed the mumbling crowd.