Isn'tthis interesting? Marvin asked himself in his Chevy Chase apartment. It was downright hilarious that he had learned about a high-level Russian intelligence operation from an American, and here was a chance to hurt his country's Main Enemy through surrogates - if they could get things moving in time. He would also be able to inform his control officers of something the Soviet Air Force cretins had running that had significant implications for the Soviet Union's defense. They'd probably try to take that operation over. You couldn't trust pilots - it had to be a PVO Strany officer doing the questioning, he was sure - with something as important as national defense. He made his notes, photographed them, and rewound the film into the tiny cassette. His first appointment tomorrow was an early call at a local contractor. From there he would stop off to have breakfast at a Howard Johnson's, where he'd make his transfer. The cassette would be in Moscow in two days, maybe three, by diplomatic pouch.
Captain Yegorov ended his work for the evening just in time to catch the end of the Senators game - despite a ninth-inning homer by Frank Howard they fell short again, losing to Cleveland 5-3. Wasn't this something, he thought, sipping at his beer. Henderson was a plum all by himself, and nobody had bothered to tell him - probably hadn't known - that he had his own source within the White House Office of National Security Affairs. Wasn't that a kick in the ass?
Mission stress and all, it was a relief when the C-141 thumped down at Danang. They'd been in transit for a total of twenty-three noisy and mind-numbing hours, and that was quite long enough, they all thought, until reality struck them hard and fast. Scarcely had the cargo hatch opened when the smell hit them. It was what all veterans of this place came to think of as the Smell of Vietnam. The contents of various latrines were dumped into barrels and burned with diesel fuel.
'Smell o' home!' one Marine joked, badly, evoking isolated barks of semiamusement.
'Saddle up!' Irvin shouted as the engine noise died. It took a little time. Reactions were slowed by fatigue and stiffness. Many shook their heads to clear off the dizziness induced by the earplugs, along with yawns and stretches which psychologists would have called typical nonverbal expressions of unease.
The flight crew came aft just as the Marines left. Captain Albie went to them, thanking them for the ride, which had been smooth, if long. The Air Force crew looked forward to several days of enforced crew-rest after the marathon stint, not yet knowing that they would hold in this area until the team was ready to fly home, perhaps catching a few cargo hops back and forth to Clark. Then Albie led his men off the aircraft. Two trucks were waiting, and they drove to a different part of the air base, where two aircraft waited. These were Navy C-2A Greyhounds. With a few desultory moans, the Marines selected seats for the next part of their journey, a one-hour hop to USS Constellation. Once there, they boarded a pair of CH-46 Sea Knight helicopters for a transfer to USS Ogden, where, disoriented and exhausted by travel, they were led to capacious and empty troop quarters - and bunks. Kelly watched them file off, wondering what came next for him.
'How was the trip?' He turned to see Admiral Podulski, dressed in wrinkled khakis and far too cheerful for the moment.
'Aviators gotta be crazy,' Kelly bitched.
'Does get kinda long. Follow me,' the Admiral ordered, leading him into the superstructure. Kelly looked around first. Constellation was on the eastern horizon and he could see aircraft flying off one end while others circled to land on the other. Two cruisers were in close attendance, and destroyers ringed the formation. It was part of the Navy which Kelly had rarely seen, the Big Blue Team at work, commanding the ocean. 'What's that?' he asked, pointing.
'Russian fishing trawler, AGI.' Podulski waved Kelly through a watertight door.
'Oh, that's just great!'
'Don't worry. We can deal with that,' the Admiral assured him.
Inside the superstructure, the two men headed up a series of ladders, finding flag quarters, or what passed for them at the moment. Admiral Podulski had taken over the Captain's in-port cabin for the duration of the mission, relegating Ogden's CO to his smaller accommodations nearer the bridge. There was a comfortable sitting room, and the ship's captain was there.
'Welcome aboard!' Captain Ted Franks said in greeting. 'You're Clark?'
'Yes, sir.'
Franks was a fifty-year-old pro who'd been in amphibious ships since 1944. Ogden was his fifth and would be his last command. Short, pudgy, and losing his hair, he still had the look of a warrior on a face that was by turns good-natured and deadly serious. At the moment, it was the former. He waved Kelly to a chair next to a table in the center of which was a bottle of Jack Daniel's.
'That ain't legal,' Kelly observed at once.
'Not for me,' Captain Franks agreed. 'Aviator rations.'
'I arranged for them,' Casimir Podulski explained. 'Brought 'em over from Connie. You need something to steady down after all that time with the Air Scouts.'
'Sir, I never argue with admirals.' Kelly dropped two ice cubes into a tumbler and covered them with alcohol.
'My XO is talking with Captain Albie and his people. They're all getting entertained, too,' Franks added, meaning that every man had two miniatures on his assigned bunk. 'Mr Clark, our ship is yours. Anything we have, you got it.'
'Well, Cap'n, you surely know how to say hello.' Kelly sipped at his drink, and the first touch of the booze made his body remember how wrung-out he was. 'So when do we start?'
'Four days. You need two to recover from the trip,' the Admiral said. 'The submarine will be with us two days after that. The Marines go in Friday morning, depending on weather.'
'Okay.' There was nothing else he could say.
'Only the XO and I know anything yet. Try not to spread things around. We've got a pretty good crew. The intel team is aboard and working. The medical team gets here tomorrow.'
'Recon?'
Podulski handled that one. 'We'll have photos of the camp later today, from a Vigilante working off Connie. Then another set twelve hours before you move out. We have Buffalo Hunter shots, five days old. The camp is still there, still guarded, same as before.'
'Items?' Kelly asked, using the code word for prisoners.
'We've only got three shots of Americans in the compound.' Podulski shrugged. 'They don't make a camera yet that can see through a tile roof.'
'Right.' Kelly's face said it all.
'I m worried about that, too,' Cas admitted.
Kelly turned. 'Captain, you have an exercise place, something like that?'
'Weight room, aft of the crew's mess. Like I said, it's yours if you want it.'
He finished off his drink. 'Well, I think I need to get some rack time.'
'You'll mess with the Marines. You'll like the food here,' Captain Franks promised.