“Mr. Turner, I’ve ordered Sid to comply with your request. There’s plenty of space on the other two Sea Knights for her Marines. I think that is the least we can do for all you and your companions have been through,” he responded. Turner’s heart jumped for joy at hearing the news. “I know there will be hell to pay for allowing this, but I’m willing to risk it. Tell Major Zibrinski I’ll radio the Hazleton and tell them you have engine problems and are heading back. That will give you ample time to do what you have to do on La Palma. Our hospital on the Hazleton can treat your father’s wounds.” He paused for a moment. “Mr. Turner, I have instructed the Major to abort the mission if the situation becomes too risky. Understood?”
“Yes, Colonel, and thank you,” Turner replied, adding, “I owe you a drink!”
“That’s the second offer I’ve had today,” he said, laughing as he spoke. “Go on, Turner, tell Sid to get going. The third Sea Knight is coming in now so we’re covered here. Sears, out….”
“Let’s go get your father and his friend, Mr. Turner.” Zibrinski said with a wink as she powered up the transport chopper’s GE turbines and hit the stow lever for the aft ramp. Turner smiled back gratefully as he stood up and made his way to the rear of the craft where Samuel still sat, sprawled over two chairs with his eyes shut.
“We’re on our way to La Palma to get Dad and Maria,” he announced happily, slapping his friend on the shoulder.
“It’s about time we got some amenities on this all-inclusive Canary Island vacation,” Samuel replied lazily. His eyes were closed, but he was still smiling.
The CH-46 Sea Knight rose skyward and banked to the west, leaving behind the Bishamon facility and its aura of death and mayhem behind. As they headed out over the Atlantic Ocean, Zibrinski could make out the tiny island of La Palma in the distance. She noted the ominous plume of ash rising from the high peaks. It was being carried off to the southwest by the wind currents.
The sun was almost below the horizon as they sped across the open expanse of water. No one on board could ever envision, in their wildest nightmares, the horrific act of nature they would soon experience.
Inside of the Bishamon control room, a large wall panel was pushed out from within. It fell to the floor as Yagato Osama stepped out from the hidden stairwell. It was one of many throughout the complex used for extreme situations such as this. Ruffled by his unexpected encounter with Turner, he had now regained his composure. While behind the wall, he overheard the conversation minutes earlier.
“Fuyuki, where are you?” he yelled abruptly. Looking around the dim, empty control room, he heard muffled voices and banging on the supply room door. He kicked the chair that was bracing the door and it opened to release three disheveled scientists, grateful to finally be set free.
“It’s over, Oyabun,” Fuyuki Seijun said in defeat. “They have managed to reverse the effects of the Scalar waves on La Palma. We must escape. Soon this place will be swarming with American soldiers,” he stated, his voice rising in panic.
“It is not over, Fuyuki. Begin the corrections on their meddling and continue with the process,” he roared. The three scientists quickly sat at the terminals and began to key new data into the program Yashiro had recently reversed.
“I was able to contact my helicopter at the airport, and have instructed him to arrive here in a few hours when it gets dark. We have a secure place to hide until then. Don’t worry,” he said calmly, pointing to the false wall. “We are not finished yet, Fuyuki. They will soon pay for their interference.”
34
Aboard the USS Hazleton, Captain Jason McKnight stood on the foredeck of his vessel smoking his pipe. As his ship sped through the calm waters of the Atlantic on its mission, in his mind he was going over all contingencies. As he studied the strange mushroom-shaped, black cloud in the distance, Lt. Commander Ewell came rushing down the steps to join him on the foredeck.
“Captain, the radio shack has Admiral Borland at COMLANTFLT on the horn again, and he wants to speak with you.” Mac calmly tapped his pipe on the deck railing and emptied its contents into the sea. He followed Ewell back up the steps and onto the bridge.
“What’s our distance to the Canaries?” he asked picking up the bridge’s red phone and covering the mouthpiece.
“The closest landfall is La Palma at eighteen nautical miles to the southwest, sir,” his first officer responded.
“McKnight here,” he barked into the phone. He knew that it was an admiral, but he didn’t care.
“Captain, this is Admiral Borland at COMLANTFLT. Have you anything new to report on the situation on Tenerife?” he asked gruffly.
“The CIC reported that Colonel Sears met with some weapons fire at the target zone, but the facility’s perimeter has been secured. The Sea Knights are touching down at this moment with Marine backup for the clean-up OPS,” Mac reported, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair.
“Has there been any report from the civilians on-site as to the status of the terrorist weapon?” Borland asked in a tone that bordered on frustration.
“No, Admiral. Nothing definitive since the report from Sears that said they were having some success. The civilians were supposed to give us the go, or no-go. As of now, we haven’t gotten an all-clear,” he replied.
“In the absence of any confirmation, Captain, I’ve got orders from the President to proceed with the Tomahawk strike. The guidance data has been satellite down-linked to the Milford for execution,” he stated. “The U.S. Geological has reported to the President that the La Palma volcano is erupting, and a partial slide on the western flank has occurred. Without any confirmation from the teams on-site as to the condition of the terrorist weapon, he has no other option than to eliminate the source of the weapon.”
“But Admiral, what about the—”
“Mac, I don’t like it either. But with the threat of that landslide possibly becoming a reality, the President has to act, and act now. You have your orders, Captain,” Borland snapped back at him. “Recall the teams at once and commence with the Tomahawk launch. The President wants that device neutralized ASAP.”
“Yes, sir,” Mac said in frustrated compliance, hanging up and then ringing the Combat Information Center.
“CIC: Lieutenant Minichino,” the voice said on the other end.
“Lieutenant, this is the Captain. I want you to recall the away teams and EVAC the civilians at once, then get me the Captain of the Milford. We have our orders to launch,” Mac barked over the phone, not happy about this turn of events.
“Aye, Captain,” the CIC Officer responded as the line went silent.
“Damned politicians,” he barked aloud to no one in particular as the bridge crew averted his gaze. He paused, staring out at the plume of smoke in the distance, assuming it was the ash cloud from the eruption on La Palma.
“I’m sure that it will work out fine, Captain,” Ewell said in an attempt to defuse his commanding officer.
“I hope to God that they’re right about this,” he said to Ewell, who looked at him apprehensively.“Firing that Tomahawk now that we have almost secured that facility is like putting perfume on a pig, Commander. It’s still gonna wind up being ugly and smelly when it’s done,” he said, letting out a deep breath.
“Okay! Let’s get this show on the road,” he said in finality. “Commander, have the launch deck special detail stand-by to receive the away teams.”
“Yes Sir, Captain,” Ewell said, alerting the aft deck by way of its ship-wide intercom.