‘Eagle Claw’ was a fiasco. Should have hung a few of the bastards out to dry on that one. And Grenada…a world-class fuckup that we managed by sheer mass. We should have gone in at night, only the Rangers saved our bacon. Learn from them—” Stansell started to interrupt but Eichler waved him to silence. “Anna’s not going to let me talk long, so listen. You need good intelligence. Without it, you’re dead. You’ve got to know the rules of special operations. A special operations force does not hold ground or try to defend a place. Ignore rules like that and you’ll get your ass blown off.
“Your team needs to be totally self-contained. Everyone works for you—ground, air, intel, maintenance, everyone. No split command. It’s your show. And no duds, everyone pulls his own weight. Don’t rely on your machines. One hundred percent backup for aircraft. Avoid helicopters if you can. For God’s sake, keep it simple, make it fast.” Eichler leaned back in his chair, his breathing labored, tired from talking. His eyes closed, and Stansell could see the man’s body relax.
After a few minutes Stansell stood up, walked to the French doors, went into the hall, surprised to see Anna Eichler standing there leaning against a wall.
She walked him to the door. “He was wrong, you know. I would have let him talk. It’s his last chance.” She stopped at the door and put her hand on his cheek. ‘Thank you. Both our boys are dead, he’s given this one to you. Please do it right.”
*
Stansell drove through the town until he found the Waters address. This time a handsome middle-aged woman answered the door. “Mrs. Waters, I’m Colonel Rupe Stansell. I called yesterday.”
“Oh, yes. Sara is expecting you.” She smiled at his confusion. “I’m Martha Marshall, Sara’s mother.” Stansell followed her into the combination kitchen and family room. A young woman was on the floor changing a baby’s diaper.
She stood and held the baby up for inspection. “Melissa, meet Colonel Rupert Stansell. He knew your father.”
The colonel was obviously at a loss for words. Sara Waters was in her late twenties and beautiful. Her dark-gold hair cascaded to her shoulders and her brown eyes held a warmth and friendliness. Giving birth to Melissa had not hurt her figure. She decided to let him off the hook. “We hadn’t been married too long. I met Anthony when I was in the Air Force working at the Watch Center.”
Within a few minutes, Melissa was cradled on his lap and he felt comfortable with the two women. Mrs. Marshall invited him to dinner and suggested he and Sara take Melissa for a walk while she finished preparing the meal.
Sara pushed the stroller as they walked down a tree-lined street. “Please tell me about Anthony and that last day,” she said. She turned to him, her eyes calm. “I’ve got to know. They never returned his body.”
Stansell decided that Sara was asking for blunt honesty. “I don’t think they will,” he said. “The Iranians interrogated me for over twelve hours after I surrendered the base. They were only concerned with finding your husband. They wanted him bad. Two guards took me out to the security police bunker where he was when the last artillery barrage walked across the base. It took two direct hits. Not much left. I couldn’t identify anything.”
“How did it happen?”
“Artillery was chewing us up. The civil engineers worked all day to get enough runway open to launch our last F-4s. I was hoping we could get the C-130s in again and get some more of our people out. We got the F-4s launched but no luck on the C-130s. About three hundred of us were left. Mostly security police, some maintenance, wounded, and civil engineers…They wouldn’t evac out. Even when they could. Your husband ordered an intelligence officer out, Bill Carroll—”
“I know Bill,” Sara said. “He wouldn’t leave.”
“He didn’t.”
“And you didn’t either.”
Stansell shook his
“Your team needs to be totally self-contained. Everyone works for you—ground, air, intel, maintenance, everyone. No split command. It’s your show. And no duds, everyone pulls his own weight. Don’t rely on your machines. One hundred percent backup for aircraft. Avoid helicopters if you can. For God’s sake, keep it simple, make it fast.” Eichler leaned back in his chair, his breathing labored, tired from talking. His eyes closed, and Stansell could see the man’s body relax.
After a few minutes Stansell stood up, walked to the French doors, went into the hall, surprised to see Anna Eichler standing there leaning against a wall.
She walked him to the door. “He was wrong, you know. I would have let him talk. It’s his last chance.” She stopped at the door and put her hand on his cheek. ‘Thank you. Both our boys are dead, he’s given this one to you. Please do it right.”
*
Stansell drove through the town until he found the Waters address. This time a handsome middle-aged woman answered the door. “Mrs. Waters, I’m Colonel Rupe Stansell. I called yesterday.”
“Oh, yes. Sara is expecting you.” She smiled at his confusion. “I’m Martha Marshall, Sara’s mother.” Stansell followed her into the combination kitchen and family room. A young woman was on the floor changing a baby’s diaper.
She stood and held the baby up for inspection. “Melissa, meet Colonel Rupert Stansell. He knew your father.”
The colonel was obviously at a loss for words. Sara Waters was in her late twenties and beautiful. Her dark-gold hair cascaded to her shoulders and her brown eyes held a warmth and friendliness. Giving birth to Melissa had not hurt her figure. She decided to let him off the hook. “We hadn’t been married too long. I met Anthony when I was in the Air Force working at the Watch Center.”
Within a few minutes, Melissa was cradled on his lap and he felt comfortable with the two women. Mrs. Marshall invited him to dinner and suggested he and Sara take Melissa for a walk while she finished preparing the meal.
Sara pushed the stroller as they walked down a tree-lined street. “Please tell me about Anthony and that last day,” she said. She turned to him, her eyes calm. “I’ve got to know. They never returned his body.”
Stansell decided that Sara was asking for blunt honesty. “I don’t think they will,” he said. “The Iranians interrogated me for over twelve hours after I surrendered the base. They were only concerned with finding your husband. They wanted him bad. Two guards took me out to the security police bunker where he was when the last artillery barrage walked across the base. It took two direct hits. Not much left. I couldn’t identify anything.”
“How did it happen?”
“Artillery was chewing us up. The civil engineers worked all day to get enough runway open to launch our last F-4s. I was hoping we could get the C-130s in again and get some more of our people out. We got the F-4s launched but no luck on the C-130s. About three hundred of us were left. Mostly security police, some maintenance, wounded, and civil engineers…They wouldn’t evac out. Even when they could. Your husband ordered an intelligence officer out, Bill Carroll—”
“I know Bill,” Sara said. “He wouldn’t leave.”
“He didn’t.”
“And you didn’t either.”
Stansell shook his
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