that works. If the first bomb is hidden up north, we’ll need to do some more planning back here. Get us that dope as quickly as you can. Tonight before daylight would be about right.”
“No promises. It all depends on the situation and the terrain.”
The SEALs gathered around laughed. Quinn frowned.
“How the hell was that funny?”
“Inside joke,” Chief Chapman said. “It’s what every military commander says when he doesn’t know what the hell to answer.”
The three were in their Korean clothes, with their weapons hidden. The shoes were weird, not sandals, but little better, cheap, half worn out low cut tennis shoes. All three had hats that covered half of their faces. Quinn checked them over.
“For God’s sakes, Hunter, if you’re spotted, try to slump down a little. These two guys at five-five and five-six are about the right size, you look like a giant up there. So slouch, slump, bend over, or walk on your knees if you have to.”
“Nobody is going to see us who isn’t supposed to,” Hunter said. “If they do, they’re dead.”
The three waited with their backpacks for the Air Force pickup that came for them. The airfield was under repair, replacing the long runway. Their Seahawk was on the tarmac ready for them. They waved at Quinn, stepped on board and the two sat on the floor of the bird while Hunter went to talk with the pilot.
She was young, had wings and silver bars of a JG on her collar. She wore a flight suit and helmet and took it off to talk to Hunter.
“Welcome to spook airlines,” she said grinning.
“You weren’t supposed to know,” he said.
She sobered. “Hey, no disrespect. Word gets around. We’ll do every fucking thing we can to make sure it all goes five by five.”
“Amen to that, Lieutenant. I’m Hunter.”
She held out her hand. No nail polish. “I’m Leslie, Ann Leslie.”
You better find a seat back there. I’m scheduled to take off in two minutes or I’ll get my tail feathers burned.”
“Good to meet you, Leslie. I’m gone.”
The copilot slid into the right hand seat and they lifted off. The Seahawk scooted along barely over the treetops at 207 mph almost due west toward the Yellow Sea. The twenty miles clicked by in a little over seven minutes and the bird came down lightly on the landing pad on the stern of the destroyer which had slowed to ten knots for an easier touch down. Hunter and his team jumped out and the destroyer kicked into high gear to move up to its cruising speed of thirty two knots. The men were taken below to an empty room with four bunks. A chief led the way and said the Captain requested their presence in his cabin as soon as they were settled.
“I feel like I’m being called into the principal’s office and I don’t know where I fucked up,” Chang said.
Commander Vuylsteke just wanted to welcome them onboard.
“It’s about fourteen hundred. You’ll all three eat at the officer’s mess at fourteen thirty, and then you can inspect the rubber duck. I’ve assigned Coxswain Urick to handle the craft both into the beach and back out. He’s instructed to go in to a quarter of a mile unless there is any enemy that endanger the mission. You’ll have a rest time and then chow down again at twenty hundred and shove off from the stern at twenty one hundred. That should put you on shore at your desired time of twenty two hundred.”
“Sounds perfect, Commander,” Hunter said.
“Anything else?”
“We enjoyed our ride with Lieutenant Leslie.”
“Good. She’s the sharpest chopper pilot out of the three I have on board. Have a good trip.”
At fourteen hundred the two enlisted SEALs tried not to look wide eyed at the table cloths, the china and real silverware in the ward room as they were served their choice of entrees. Both had steak medium rare and Hunter went for the seafood plate of clams, prons, shrimp, lobster and mahi-mahi.
After the meal they rechecked their back packs and weapons, made
“No promises. It all depends on the situation and the terrain.”
The SEALs gathered around laughed. Quinn frowned.
“How the hell was that funny?”
“Inside joke,” Chief Chapman said. “It’s what every military commander says when he doesn’t know what the hell to answer.”
The three were in their Korean clothes, with their weapons hidden. The shoes were weird, not sandals, but little better, cheap, half worn out low cut tennis shoes. All three had hats that covered half of their faces. Quinn checked them over.
“For God’s sakes, Hunter, if you’re spotted, try to slump down a little. These two guys at five-five and five-six are about the right size, you look like a giant up there. So slouch, slump, bend over, or walk on your knees if you have to.”
“Nobody is going to see us who isn’t supposed to,” Hunter said. “If they do, they’re dead.”
The three waited with their backpacks for the Air Force pickup that came for them. The airfield was under repair, replacing the long runway. Their Seahawk was on the tarmac ready for them. They waved at Quinn, stepped on board and the two sat on the floor of the bird while Hunter went to talk with the pilot.
She was young, had wings and silver bars of a JG on her collar. She wore a flight suit and helmet and took it off to talk to Hunter.
“Welcome to spook airlines,” she said grinning.
“You weren’t supposed to know,” he said.
She sobered. “Hey, no disrespect. Word gets around. We’ll do every fucking thing we can to make sure it all goes five by five.”
“Amen to that, Lieutenant. I’m Hunter.”
She held out her hand. No nail polish. “I’m Leslie, Ann Leslie.”
You better find a seat back there. I’m scheduled to take off in two minutes or I’ll get my tail feathers burned.”
“Good to meet you, Leslie. I’m gone.”
The copilot slid into the right hand seat and they lifted off. The Seahawk scooted along barely over the treetops at 207 mph almost due west toward the Yellow Sea. The twenty miles clicked by in a little over seven minutes and the bird came down lightly on the landing pad on the stern of the destroyer which had slowed to ten knots for an easier touch down. Hunter and his team jumped out and the destroyer kicked into high gear to move up to its cruising speed of thirty two knots. The men were taken below to an empty room with four bunks. A chief led the way and said the Captain requested their presence in his cabin as soon as they were settled.
“I feel like I’m being called into the principal’s office and I don’t know where I fucked up,” Chang said.
Commander Vuylsteke just wanted to welcome them onboard.
“It’s about fourteen hundred. You’ll all three eat at the officer’s mess at fourteen thirty, and then you can inspect the rubber duck. I’ve assigned Coxswain Urick to handle the craft both into the beach and back out. He’s instructed to go in to a quarter of a mile unless there is any enemy that endanger the mission. You’ll have a rest time and then chow down again at twenty hundred and shove off from the stern at twenty one hundred. That should put you on shore at your desired time of twenty two hundred.”
“Sounds perfect, Commander,” Hunter said.
“Anything else?”
“We enjoyed our ride with Lieutenant Leslie.”
“Good. She’s the sharpest chopper pilot out of the three I have on board. Have a good trip.”
At fourteen hundred the two enlisted SEALs tried not to look wide eyed at the table cloths, the china and real silverware in the ward room as they were served their choice of entrees. Both had steak medium rare and Hunter went for the seafood plate of clams, prons, shrimp, lobster and mahi-mahi.
After the meal they rechecked their back packs and weapons, made
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