The APC was still moving forward toward the security building. Snyder clicked on the radio: “Armored vehicle with the Lithuanian flag, hold your position.” He lowered the handset. “Range from the APC to the building?”
“Fifty meters,” one of the SAW squad members shouted back. “Vehicle has stopped.”
“Weapons visible?”
“Only the rifle,” the squad member shouted back. “Four. five… six gun ports closed… machine-gun mount empty.”
Snyder picked up another handset. “Trimble, I want a SAW squad on that APC. If it moves any closer to the building, blow it away. You got that?”
“Trimble copies,” came the reply.
Snyder and his executive officer dragged the radio over toward the edge of the roof so he could watch and talk at the same time. A tall, beefy soldier had emerged from the rear of the APC, accompanied by a younger man with a portable radio slung over his shoulder. After the two dismounted, the vehicle backed up about twenty meters. The soldiers were alone, with only sidearms visible. The big soldier boldly stepped right up to the front door of the security building; the radioman was a bit less determined, but he kept up with the big strides of his partner. Ignoring the guns, barricades, and determined Marines challenging him, he walked right up to the shattered front door of the facility, a cocky smile on his face.
“That’s far enough,” Trimble challenged them. “Step aside so I can see your APC.” The radioman translated for the other man, and with an amused smile on his face, the two soldiers complied.
“My name General Dominikas Palcikas, commander of military forces of Lietuvos, “the big man said in halting English. “I wish speak with your commander, please.” He apparently recognized that Trimble was not the leader of this unit.
“Captain, the guy says he’s General Palcikas,” Trimble radioed up to Snyder. “Wants to talk with you.”
“He wants to talk?” Snyder repeated incredulously. Ormack and McLanahan could see the crushing strain on Snyder’s face — the guy looked like he was having a heart attack. “Take them into custody. If they resist, kill them. If that APC moves, blow it away. I’ll be down there in a minute.”
“You’re going to arrest the commander of the Lithuanian military?” McLanahan asked. “Why?”
“How do I know he’s really Palcikas? How do I know he’s with the Lithuanian Army? Lithuania isn’t supposed to have an army — only a militia, a bunch of rough, ill-equipped volunteers. This group has got tanks and antiaircraft weapons.” Snyder took a drink from his canteen, water spilling out the side of his mouth. He turned to Ormack and continued: “I don’t give a shit about arresting anybody. But I’m going to follow procedures. Lots of spies have just walked into a camp waving a white flag. I’m going to secure him, isolate the two individuals, and interrogate them, just like Trimble and Haskell did with Luger.
“But what I really care about, sir, is getting off this fucking roof. The Soviets are going to dump on us any minute, and we’re standing around with our thumbs up our asses, about to have a tea party with the locals.” He dropped the FM radio handset and picked up the UHF command radio. “Dockside, Dockside, this is Hammer. Status of our transport. Over.”
“Hammer, this is Dockside, estimate ten mike for your ride. Over.”
“Copy ten mike,” Snyder acknowledged, swearing to himself again. He glanced at his watch. In their coded phraseology, “ten mike,” or ten minutes, needed to be multiplied by whatever number the minute hand was pointing on at the time of the transmission. In this case, he needed to multiply by two — they were estimating twenty minutes before the MV-22 would be back to pick them up. He put the handset back in the radio. “We’re going to lose daylight at this rate — the chopper won’t be back for at least twenty minutes.”
“I know you got a lot on your mind, Captain,” Ormack said, “but this is a great opportunity for us. The Lithuanians down there seem to have control of the entire facility, and the SEA HAMMER’s been delayed. “We don’t need any other Marines to help us.”
“Oh, is that so?” Snyder asked derisively. “So now you guys are experts in securing buildings, huh?”
“I’m not trying to tell you your business, Captain,” Ormack insisted. “I’m trying to say we’re willing to take the risk. You’ve got the important data from this building in a bag right there, and you’ve got REDTAIL HAWK downstairs in custody.”
“So you think you can go trotting off anywhere you please, and I’m not responsible for you and I shouldn’t care what happens to you, right?” Snyder asked, clearly distraught. For the first time, the two Air Force officers saw real concern in the Marine captain’s eyes. He really felt exposed, unprotected, completely alone out here, his thirty-some Marines against the full might of the Commonwealth Army that might be bearing down on him at any moment. “Well, I am responsible for you, dammit. I’m responsible for all the men here. It’s my ass if I get anybody killed on this mission.
He removed his helmet, scratched his head irritably, sprinkled a bit of water on his head, and strapped the helmet back in place. Taking a deep breath, he gave Ormack and McLanahan an icy stare; then: “Look, just finish up your search of this building — collect any data you can. Hopefully by the time you finish, the SEA HAMMER will be back and we can get the hell out of here. With the Lithuanians in charge, maybe you’ll get invited back to get the rest of the data. But I’m more concerned about this assault team. With only twenty-eight combat-ready troops here, we’re sitting ducks for any sort of counterattack. Hell, one bomb can take us all out.” He turned over control of the radios to his executive officer and headed downstairs.
Ormack and McLanahan followed.
The two Lithuanians were seated on small wooden chairs in the main ground-floor hallway. Their wrists and ankles were bound by plastic handcuffs. They wore no hoods, blindfolds, or gags, but they were seated facing a blank wall, separated from each other by a few feet. One Marine was examining the radio, copying down all the frequencies and channel numbers imprinted on it. Sergeant Haskell was standing by, ready to help translate; he also carried a black-and-green leather pouch that contained the unit’s intelligence records — the photos and briefing notes used by the unit for reference during the mission. Gunnery Sergeant Trimble was examining the two soldiers’ identification papers; he handed them over to Snyder as the three officers approached. “Haskell?”
“We don’t have a photo of Palcikas, sir,” Haskell said. “I’d like to request the embassy fax us a copy from their files.”
Snyder picked up his portable radio: “Bob, get on the horn to the embassy and tell them to fax us a picture of General Dominikas Palcikas of the Lithuanian Self-Defense Force. Out.” The PRC-ll8ED UHF radio had a built-in fax modem on which documents could be printed out and transmitted from across town or, via satellite, around the world. “You got anything on him?” Snyder asked Haskell.
“Nothing on Palcikas himself except for his name, rank, and age. I got his unit’s approximate troop strength, headquarters, staff… not much more than that,” Haskell replied. “General word is that Lithuania’s not supposed to have an army. Total strength of about two thousand, small arms, some APCs. No aircraft, heavy armor, artillery, or air-defense weapons. Border guards, ceremonial, government security only.”