The three-kilometer walk was uneventful, which Zachary attributed to the unit’s good security during the move. They found four white Quonset huts unlocked and ready for their occupancy, with metal-frame beds, mattresses, and sheets laid out. A row of three streetlights illuminated the buildings. Zachary had the sapper inspect the buildings for bombs or other booby traps as he searched the area.
To Zachary, they seemed positioned in the middle of a desolate wasteland. By now, he could see Subic Bay to their south. It was not far away, maybe another three hundred meters. But other than a pier to the south, the barracks were not remotely close to anything that resembled a naval base. Walking with Slick to the pier, he saw what appeared to be a more complete facility across the water. Mists of salt water stung his eyes, and he returned to his company and decided to move them another two hundred meters to the west, away from the buildings. They’re magnets, those buildings. The base was a ghost town, complete with tumbleweed rolling through the spotlights of the streetlamps like lost children searching their way home.
At that moment, Zach reaffirmed every com-mander’s mantra. All my men are coming home.
Chapter 23
Zachary had his company form the standard triangular patrol base. It was the most secure position for his troops. He did not trust the buildings, yet. The night was strangely silent except the low muffled sound of crates opening, 5.56mm ammunition speed loaders zipping the rounds into magazines, and the assorted metallic clicks and clanks of equipment distribution and inspection.
He probably could have reached the embassy from Subic Naval Base using standard frequency modu-lation communications, but he wanted to test the Single Channel Anti-jam Man Portable (SCAMP) radio and saw this as the perfect opportunity. Slick knelt on the hard-packed dirt and popped open a white metal suitcase about the size of a gym bag. It weighed thirty pounds altogether. One half of the suitcase lid separated from the other and served as the radar dish. It was square and pivoted on a metal frame with four legs that angled out from each corner of the chassis. The other half of the suitcase contained the voice and data sending units. The SCAMP operated on extremely high frequency (EHF), using the Military Strategic, Tactical, and Relay Satellite Communications System (MILSTAR). A satellite positioned somewhere over the Pacific Ocean would receive the message and relay it to the receiving station.
Zachary tucked his map into the cargo pocket of his pants while Slick performed the standard RTO habit of blowing into the mouthpiece after turning on the transmitter. He heard nothing come back to him in the earpiece, but delivered the handset to the captain anyway.
“JUSMAG, this is Bravo six,” Zach said.
They waited in the darkness as his men either slept or pulled security. He had one patrol, led by Second Lieutenant Mike Kurtz, the Second Platoon Leader operating under the call sign “White six,” clearing the perimeter two hundred meters to the west.
“JUSMAG, this is Bravo six, we have crossed phase-line October and are awaiting further instructions. Your liaison element was incapable of communicating with us, and we had enemy contact on the objective. Request immediate link up, over.” JUSMAG was an adjunct to the U.S. embassy in Manila. A small mili-tary team coordinated all Department of Defense activities within the country, and Zach had been instructed to contact the JUSMAG immediately upon arrival.
“Bravo six, this is JUSMAG, I’m the only one awake here at the moment. I will inform the colonel as soon as possible, over.”
“Listen, this situation is not normal and requires immediate notification of your leader, over.” Zachary was getting angry. No one is awake? What kind of excuse is that? I’ll bet that lieutenant colonel with a bullet in his head wasn’t awake either.
Zachary’s feeling about the mission did not improve when the voice came back, “Bravo six, this is JUSMAG. Your instructions are to continue with the mission, over.”
“Continue with what mission, over?”
“Wait one.” After a minute or two pause a different, harsher voice came on the line, “Bravo six, this is JUSMAG six, what seems to be the problem?”
Finally, Zachary thought, someone with authority. The six suffix was the designator for the commander, so he knew the voice belonged to someone in charge.
“Your liaison was incapacitated prior to our arrival. We need link-up with a member of your team for further instructions.”
“Incapacitated in what way?”
“Your man was shot through the forehead before we got here,” Zachary said, violating what he consid-ered to be operational security. There was a long period of silence.
“What is your status?”
“We have secured our equipment and moved across phase-line October, awaiting further instruc-tions.”
“Roger, I’ll be at your location ASAP. Anything else?”
“Negative, over.”
Zachary and Slick looked at each other, wondering how long ASAP would be. A warm, moist wind pushed across their faces. Slick left the SCAMP operational as Zachary slipped on his night-vision goggles to get a glimpse of his unit’s security. From one knee, he could see all three platoons, tightly joined in a triangular formation. It was a bit close together for his liking, but considering the circum-stances, and the fact that he had three new platoon leaders, he was satisfied. The sun would rise shortly, giving him a clearer vision of what looked to him to be a wasteland of hardstand surrounded by high-rising hills on three sides and water on the fourth.
Too vulnerable.
As the morning sun crested the eastern moun-tains, scattering its rays through the jagged peaks, Zachary slept sitting on his rear end, leaning against his rucksack. He was tired and floated in and out of a dream state, vivid images of his parents’ farm in Stanardsville dancing through his mind.
Chapter 24
“Sir?” Slick said. “Sir, there’s a helicopter coming in.”
Zachary pulled out of his dream slowly. It had been a rough two days for him, ever since the alert notification back in Hawaii. The only sleep he had managed was a shaky three hours on the airplane. The rest of the time he had spent making plans, reassuring soldiers, and thinking about his family. His mind rose out of the dream like a fighter pilot pulling out of a dive, spinning rapidly across the Blue Ridge, the continental United States, Hawaii, and landing with a thud in the Philippines. He rubbed his eyes and, in the wafting heat of the morning, looked at Slick, who was pointing at a UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter flaring as it was about to land.
A portly man in solid green jungle fatigues stepped out of the aircraft, holding his flop hat in one hand. His pistol holster slapped his thigh as he ran from under the prop wash. Zachary looked at his watch. 0830. So, ASAP meant three hours.
Lieutenant Colonel Fraley, miffed that some of Zachary’s soldiers had challenged him before he could enter the perimeter, stood before Zachary in anticipation of something. Like two men squared off on a short distance duel, it finally occurred to him that Fraley was awaiting a salute.
Sure, give this dude a sniper check. Zachary smiled, then snapped a sharp salute. The overweight lieutenant colonel performed a sloppy half-salute. Zach smirked and considered it the lieutenant colonel’s good fortune that none of his men had shot him as he blew into their perimeter. He was doubtless a garrison officer. He had a thick, bushy mustache that hung over teeth stained from smoking, and his hair, while balding, was long by Army standards.