“It hurt me bad to watch Stan’s guys haul their bodies away. The envelopes I gave Sergeant Cartwright were letters of sympathy. I handwrote them today when I knew he was going back. One was to Pat Teller, and the other to Glenda Rockingham.” The lieutenants knew both of the wives. Glenda was a major force in the company, organizing events, and Pat had seemed eager to contribute to platoon events even though she was new and pregnant. They were great Americans and had paid the greatest sacrifice — the loss of a loved one in combat.
“I have to tell you, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” It was important for Zachary to share that moment with his men. They needed to understand that he was human and felt the loss. They needed to know that if one of them was killed, he would handle the situation with the same compassion.
“We held off a large, unexpected attack with minimal loss of life. We safely evacuated the frigging ambassador and his staff from the embassy. And now we have successfully put those people plus Cartwright and Rock and Teller onto an airplane to fly home.
“We performed those missions well. In fact, Stan’s contact gave us a message from the president that I want you all to convey to your soldiers. I want you to do it personally, walking from position to position.
“The president said, and I quote from Stan, that we ‘did a kick-ass job.’ We’re a good company, probably the best I’ve ever seen,” he said, intentionally mixing his feelings with the president’s quote. “But we’ve got more missions. Probably tough missions. There’s a reason we did not fly out on those planes tonight, I guarantee you that.
“Now I want you to go talk to your men. Comfort them. But keep them alert. The fat lady ain’t singing, yet. That’s all.”
The men departed and did as their commander said. After an hour, the word in the company was that the president of the United States had person-ally called the commander over the tacsat radio and told him that they kicked serious ass, had absolutely the best unit in the Army, and would receive the Presidential Unit Citation when they returned. The United States infantryman was the undisputed master of creating rumors and talking bullshit.
Zachary smiled in the darkness when Slick informed him with a grin of the transformation of “the word,” as soldiers commonly referred to commanders’ edicts.
He sat near the Mahogany tree, looking west into the ocean 550 meters below their position, pitching his K-Bar knife into the dirt and pulling it out only to toss it down again. He shook his head at the contrast. Only two weeks ago, he had been looking at a similar sight in the Kahuku training area after his platoon leaders had botched a night raid. They’ve come a long way. No better test than the real thing. But he knew with due modesty that it was his training that had molded the lieutenants.
Zachary thought about Glenda Rockingham and Pat Teller and how they might react. They would be crushed, he was sure. On the thought, he pounded the knife into the ground, venting some anger. He wondered if he had failed. Could he have done something different? What if he had not gathered his men on that first morning? What if he had carried his own radio? Then maybe Teller would still be alive.
But he would be the dead one, and where would that have left his men? He reconciled his doubts in his own mind. Still, he thought about Amanda, his daughter, and whether she would ever get to know him outside the image of him created for her by others. What if he were killed? She’d live the rest of her life thinking he had abandoned her. On that note, he simply decided that he would not die there in the Philippines. Exhausted, he lay back in the tall grass and closed his eyes.
His rest was short. Barker reappeared from the darkness. He thought he heard the commander sniff. Strange that he would catch cold in this heat, he said to himself.
“Sir, I forgot to tell you something,” Barker said.
“What’s that,” Zachary responded, wiping his face before he sat up. Good thing it’s dark.
“X-Ray said that they had extracted all of the Americans except three hostages. Seems the Abu Sayyaf blew up an American plane, but three had already gotten off.”
“Oh yeah. Maybe that’s our follow-on mission,” Zachary said, thinking aloud.
“I never thought of that, sir, but he said they were three Defense guys.”
“Department of Defense,” Zachary said.
“Some guy named Rathburn and two of his assistants.”
“More bureaucrats to save,” Zachary grunted.
“Sir! First Platoon says they’ve got gooks in the wire!” Slick exclaimed, holding the telephone to his ear.
Chapter 69
“What?” Zachary grabbed his radio handset. Taylor’s voice was on the other end, finishing a sentence. No way, this shit has gone too far.
“—four to five personnel, over.”
“Andy, what’s happening?”
“Sir,” Taylor said, recognizing his voice, “I’ve got five personnel to my front signaling my forward observation post with an IR flashlight. My guys challenged them, and they came back with the proper response. But I told them not to let them pass. They’re just lying there in the grass.”
Zachary’s mind raced quickly, making the quantum leap from familial worry to steadfast concern for the men the president had entrusted to him. Had they lost the encryption codes and a radio? No, the first sergeant had done a sensitive-items check earlier. Did he have any patrols out? No. The next patrol didn’t go out until midnight. Who could they be? He thought back to his call from the division operations officer. He gave him an exact grid coordinate of his unit’s location. Had that transmission been intercepted?
The embassy! The embassy had been taken over by Abu Sayyaf. They had all the call signs and secure-encryption variables. He had Slick call the other two platoons using the field phone. Then he decided to inspect the situation personally.
“Get back to your platoon, go to one hundred percent security,” he told Barker, who split like a scared rabbit.
Zachary hurried down the hill the hundred meters to Taylor’s position using his night-vision goggles. In the darkness, he passed the clear-cut area where the Black Hawk helicopter had once sat idle.
Moving beyond the clear-cut, he immediately picked up on the lieutenant and his platoon sergeant kneeling next to the platoon CP area. They were wearing their goggles as well.
“Where are they?”
“Down there, sir,” Taylor said, pointing to the northwest. Zachary looked and decided to move forward. He walked, high-stepping the roots and bushes that made for tough going. Taylor followed, the platoon sergeant stayed at the CP. Approaching the two soldiers he noticed they were nervous. One had his night-vision laser sight trained on the individuals lying in the grass only ten meters away. The other soldier was scanning for more intruders.
“Sitrep?” Zachary asked, assuming the prone position next to the private.
“Sir, these gooks got our codes. They know our shit,” he responded, continuing to look through his sight. Zachary pulled his Beretta pistol out of its holster and went to one knee.
“Carnival!” Zachary yelled across to the group lying in the grass. His goggles picked up five bodies with rucksacks lying side by side.
“Saloon!” a Boston accent responded with the proper password.
Zachary listened carefully to the voice. It was American, he was sure. Not only that, he recog-nized it.
“McAllister?” Zachary asked.
“Garrett?” the voice responded.
It was too good to be true. Bob McAllister was the A company commander from his battalion.