“What’s going on?” asked Marilyn.
“These are your ghost writers. They are going to help you write your book, What I Did On My Summer Vacation.” Greg snorted at that, and Jennifer laughed and kept taking photos. “They are a couple of reporters. If I am sending you to see the troops, they are going to go with you.”
“Good idea, Mister President.” That was spoken by a naval lieutenant off to the side.
“Who are you?”
“Lieutenant Patrick Swanson, Public Information Officer. I will be accompanying the First Lady and her team.”
I eyed him curiously. He was in his late twenties, and a naval lieutenant is the same as an army captain, an O-3. “Oh, okay. What’s the plan? What’s next? These two need to collect a cameraman and get some clothing and gear, I guess.”
“Let me handle that, sir. We’ll fly out of here at 1900. Let me talk to these folks for a moment, and then we’ll get out of your hair.”
I let him do his job, and went over to my wife. “Of all the ridiculous getups I’ve ever seen you wear, this has to take the cake!”
“Here, take this, it’s heavy,” she said, trying to shrug out of the backpack.
I grabbed it and she managed to wriggle free. “I’m not impressed. Paratroopers wear chutes heavier than this, and top that off with an even heavier combat load.”
“When will we leave and get there?”
I tossed the pack onto a chair and sat down with her on the sofa. I threw an arm around her shoulders. “You’ll leave at 1900 or so. They’ll fly you down to Oceana and load you on a transport and take off. No idea how long that flight takes, but I guess you’ll land on the Lincoln in the early morning. After that, no idea. I don’t know if you’ll be close enough to fly from there, or if you have to sail closer. Probably tomorrow evening.”
“I thought you knew this kind of stuff.”
“The Navy and the Marines aren’t as precise as the Army, dear.”
“I am going to tell your son you said that!”
“So what? He’s in the hospital. I can probably beat him up,” I replied. She laughed at that, and I added, “Now, seriously, I know the first thing you are going to want to do will be to see Charlie, but you’re not just a mother, you’re the First Lady. I want you to visit the ships, talk to the sailors and Marines, pose for pictures, all that sort of thing. Can you do that for me? It’s important.”
“Of course! It should be fun!”
I smiled to myself as I considered that. I had seen pictures of a C-2 COD landing on a carrier deck; it looked like a controlled crash. It definitely didn’t look like fun! Still, I let her prattle on, half out of nervousness. We had a light lunch, after the PIO guy took the reporters out, and the two Gunnies joined us and told us some more of the planning. They had both seen sea duty several times and seemed to know what they were doing. After lunch I went back downstairs and did some more paperwork and reading.
They actually didn’t get off the ground until about 2000. I received a call later, when the C-2 lifted off, and then I went to bed. I got another call in the morning that they had landed on the Lincoln, and would be transferring to the Tarawa that afternoon. In between, I would be having my own version of fun, a joint press conference with the Pentagon.
We went with the zoo to the Pentagon, and Ari and I met with their PIO. He would handle the initial press briefing, and then make the announcement that Charlie was wounded and the First Lady was flying out to meet with the wounded and the refugees. The good news came from a phone call right before the briefing, from Colin Powell. Charles Taylor, the President-for-Life had bugged out and surfaced in Nigeria. In the meantime, Ambassador Myrick was negotiating a ceasefire with the various rebel groups and trying to bring some order into the chaos that was Monrovia. Colin seemed to think he would pull it off, too, and I told Colin that when this was done, I wanted to see the man and congratulate him; we needed smart thinkers and he seemed to fit the bill. I was too cynical to believe it would last, but maybe the next time the place blew up it would be on somebody else’s watch. Depending on how well the talks worked out, Colin could do his own press conference in a day or so.
The Pentagon press room was packed, since the word had gone out that I would be attending. The initial briefing was presented by a Marine Corps colonel, with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and the Secretary of Defense and me standing off to the side. The briefing started out with a timeline on Operation Green Delta, which was named for the operational plan that ended up being used (Green plan, Delta variant.) We had thrown it together so hastily we didn’t have time for a fancy name. For this briefing, however, they were able to put together a slick PowerPoint and video presentation.
“Thank you for attending. My name is Colonel Ross Duvalier and I will be presenting this briefing. Following the briefing, there will be a question and answer period. I would request that you not ask questions until that time, and that you also turn off your cell phones or pagers. There will be handouts at the end of the briefing.” Colonel Duvalier waited a moment for the inevitable stir and buzzing as some people turned off their phones. “Now, let me begin with a timeline.”
With that the colonel threw up on the screen a brief timeline of when the embassy began signaling their concern and about when Secretary of State Powell and I were informed, along with when I decided to send in the Marines and the Navy, and right through to the present time. I figured Colin and a few people were watching this live, so they would know what they were going to have to respond to on the diplomatic side. This was going to be a big story again today, though by next week it would be ancient history. Duvalier finished with, “… the latest reports, still unconfirmed, indicate that Liberian President Charles Taylor has managed to escape from Monrovia to Nigeria. You’ll need to confirm that with the State Department.”
He continued, “As of this moment, a ceasefire is in place between the various factions in Monrovia, though there do seem to be isolated incidents of violence. That is probably to be expected. In any case the shelling of our embassy and the embassies of foreign governments has ceased, and the operations of nongovernmental organizations such as the Red Cross and Doctors Without Borders are no longer being targeted. I am pleased to report that Marine casualties have been generally light, with no, I repeat, no American forces killed in action. There have been several Marines wounded, some seriously, though they are all now being treated for their wounds and are all expected to survive. The most serious of these wounds came during a firefight during the relief and rescue of a French and Swiss medical clinic on the outskirts of Monrovia. In this instance a Marine patrol was sent to evacuate the clinic and did so, but in the process their vehicle was destroyed by enemy fire. They then evacuated the area on foot, while taking heavy enemy fire and sustaining several casualties.”
“When this Marine patrol rescued the clinic, a Belgian team of journalists was taking refuge there, and they recorded a lot of the rescue and escape, much of which has been played on network television. I have been asked to show this and comment on the situation.” With that he hit a button and the video of Charlie’s squad began playing, with Duvalier commenting occasionally over the recorded chaos. I was struck, much like I had been the night we watched this on NBC, by how chaotic it was, and by my disbelief that these kids remained alive.
When it got towards the end of the video, Colonel Duvalier stopped the movie and reported that the Marine who had jumped out to help Charlie, and was hit running across the street was Private First Class Tyrell Bird of Detroit, Michigan, and his condition was serious but stable, and he was expected to make a full recovery. He threw a picture up on a separate screen of Private Bird in his dress blues. Then he started it up again, and this time commented on the Marine that Charlie had helped across the street at the end, who Charlie had ended up carrying. That was Sergeant Harold Blackhawk of Cucamonga, California, and he was suffering from multiple shrapnel wounds but was also expected to make a full recovery. Duvalier then threw up a picture of Sergeant Blackhawk in dress blues. Finally he got to Charlie.