Tony shifted to where he could maintain a better view. The men had brought the cylinder right up to the doors. There was a barely visible spark and then a tongue of flame shot out. He could hear the hiss all the way across the courtyard. He glanced back and could see a line of eyes peering over the wall and intent upon the men at the doors.
There was a dull glow as the flame touched the door. In the glare, Sgt Niimoto could see the man holding a piece of dark plastic or something in front of his eyes. Sgt. Niimoto guessed they didn’t have real welding goggles available.
The phone flashed and Sgt Niimoto snatched up the handset.
“Tony, what’s happening out there now?” Gunny asked.
“It looks like they’re trying to cut through the door. But there’s no one else there. Do you want me to take them out?”
There was a pause, then Gunny said, “No, they’ll know then that you’re there. Let’s stand by and watch. These doors are pretty solid. I am going to give the phone to PFC Rodriguez. Let him know what is happening.”
The flame kept going, and there was a dull glow on the metal of the right door where the flame was touching, but not much else. Sgt Niimoto kept watching. The heat of the night seemed even hotter from the direction of the doors, but he knew that had to be his imagination. After about fifteen minutes, the flame flickered then gave out. The four men examined the slowly fading glow on the door. One man leaned back and gave it a hard kick. They looked like they were talking it over, then turned and came back to the wall. One-by-one, they climbed over, and two of them went to report in to another group of men waiting outside the wall under a huge tree.
“Rodriguez, tell Gunny that they’ve given up. Looks like good old American workmanship has prevailed. American workers one, Indian workers, zero.”
He hung up the phone and looked back into the crowd, which had grown smaller in the night. Smaller in number, maybe, but the atmosphere of those remaining seemed a little more intense, a little more focused.
Chapter 35
Wednesday Night, US Embassy, New Delhi
“Sgt Nii says they’ve given up,” PFC Rodriguez announced to the Marines surrounding the door.
Gunny stood where he was crouching alongside Post 1 and slung his weapon. The rest of the Marines, except for PFC Van Slyke who was left with the president, and LCpl Saad who was left in the Cultural Affairs office, stood up along with MAJ Defilice from their hasty positions and moved towards the door.
LCpl Kramer reached out to the point where they had heard a dull thud a few moments before and said, “Hey, it is a little warm. I can feel it!”
Sgt Chen and PFC Ramon moved up to feel the spot too, nodding in agreement.
“Why did they try to come through the doors? Those are about the strongest things there. Why not through the embassy walls themselves?” LCpl Steptoe wondered aloud.
Gunny felt a sense of foreboding at that thought, but it was coupled with a sense of determination.
“Well, I guess they’re playing their hand. And that is that,” he said to the others.
Gunny considered for the umpteenth time bringing everyone back to the admin office to concentrate his resources, but Post 1 was too valuable a piece of real estate to give up. Even if the security cameras didn’t work anymore, the post glass was bullet proof, and while there were no firing ports, the slots for accepting ID cards and papers could be used for outgoing fire and gave pretty good coverage down both passageways and the hatch to the stairwell.
“Sgt Chen, you and Fallgatter stay here at Post 1. The rest, we’re going to back to the admin office. We need to make sure our shit is together on this.”
Chapter 36
Wednesday Morning, The White House, Washington, DC
“Madame Vice-President, Director Lin is here,” the vice-president’s front desk secretary told her over the intercom.
The vice-president looked up from the television where she was watching Dani Craig, the press secretary, at the press conference. That woman was good, she thought. She was conveying confidence while saying absolutely nothing. That was one woman who needed to stay on in her administration.
Craig had handled the Pitt situation well. When denied landing rights, Secretary Pitt had his pilot declare an airborne emergency, so he’d been allowed land. He had not been allowed to debark his plane, though, and was still sitting on the tarmac. Craig had made it sound, without actually lying, that Pitt was in India working to diffuse the situation and bring the president home.
The vice-president leaned toward the intercom and said, “Send her in please.”
David looked at her, raising one eyebrow in a question. She motioned him to keep in his seat.
She would keep Craig, to be sure, but the Director of the CIA was another story. Quite frankly, she didn’t trust her. The woman had the ear of the president, and she was unnaturally smart, but her almost stilted way of speech and her obvious affection for the president did not bode well for a future working relationship. And while she may understand the technological aspects of gathering intelligence, she did not have experience in the human side of intelligence gathering. Yes, Dr. Lin would be one of the first to go.
Kai-yen Lin walked into the office and stood in front of the vice-president’s desk.
“Please sit, Dr. Lin,” the vice-president said, indicating a seat in front of the desk. She started to get up to join the director, but at the last second decided to stay where she was.
Dr. Lin sat on the outer edge of her seat, back straight, a printed report in her lap, hands folded on the report. She waited patiently.
Vice-President Wright inwardly sighed before beginning, “Dr. Lin, I asked you to see me to give me your input on this. Not what you gave at the meeting, but your take. The president just asked me to ask you.”
“Yes, Madam Vice-President.” There was a pause.
“Well then, can you give it to me? I am due to talk with him again in fifteen minutes.”
Dr. Lin cleared her throat, then started, “There has been a significant degree of increased activity in all electronic spectrums. This is to be expected, but there has been an interesting pattern of electronic activities in the wavelengths commonly associated with communications between this building,” she paused to pass the vice-president a satellite photo of a large, non-descript building, “and to the area surrounding the embassy.”
“And what is this building?” the vice-president asked.
“That is the Council of Ethnic Preservation. It is a pseudo-governmental organization with strong ties with the ruling party and the labor unions. Its funding comes from official government grants and private donations. We do have some ground assets outside the building now, and there has been increased traffic of persons whom we believe to be associated with both security and military agencies, albeit no one at an executive level.”
She handed over some more photos of various men in civilian clothing entering the building.
The vice-president smiled. It was the same everywhere. Military men in civilian clothes always looked out of place. Even with different styles in clothing in different countries, they stood out like sore thumbs.
“It is our assessment that the Indian government is at least giving tacit support to the takeover. It certainly has not marshaled troops into any place where they could take action. In fact, two Indian army divisions, the 32nd Armor and the 5th Infantry, have been moved out over the last week for supposed previously scheduled maneuvers, and most of the aircraft at Hindon Air Force Base near New Delhi have been flown elsewhere. I have a list here of the types of aircraft that have left and what is remaining,” she said as she looked up expectantly at the vice-president who waved the list off.
“The tone of the news media has been muted. There have been some outspoken critics within the parliament, such as Virag Dasmunsi, who have been publically advocating for a full response by the police, but the primary response seems to be silence. I must point out that Dasmunsi’s vocal posturing may be merely a platform for the
Indian Nationalist Party to damage the ruling party.”
“Do you think Mr. Dasmunsi has any real power in this? Can he affect anything?” Vice-President Wright asked.
“The Indian National Party has risen in the polls since the last election, and if there was an election held today, it is possible that Mr. Dasmunsi could become the new Prime Minister. That is purely conjecture, of course. Polling data in India is notoriously unreliable.”
“So for the $64,000 question, why would the current government be giving any support for this? Why risk serious repercussions within the diplomatic community?”
The vice-president folded her hands into a teepee and placed the tip of the teepee up against her mouth, tilting her head down slightly to look at the director.
Kai-yen Lin looked more uncomfortable, if that was possible.
“We do not have any ground assets at a level high enough to be in on discussions within the Party’s inner circle. However, due to the current unrest, and coupled with rising anti-American sentiment within central and northern India, most of our analysts agree that this move might be intended to raise nationalistic sentiments and shift public unhappiness from the Party to the US.”
“And how far will the Indian government go with this?”
“There are patterns within communications transmissions that might be indicative that the situation has gone on further that it was intended. And our ground assets at the site outside the embassy are reporting that there seems to be some degree of disagreement among the aggressors there. There has been hesitation and, until recently, no firm move forward into the embassy grounds, although there seems to be preparation for such a move. This would also support the concept that the Party does not know itself how this situation should be resolved.”
The vice-president took that last bit of information in with some interest, although she hoped she hid that. Was it possible that the prime minster would let loose his dogs and let them attack?
Wanting to change tack, she leaned forward and asked, “What do you think of Dr. Ryan’s assessment of the efforts of other nations’ efforts?”
“The Arab League offers the most reasonable chance for a peaceful resolution. They have had considerable success in Africa, as you know, and in the last incident in Kashmir. It is our assessment that the League is truly trying to bring this situation to a conclusion. The Vatican is a non-player in our assessment. Of the others, perhaps Thailand might have some pull with their effort, but not much.”
Thailand? I hadn’t heard about that. When and what was that?”
“The Royal Thai ambassador to India, Dr. Amarin Suphantarida, was able to get an appointment with the Minister yesterday at 16:30 local. Thailand, as you know, is heavily dependent upon Indian investment and as a customer, so there is a reasonable connection. But we don’t see too much happening here.”
David discreetly coughed, then said, “Madam Vice-President, we have your call to the president in five minutes. I suggest that we go into the conference room?”
“Very well.”
She stood up, came around the desk, and offered her hand to Dr. Lin who awkwardly shook it.
“Thank you Dr. Lin. Please keep me posted. You can reach David here at any time.”
Hand still in the grasp of the vice-president, Dr. Lin faltered before saying, “Well Madam Vice-President, as I said, there had been no firm move into the embassy until recently. I want to report to you that about twenty minutes ago, there was some degree of activity at the embassy. At least four men with what appeared to be a propane torch approached the embassy front doors. We could not see what was being done there due to the overhang, but the light reflections we could see were consistent with an attempt to cut open the doors. That effort evidently failed as could be expected, but this signifies a significant rising of the intensity of the situation.”
The vice-president kept her face neutral as her heart gave a flutter. Was the end game approaching? She dropped the director’s hand.
“Well, as you say, they weren’t successful. Keep me posted on anything further.”
She turned and walked down the hallway, flanked by her secret service agents.
Chapter 37
Wednesday Night, The USS Reagan, The Indian Ocean
“You all know none of this is going to happen. Contingency ‘A’ possibly, just being a platform to whisk the president away. But all this planning for a forced entry? Never going to happen,” CDR Steve Kinney said, looking at the rest of the planning group.
LtCol Saunders rubbed his eyes and glanced at the overhead before looking back at the glaring commander and saying, “You’re right, it probably won’t come to anything. But it sure doesn’t hurt to plan it now, does it? My commandant, your admiral, the wing commander, and the ship’s CO are discussing that possibility right now, but they’ve given us our marching orders, so I suggest we get to it. Mr. Evans, you were saying?”
Clyde Evans was the State Department rep aboard the Reagan. An ES1, he technically outranked everyone in the compartment, but to LtCol Saunders, he seemed to let the military-types run the tempo and direction of the meeting. At 32 years old, he was reportedly an up-and-comer, but the other officers had told Tye that Clyde didn’t care for the military and hoped this stepping stone would quickly pass and he could get back to the “real” world of State.
“Well, as I said, embassies are usually considered to be the sovereign territory of that nation. There may not be an actual basis for this is most cases, but this concept has been generally honored throughout modern history.”
“So you are saying that if we bomb or land troops at our embassy, then the Indians can’t say anything?” CDR Shelly la Porte, the squadron OPS O asked.
Evans grimaced while bobbing his head side to side before saying, “Well, sort of. But to get there, you have to cross Indian airspace, and if you drop bombs on the embassy, what if a bomb falls outside on the street and kills someone? That could be considered an act of war.”
“And that, my friends, is why we can’t just go in and carpet bomb all around the place, then send in these Marines to pick up the esteemed passenger,” CAPT Ted Ngata, the Battle Group G3 remarked. “OK, let’s look at what we have.” He held out one hand and pointed to the forefinger with his other.
“Asset Number 1: The Honolulu steamed ahead while we were puttering along with our ‘bad’ shaft and is in position about 10 miles offshore on corridor ‘Santa Fe.’ She’s there to provide support, but she can also be used to rescue downed aircraft or even to affect an air-to-sea transfer of the president. I don’t think we’ve ever done that between an Osprey and a sub, but it certainly should be possible.”
He put out another finger and counted it off.
“Asset Number 2: Our Big Eye. I have no idea how the Old Man got her, but she is sitting in a secure hanger at Farkhor and can be on station when our own birds arrive.”
The third finger came out.
“Asset Number 3: we have almost 100 Marines and four Ospreys. Certainly we can do something with them.”
The fourth finger made its appearance.
“Asset Number 4: we have a damn carrier here with a full complement of aircraft, ordnance, and men and women. This is what the Reagan was built for. I suggest you put your heads together and come up with a viable plan to give to the old man. Even if we never use it, we need that plan. That is why they call it a ‘contingency plan.’ Got it?”
There was a chorus of “aye-ayes” as pubs were re-opened discussion re-joined. After hours of work, there were still many more ahead. It was going to be a long night. LtCol Tye Saunders hoped that there was plenty of good Navy coffee in the pot.
Chapter 38
Early Thursday Morning, US Embassy, New Delhi
Thirst was overwhelming, and Sgt Niimoto didn’t know how much longer he could last. He had drunk his urine twice during the night, but still, he could think of nothing else but getting something to drink. He tried to sleep, but the fitful catnaps he grabbed
hardly qualified as that. At one point, he stared over the walls at the men gathered around, and he could see bottles of beer being passed. Once again, he contemplated just walking over and asking for something to drink. If they took him, they took him. At least his thirst would be over, one way or another.
But he wasn’t seriously tempted. Instead he snuck back down the ladder to try and scrounge up something, anything to drink. He found nothing. He brought up the medical kit where he had found the cough syrup and went through that. Nothing to drink. He tried taking some cotton pads and rubbing them on the surface of the bell, hoping to mop up and nighttime condensation. While the cotton seemed damp, he could not squeeze anything out. He found an oxygen cylinder in the kit and took it out of its case, hoping some dew might form on its metal surface.
As the sun’s rose-colored fingers began to reach across the dawn sky, he realized that he had maybe one more day left. After that, he was either going to try and make the embassy or just lie down and fade away. He was going to tell Gunny this morning he was going for it after dusk.
There were far fewer people over the wall than there had been before, but those that were left seemed more determined, more focused. A few buses had come by and carted people off, from the looks of it to the new stadium down Sadar Patel Marg, but that was too far away to be sure of that.
A group of men approached the ladder on the Indian side of the wall and started over, carrying a bundle. Sgt Niimoto could not quite make out what the bundle was. They made it over the wall and began to scurry across the courtyard. Sgt Niimoto reached for the phone.
PFC Rodriguez responded, but Sgt Niimoto could not croak anything out. He tried to lick his lips, but to no avail. Finally he was able to force out his message.
“Rodriguez, there are bunch of men at the doors. I think they are going to try something. Let Gunny know.”
The Return of the Marines Trilogy Page 17