The Return of the Marines Trilogy

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  “I am a Marine! Remember that! Private First Class Ivy Huertas Ramon, USMC!”

  One man stumbled and fell down the steps to come up against the table. Ivy leaned over and crushed his nose with a vicious swing of her rifle butt. She felt a sharp pain high in her chest and looked down in amazement at the small flower of red blossoming up over her left breast. It hurt, but not as much as she might have imagined it would, and otherwise, she felt fine. Somehow, the round had not hit anything vital, but the bright red blood welling on her white t-shirt made for a vivid image.

  The man who shot her looked at her in amazement as well. Ivy swung up her weapon and put two rounds in his chest.

  The next round took her low and in the stomach. She felt the mulekick and sat down, in back of the table, confused. Her breathing became difficult, and she glanced down to see a growing red stain along her belly. She looked over at Greg and leaned over, head on his chest. She slowly reached over and touched his face, feeling the stubble, taking in the strong jaw, strong now even in death.

  Oh, Daddy, she thought, you’d have liked him so.

  She slowly faded away. She never felt the shock of the huge explosion that rocked the embassy.

  Chapter 48

  Thursday Morning, US Embassy, New Delhi

  Tony Niimoto watched the battle unfolding beneath him. The cut which finally made an opening in the door had come accompanied by a cheer from the men outside the embassy. Now men were leaning in, firing, and falling back. Others reached around to throw grenades, the detonations echoing oddly across the courtyard.

  He felt elation as some of the men fell. A few were pulled back alongside the edge of the wall, but three lay on the ground, across the threshold of the door, quite obviously dead. Someone in there was kicking some ass, and for every gunman hit, Sgt Niimoto felt a lift.

  Those small lifts could not overcome the feeling of helplessness and despair overtaking him, though. Being able to see and hear a battle, one in which his fellow Marines were engaged, and not being able to do anything, well, that was its own kind of hell.

  He had contemplated trying to sneak down to the 106, still in the courtyard below him, thinking somehow to turn it on the men assaulting the doorway. But the number of men in the courtyard and on the embassy walls covering those inside made him realize that any move there would be useless.

  Three gunmen seemed to gather themselves. They shouted at each other, and in a concerted rush, ran into the opening. All three fell before even getting into the embassy. One stumbled on one of the bodies already lying there and was hit. The other two managed to get to the threshold before falling. The bodies were piling up.

  A voice from on top of the wall shouted across the courtyard. One of the men cupped his ear, and the voice repeated itself. There was an acknowledgment. Then several men got prone and crept up along the edge of the wall. They reached out and began to pull the bodies back. A burst of fire challenged them, and one man was hit in the arm, but the bodies were cleared and dragged out of the way.

  A group of a dozen or so men climbed over the wall and sidled forward, out of the line of fire. They joined the other gunmen and conversed for a few moments. All of them moved forward into position just to the left of the opening. Several grenades were thrown in, and upon their detonation, the men made a mad rush into the embassy. Several fell, but at least fifteen made it in. There was a furious exchange of fire for about 30 seconds, then the fire ceased. A moment later, a gunman came to the door and out onto the steps, signaling the men on the wall. There was a cheer from the men there, and another couple dozen hurried over the wall, across the courtyard, and into the embassy. Several of the men pushed in the cutting equipment that had made the breach in the door. Sgt Niimoto’s heart fell.

  Sick, he sat back down, back against the cupola wall. There didn’t seem to be much hope. He began to wonder what he should do. He really hadn’t thought he would be in this position. Surely someone would have noticed him by now. Heck, when he laughed out loud over the 106 firing, he thought he’d blown it. But he was still sitting in the tower, unnoticed and ignored.

  He could hear a few bursts of gunfire from deep inside the embassy, but he didn’t bother to look. He couldn’t bear it. He wondered at his odds if he simply walked out and tried to act like a bystander. It was probably his best chance. He moved over and looked at the crowd outside the embassy grounds.

  Well, it looked as if whatever problem there had been with the telephones was over. People were now talking on them. There were about a hundred of the military-looking men there, many peering over the edge of the wall or through the gate now that fire from inside the embassy had ceased. There were also a couple hundred people just watching from outside the walls, unable to actually see inside the embassy compound. Some were taking photos or videos, some were just chatting. One man was wheeling a cart with some sort of fried snack, not getting far as people kept stopping him to buy. Well, Tony was just going to have to try and mingle and slowly move through the crowd and to one of the other embassies.

  An official-looking car came rushing up from the distance, tires squealing. Two men jumped out and began to yell at the crowd. One of the military-looking types came over to challenge the men, but one of the newcomers grabbed his arm and began gesturing with huge expansive sweeps of his arms. Bystanders began to gather around. Sgt Niimoto wondered what the heck that was about when he saw his phone flashing with a call. He picked up the receiver listlessly.

  “Yeah?” Niimoto here.”

  It was the gunny, his voice elevated with stress. “Tony, no time. In three minutes, the embassy is going to get hit with a Mk402. You’ve got to take any cover you can. Any!”

  The line cut off.

  Sgt Niimoto started at the receiver. He really had no idea what a Mk402 was, but it couldn’t be good. And only three minutes? There was no way he could get down the stairs, confront the men on the wall, and somehow get out of there. And with the access to the consulate sealed, he could not even make it there.

  “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”

  What was he going to do? He looked about the cupola wildly. He wondered if the walls of the campamile would protect him. They were pretty strong. He crept over and crouched down against the wall. He felt awfully vulnerable.

  Crouching there, his eyes caught the bell. That was a pretty strong piece of gear there. He scuttled over to the bell and crawled underneath it. There was a gap of about 18 inches between the bottom of the bell and the deck, but at least he’d be protected from overhead fire, he thought. But that gap seemed pretty big now. Awfully big. But how could he lower the bell?

  He could hit the red lever on the wall, of course, but then he’d be outside. How could he do it from the inside? He climbed partway out from under the huge bell, then grabbed the first aid box, expecting the incoming bomb at any second. He quickly pulled it in and opened it. Bandages, splints, the oxygen bottle, ointments. He grabbed a roll of bandages. Would that work?

  Feverishly, he unrolled the bandage. It certainly looked long enough, but did he have enough time? How long did Gunny say? He took a deep breath and made his decision.

  Scooting under the edge of the bell, he ran over to the control lever, standing upright despite being in view of those below. He tried to tie the bandage on the lever and gave it a short tug. The bandage came undone.

  “Shit!”

  He told himself to calm down then tied a more substantial knot. That should hold. Carefully, he unraveled the bandage as he made his way back to the bell and crawled back under. He carefully and slowly pulled the bandage. The lever moved, then held up. Taking a deep breath, Sgt Niimoto put more pressure on the bandage. He could see it start to untie, but the lever suddenly slipped into position, and the bell began to drop. Sgt Niimoto slid back to the middle of the bell as it slowly came down. Eighteen inches, twelve inches, eight inches, six inches. There was a huge pressure wave which slammed the belfry, and an outrushing of air. Sgt Niimoto felt the explosion more
than heard it, then he felt nothing more.

  Chapter 49

  Thursday Morning, Sadar Patel Marg, New Delhi

  Dr. Amarin Suphantarida felt frustrated, useless and tired. He had been in to see the minister twice, but beyond some platitudes, nothing was really said. He had an interesting meeting the evening before, though. Along with Mohammed Kalhil of the Arab League, he had been asked to meet with representatives of the Indian National Party. There, they had been told that the continuing situation was an anathema to international relations, and that they were appalled that there had yet to be a peaceful resolution. The undercurrent Pui felt was that they wanted the two of them to let the Americans know that this situation could be laid at the feet of the current administration, and should their party somehow slide into power, they would be stalwart allies of the US.

  But from the current government, there was really no concrete action. So the siege at the US Embassy was still underway, and the US president may or may not even be alive. No one knew for sure what the situation at the embassywas. Both CNN and BBC, which had been broadcasting live satellite views of the embassy grounds, had been cut off in India a few hours before, and now with the phones out, he couldn’t get updates from back in Thailand.

  He had taken his driver to try and get closer to the embassy to see if he could get a better feel of things, but he had been stopped and told to wait by the stadium where an Indian spokesperson would supposedly brief the foreign press.

  He sat sweltering in the car as the temperature slowly climbed. Even for a Thai, New Delhi sure could get hot. Much to his surprise, his phone suddenly rang. He grabbed it, almost tearing his pocket in his hurry to get it.

  “Hello?”

  “Pui, this is Rick. Don’t ask questions, but where are you? Are you at the site?”

  Surprised, he answered “At National Stadium. Why? What . . . ?”

  “Look. In about nine minutes, the US military will drop a Mk402 bomb on the embassy grounds. Most of the blast should remain within the embassy grounds. Don’t ask me how. But there’s concern that people close to the grounds may be within the casualty radius. The bomb sucks up the oxygen, and there can be internal damage to people too close. We need someone to get over there and get as many people away from the embassy as possible. Can you do it?”

  The Thai ambassador looked at his phone. If there was some sort of big bomb coming, well, quite frankly, he wanted to get as far away as possible. He was at least a thousand meters from it now, but more sounded better.

  Instead, he calmly responded, “Of course, Rick. I am on it right now.”

  He hung up and told his driver to rush to the embassy who protested that they could not get close, so Pui took the extra fifteen seconds to explain the situation. To his credit, the Indian driver took off, and when an armed policeman tried to stop them at a roadblock, he blew right past him.

  The embassy could barely be seen down the tree-lined boulevard, but people in front of it certainly were evident. He was mentally counting down the seconds as they rushed up.

  A couple of hundred meters from the embassy, the driver pulled the car into a sliding stop. They both jumped out, and the driver started yelling in Hindi. For a moment, no one seemed to pay attention to him. The slowly, people began to gather. An officious-looking man, in black paramilitary-type clothes and carrying a rifle, came up and began to shout. His driver shouted back, nonplussed. The ambassador looked at his watch.

  “Look. I am the Royal Thai Ambassador to India. In less than a minute, there is going to be a huge explosion at the embassy, and anyone too close is in danger. You’ve got to get your men back as well as all these people,” he said with as much force as he could muster.

  When he mentioned an explosion, at least one of the bystanders understood English, because he shouted out to the crowd in Hindi. There was a gasp, then people started to push back. They moved slowly for a few seconds, then some people began to run. People who weren’t even there looked up to see the people running, so they jumped up from what they were doing and began to run as well.

  His driver continued to extort people, and it became a mass exodus. People were screaming and shouting. Some of the men dressed in black paramilitary gear began to run as well, some of them jumping off the embassy walls to do so. He looked at his watch one more time and shouted to his driver that they needed to get out of there, too. Both of them turned to run.

  He kept glancing at his watch as they ran, being elbowed by other panicking people. A young woman fell in front of him to be kicked by several people. His driver stooped to help her up, and the ambassador took her other arm as they managed to half-drag her along. As nothing was forthcoming, he wondered what would happen if he was being played, if he was starting a panic for no reason.

  He needn’t have worried. A huge explosion erupted behind him, pushing him to the ground where he landed on the woman he was helping. There was an odd sensation in his chest as if he couldn’t breathe for a second, but then an inrush of air seemed to fill his lungs. He gasped and looked at the young woman who was sobbing, arms covering her head. He helped her up to a sitting position. A food cart lay on its side a few feet away, hot oil spilling onto the road. He looked back.

  Near the embassy walls, he could see some people prone. But further out, closer to him, people were struggling to their feet.

  Pui could hear something coming, a whup-whup. He turned around again to see a huge helicopter, no, one of those hybrid plane-helicopters the Indonesians used for pirate interdiction, but with “U.S.MARINES” emblazoned on the sides, come directly over head and move off to the embassy. He could see the huge rotors tilting as the machine slowed down and began a descent into the embassy grounds itself. Three more of the planes flew over to circle the embassy. There was a burst of fire from one of them into the embassy grounds.

  Ambassador Suphantarida had done what he could. Now he decided to sit down, right there in the street, and just watch the show.

  Chapter 50

  Thursday Morning, 25,000 Feet Above New Delhi

  LT David Littlehawk was in his element, flying his Lighting II. The warrior blood of generations flowed through his veins. The air this high seemed unnaturally bright and clear. Down below him, over the vast metropolis, a ground haze almost obscured the details of buildings, roads, parks, and all the things which make a city a city. He didn’t need sight for this mission, though. He simply watched his HMDS to know that he was on target.

  A military history buff, he smiled at the thought of being on an actual weapons run. He felt a kinship with the brave Dauntless pilots at Midway, diving down on the Japanese carriers. Of course, he wasn’t going to be diving his big F-35C. Nowadays, with smart ammo and guided munitions, when in the attack mode, all the plane had to do was to get in the cone and the munitions would do the rest. Further, unlike the Dauntless pilots, he didn’t have Zeros ready to jump his tail or a barrage of anti-aircraft trying to bring him down.

  The Mk402 he carried needed to have a near vertical drop for the blast to have the desired vertical attenuation, so there had to be as little lateral drift as possible. And while air friction would essentially eliminate most of the drift if the release point was high enough, the intent here was to get that drift to zero. But with smart ordnance, the bomb itself would take care of that. All LT Littlehawk had to do was to pickle the bomb at the right time. So, it wasn’t exactly like flying a Dauntless, basically using the plane to aim the bomb. His HDMS would tell him where to fly and when to release. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was almost like being on autopilot. He could have been on a training run back at China Lake.

  With the more experienced pilots needed to fly CAP, it was left to one of the junior pilots to take the run, and the skipper thought it ironic that having almost missed the mission, he should be the one to take it in.

  His HDMS flashed, and he adjusted the heading of the big bird to match the optimum flight path as computed by his navigation system. “Cougar, this is Chickenha
wk. Commencing run now.”

  “Roger Chickenhawk. God’s speed,” his CO’s voice came over the comm.

  He kept his Lightning II on the steady heading. His track monitor kept him honest as he approached the target. The screen on his PCD, set to maximum magnification, could pick up the target through the ground haze now, the middle of the embassy courtyard, right on one of the abandoned vehicles there. Of course he couldn’t pick up the laser painting on the vehicle now, courtesy of his wingman, some thousands of feet below him and off to the side, but he knew it was there.

  The numbers in his HDMS kept getting smaller, getting to the point of release. His thumb hovered over the pickle. Now! He pushed the pickle and the Mk402 detached and began its solo descent.

  He immediately pulled up and started to climb. He was in no danger from his own ordnance. But now that he had released it, he wanted to get back up and do what a fighter pilot did, shoot down planes. Let anyone try something, and this warrior would knock him out of the sky.

  Chapter 51

  Thursday Morning, US Embassy, New Delhi

  The door shut with a sense of finality, cutting the communications line. Gunny stared at the phone receiver for a moment, hoping Sgt Niimoto understood his hurried warning. He slowly placed the receiver back in its cradle and looked around the vault.

  The president and Loralee Howard were looking up at him. Loralee had her M18 and seemed confident. The president looked a little lost. He could see SSgt Child’s feet on the deck behind the last set of shelves where they had laid him down. Child remained unconscious, but he was still alive, his strong body unwilling to release its hold on life. LCpl Van Slyke moved toward the closed door and took up a position facing it. Outside, they could hear a muffled burst of fire. They all looked at each other, wondering, hoping.