“I took a quick look under the tarp, but haven’t checked them yet. But since they made it all the way from AFN, and we’re still breathing, so I’d have to say, yeah. Whatcha got in mind?”
Even though he believed Adler’s assessment, Grant hated the thought of possibly exposing his men to the shit in the canisters. But he didn’t think there was any other way. Torrinson was expecting all of it to be brought back.
“Ray, have somebody bring the rucksack to Joe, then you and the others start loading the canisters--carefully!”
“Aye, sir.” Moore pointed to Womack, who immediately took off running.
Grant and Adler stepped aside as the SEALs started ferrying out the canisters. Grant put an arm out, stopping Cranston as he walked by after seeing blood on the petty officer’s sleeve. “You sure you’re okay, Paul?”
“Yes, sir. It’s nothing serious.”
“Yeah, well, just in case. . . Ray, take care of it, will you?”
Grant brought his attention back to the cave and looked overhead and at the sides of the rock formation. “What do you think, Joe? Think we can limit the explosion to this end?”
Adler walked toward the outcropping where the back of the cave curved behind it, then gave a quick assessment. “Think this will shield a good portion of the blast. There’s enough distance between here and the entrance. Won’t be much of a cave after, though,” he smirked.
“Not our concern,” Grant replied, watching Womack bringing the requested explosives.
“Put them here by me, Ken,” Adler said.
Womack picked up the last canister and started to leave when Grant called, “Ken!”
Womack turned back. “Sir?”
“Get everything from the ‘dead’ truck. Make sure there’s enough room for our extra passenger that we’ve got hogtied.”
“Aye, sir.”
Grant walked back to the stash and pulled the pencil flares from the rucksack, sliding them into his left pocket. Just as he reached down to pick up a tarp the Italians had used, a more powerful, underground rumble, lasting longer than before, shook everyone and everything, making them set their legs apart, trying to keep their balance. Fine particles of dirt fell from the overhead. Stagnant water in the small puddles vibrated as the shaking continued. Even more disturbing was a small, jagged crack they noticed extending from beneath the back wall.
Adler shouted, “Maybe we won’t need those explosives, skipper!”
“Get started, Joe. I’m going to send the team on their way and call in for Grigori to get us the hell outta here!”
Gathering up the tarp, he took off running, shouting as he pushed through the trees. “Everybody! Get in the truck!” He tossed the tarp to Simpson and yelled, “Vince! Hand me the radio!” More rumbles underground shook the truck. “Grigori! Come in, Grigori!”
“Here, Grant!”
“Need pickup ASAP! You still got our coordinates?”
“Affirmative!”
“Bring Taylor! Look for my flares!”
“Departing now!”
Grant held onto the radio. “Gentlemen, get your asses outta here! Go straight to AFN. Let EOD handle that shit!” Grant just prayed he wasn’t making a mistake.
Moore jumped onto the running board on the passenger side, and looked over the roof. “You sure you want us to leave?”
“Get outta here! And don’t forget to pick up the passenger at the end of the road. Now, go!”
As he hustled back up the hill, he looked overhead. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the mountain’s spewing fire, and the goddamn earth is shaking! Couldn’t be a more perfect day!
He yelled into the cave, “Joe, how ya doing?”
Adler’s voice echoed from the back of the cave, “Workin’ as fast as I can!”
“I’ve called Grigori! He’s on his way!” Grant shouted as he ran. He hooked the radio to his belt, then went to the rucksack and pulled out a block of C4 and wrap of det cord.
Adler was working at placing the C4 along the left side of the cave, then along the back wall behind the weaponry and munitions. Then, he started working in reverse, stringing the det cord, pushing it into the explosive, then sealing the C4 around it.
Grant was on the opposite side, going through the same motions, but he was working the overhead, stretching his arms high, pushing the C4 against the rock, then pushing in the det cord.
As he worked his hands on the present task, he couldn’t help picturing in his mind the number of times, the number of places, he and Adler had gone through this same process. How many times had buildings, tunnels, and even a Russian trawler been destroyed by their handiwork?
Adler’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Here are a few pencils. Put those in, then when we’re ready to haul, I’ll break ’em.”
**
0820 Hours
Just from the angle the truck was parked below the cave, Castalani had a feeling something was wrong, even though he was still a hundred yards from the cave itself. He stared through the windshield as he shut off the engine. Then, he got out, and quietly closed the door. Keeping his eyes focused on the truck, he slid his hand inside his wool jacket and drew out a Beretta from his leather shoulder holster.
Staying along the right side of the beaten path made by the caravan, he stepped along the flattened grass, quickly making his way toward the cave, straining to hear anything out of the ordinary, anything that would give him a heads up, but still hoping to hear familiar voices.
As he approached the truck, he stopped momentarily in front of a thicket of five foot high brush. Taking only one step at a time, he stayed close to the prickly branches, holding the gun in front of his chest.
From somewhere behind the tree line that covered the cave’s entrance, he thought he heard a voice but he wasn’t able to distinguish words being spoken.
Leaning into the thicket so he could get a better view of the truck, he finally got a glimpse of the damage. Bullet holes! Cautiously working his way down the passenger side, he stopped by what once were headlights, seeing glass strewn on the ground in front of the engine, noticing tires blown out. But it was the dark stain on the dirt just beyond the truck that caused the anxiety and made his hands sweat. The sight of blood never affected him; he’d seen more than his share. Who the blood belonged to was what worried him.
Looking up toward the tree line, he expected to see at least one of the guards. Not wanting to believe the hiding place had been compromised, or that anything happened to his men, he had no choice but to investigate.
**
Grant took a quick glance at his watch. “Grigori should be more than halfway here,” he commented as he inserted the last of four chemical pencils into the C4. The pencils had a five minute time delay once the ampoule was broken, giving them enough time to haul ass.
Adler closed one of the rucksacks and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m gonna take one of these out front. Is it time to light off one of those flares?”
“Let’s hold off until we’re cleaned up here, Joe. Unless Grigori has kicked that chopper into overdrive, we should be good.”
Adler disappeared around the corner of the outcropping. Grant knelt down and started putting the remaining det cord into the bag when he heard someone approaching. He called out, “Joe?”
Adler responded, “You need to move real careful, Skipper.”
Grant didn’t like the sound of that. He stood and slowly turned, seeing Adler coming toward him with his hands behind his head. A couple of paces behind Adler was someone holding a weapon. Grant’s first thought: Oh, fuck!
Whoever was holding the gun motioned for Grant to put his hands behind his head. Adler was given a rude shove forward. He stumbled but caught his balance, being careful not to stand too close to Grant, never knowing what his boss had in mind.
The stranger stepped forward, with his eyes finally catching sight of dead men. . .his dead men with bloodstained clothes. His dark eyes narrowed as he slowly looked up at the two men in fr
ont of him.
Grant stared straight into those eyes, trying to pull out information from his brain bank, trying to perform facial recognition. Cranston’s description crept into his brain. Average height, large body, half bald with hair around the sides, wearing dark jacket and pants. Description confirmed. Now all he needed was a name. It finally hit him. There was only one possibility, and he blurted out, “Castalani!”
Adler gave Grant a quick sideways glance then looked again at the Italian.
Castalani stepped forward, gave a quick nod, then asked, “Americani?”
Grant and Adler nodded at the same time, just as the earth started shaking again, only this time more violently. Larger pieces of overhead stones started falling. Castalani tried to maintain his balance as he glanced up, trying to shield his face with a hand.
Grant didn’t waste one second and lunged forward, ramming his head into the Italian’s chest, knocking the wind out of Castalani. Both of them hit the ground hard. Grant reared back, and with one powerful punch, struck Castalani on the side of his face, instantly putting his “lights” out.
Adler grabbed Grant’s arm, yanking him up. “We’d better get the hell outta here!”
Grant reached down, pulled Castalani up, and with a grunt, hoisted him over his shoulder, shouting to Adler, “Break those pencils!” Adler spun around, reached for the first pencil, snapped it, then reached for the next.
The rumbling noise from the earthquake grew louder, the shaking making it difficult to stand. Grant struggled to get out of the cave, what with carrying dead weight and trying to stay upright, he felt like a drunk.
He knew his timing was going to be close in setting the flare for Grigori. Daylight at the entrance was coming into view but he still had another thirty feet to go.
Adler came rushing up behind him. “Clock’s tickin’!”
Both of them were nearly out of breath when they hit the fresh air. Suddenly, there sounded what could only be described as a huge explosion. The upheaval in the earth threw them to the ground. Castalani’s limp body rolled into the trees. Picking themselves up, Grant and Adler ran to the body. Each of them grabbed an arm, then hauled it through the tree line.
They half ran, half stumbled down the incline until Grant yelled, “Hold it!” He looked up. “Chopper!” He pulled a flare from his pocket, set it off and waved it back and forth.
“Less than two minutes, Skipper! We may not make it between the quake and the explosion!”
Moshenko centered the chopper directly over Grant, taking the craft down as low as possible.
Taylor leaned out the door, swinging a rescue basket over the edge, lowering it as fast as the hydraulics would allow.
A large crack in the earth started opening from somewhere behind the cave, stretching itself through the interior, creating a jagged line, widening more and more as it broke through the tree line.
“Look!”Adler shouted. The left side of the truck starting leaning, both tires catching on the jagged edge.
Grant snapped his head around for a second before grabbing the basket it as soon as it was within reach. He held it steady as Adler rolled Castalani’s body into it.
“Get in, Joe!” Adler just looked at him. “Goddammit! I said get in!”
Reluctantly, Adler climbed in the basket, then stood over the Italian, with the body between his legs. He held onto the cables, looking at Grant signaling for Taylor to pull it up. The hydraulics whined. The additional weight put a strain on the winch.
Grant yelled up to Taylor, “Secure that rope and drop it. . .quick!” He jumped to grab the dangling rope, and wrapped it around his wrist, just as the explosion in the cave went off. He looked up, waving his hand. “Go! Go!”
Moshenko responded instantly from Taylor’s signal. Adler and Taylor leaned out, watching Grant hanging on, with his legs spread apart, trying to keep himself from spinning. Moshenko banked the chopper right, then flew level and steady.
Adler came rushing to the cockpit. “Colonel! Hold steady here. We’re gonna haul him up!”
“Yes, Joe!”
Together, Adler and Taylor grabbed the rope, and hand over hand, pulled Grant up until they were able to reach him, then they pulled him into the belly of the chopper.
Exhausted, Grant laid back on the deck with his eyes closed, trying to get his breathing under control, but his mind was still on the mission.
Moshenko shouted, “Joe!”
“We’re good, sir! He’s onboard!” Adler leaned over Grant. “You okay?”
Grant gave a thumb’s up then rubbed his right shoulder, knowing there was a strained muscle. “Head back to the compound, Joe.”
Adler went forward to Moshenko. “Colonel, take us back.” Moshenko nodded and headed south.
Leaning against a bulkhead opposite the three Americans, Castalani shook his head, trying to orient himself. He rubbed his jaw. The whole side of his face was swollen and red blood trickled from his lip and nose. His brain was feeling scrambled from the hard punch he’d taken. Now, he just looked around, not believing he was in a helo, having no idea where he was being taken.
Grant pushed himself up to a kneeling position. Holding onto the edge of the doorway, he looked back to where they’d just left, still able to see smoke from the explosion and what was left of a cave. Where once there had been nothing but trees, flora and probably small animals, as far as the eyes could see, there was now a total path of destruction. Growing up in California he’d experienced earthquakes during his younger years, but from his current position, the sight brought a whole new sense of Mother Nature’s wrath.
He brushed a hand over his head as he stood, then turned to see the Italian staring at him. There wasn’t any sense in trying to communicate. He’d wait until they were back at AFN and then depend on Russo. And right now, he didn’t give a shit about communicating.
Of course, there wasn’t much more the Italian could tell them considering his cache had been destroyed. Grant already had an idea on what his future plan for Castalani was going to be.
Adler was still sitting near the open door, with his back against the bulkhead. His green fatigues were torn and covered in dirt. Dust and small particles of dried mud fell from his hair as he rapidly rubbed a hand back and forth over his short hair.
Grant squatted down in front of him. “You're filthy,” he said with a grin. “Didn’t your mama ever teach you cleanliness?”
“Yeah, she did. But then I met you!”
“Point well taken,” Grant laughed. “I’m going up front with Grigori for a sec.”
Moshenko had his eyes focused on the horizon, then he glanced quickly at the gauges. His hand grasped the control stick, making minute adjustments. The steady sound of the rotors was like music to this Russian pilot’s ears.
“Nice work, Grigori!” Grant said, as he laid a hand on Moshenko’s shoulder. He ducked his head, then sat in the co-pilot’s seat. A picture flashed in his mind of the last time he found himself in one of these helo’s.
The KA-25 Moshenko was piloting had crashed into the Mediterranean from engine failure. Grant was on a dive team searching for a lost nuclear bomb off the coast of Spain. When the helo hit the water, so did Grant, swimming into the sinking aircraft, and cutting Moshenko out of a jammed seat harness.
“You are okay, my friend?” Moshenko asked, giving Grant a questioning stare.
Grant slouched in the seat, clasping his hands behind his head. “Aside from exhausted, starving, and aching all over? Then, yeah, I’m okay.”
“We should be back to your compound shortly where you will be able to rest and eat.”
“Still gotta do something with the Italian passenger.”
“And you have decided?”
Grant sat straighter, then turned sideways, resting his elbows on his knees. “Would you be willing to. . .”
“You do not even have to ask,” Moshenko answered with all seriousness. Then he changed the subject. “Do you remember being in a cockpit similar to this
under very different circumstances?”
“No way I’d ever forget, Grigori. One helluva friendship started that day.” Grant held up his hand with Moshenko’s thick hand immediately latching onto it.
Grant looked to the side, seeing Adler approaching, pointing out the windshield toward AFN. “There it is, straight ahead.”
“Home sweet home,” Grant mumbled.
Chapter 18
AFN Compound
With the chopper still one hundred feet above the ground, Grant yelled over the sound of the rotors, “Doug, grab that guy and hang onto him!”
Taylor grabbed Castalani’s jacket, pulled him up, then bending an arm behind his back, held it securely. Castalani winced, with fury building up inside him.
Grant and Adler stood by the open door, hanging onto the sides, looking down as the ground came at them, the rotating blades kicking up dirt beneath them.
At touchdown, Grant and Adler jumped out. Grant immediately cupped a hand around his mouth and yelled, “Ray, take care of this guy! Put him in there!” he ordered, pointing to the barracks. Moore grabbed Castalani’s arm and yanked him from the chopper, turning him over to Simpson and Russo.
As Grant and Adler were walking from the chopper, Moore asked, “You both okay?”
“We’re good. Any problems on the way back?” Grant asked.
“Negative. Everything’s been secured in the hangar.”
Grant glanced off to his right, and asked with surprise in his voice, “Where’d they come from?”
“Oh, the marines? Admiral Torrinson requested fleet to bring them in off the carrier as additional security. And, by the way, he’s waiting to hear from you.”
Moshenko caught up to them, thinking of Grant’s comments on the helo. “Excuse me,” he said laying a hand on Moore’s shoulder.
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you have any food and drink for these men?”
“Yes, sir. We sure do. Come to the galley,” Moore responded.
“That’s a good idea, Skipper!” Adler commented.
In the Mouth of the Wolf Page 14