by DJ Scott
I will not forget it.”
It was signed “Daniel Forrest.”
He couldn’t help but smile. This was unexpected, but perhaps it should not have been. The Marines really took this stuff seriously.
Joe Castelli left the Chief of Staff’s office and, as he exited the nondescript building, was for once not surprised to see his father waiting for him. The elder Castelli walked briskly over to his son and gave him an unexpected hug and a handshake.
“Welcome home, Joe,” he said.
“They retired me, Dad. Kicked me out.”
“I know.” Joe Castelli had finally stopped being surprised at his father’s connections. “And I couldn’t be prouder.”
“I’ll never have another command.”
“That’s the paradox, Joe. By going after our people you guaranteed you would never have another command. But if you sailed on and left them behind, you would have proved you were unworthy of another command. The name Joe Castelli would have been forever linked with desertion of dozens of wounded sailors and Marines. You would have been an embarrassment, buried in some back office and forgotten. Better this way.”
Slowly, Joe nodded.
“Now, let’s stop at your condo, get you out of that uniform, and go get a few drinks. You still like martinis don’t you? I have dinner reservations later at Maxwells, and we can talk a bit about the next phase of your life. I have a feeling some very good things are about to happen.”
They walked towards Vince Castelli’s car and chatted amiably about nothing at all.
Chapter 71
September 17, 2017 1930Z (1530 EDT)
White House Situation Room
President Brendan Wallace sat at the head of the table, leaning forward on his hands, as he moved his gaze from one senior advisor to the next. “I’ve got some interesting news for you.”
The deadpan monotone set everyone in the room on edge.
After a long pause, he went on. “Sonny tells me we may have found the missing nuke. That until a few hours ago it was right where we found the others.”
“Mr. President,” said Baker—who wanted to point out the warhead was buried too deep to be picked up on radiation detectors.
Wallace ignored him. “Now I hear we have nothing close enough to intercept the damn thing before it reaches the Saudi border. That’s assuming it really is the warhead.”
Wendy Hiller jumped in. “We have to assume it is, or put another way there’s no upside to thinking it isn’t. What else would they have buried in their back yard?”
“All right then,” resumed Wallace, “do we tell the Saudis? I think it’s safe to assume that if they get their hands on it, they will probably keep it.”
Sonny Baker nodded in agreement. “And we certainly can’t take it away from them.”
“Not with us using their bases and burning their oil we can’t,” the President said. “Sonny, assuming they get hold of the PAL encoder, can they deliver that warhead?”
“We know they have a bunch of old Chinese Dongfeng intermediate range missiles. That system can easily lift this warhead and can hit most targets in the Middle East, and all targets in Iran. They could also convert it to a simple gravity bomb. Their F-15s could deliver it, particularly now that we have degraded Iranian air defense to almost nothing. As for Israel, they would have a much tougher time penetrating their air defense. I doubt they would target Israel, though. Their second strike capability would annihilate the Saudis.”
“So the short answer is yes,” said Wallace. “That leaves us with one question. Do we tell the Saudis or not?”
Alex Clarkson, who had gotten a heads up from his analysts and had just arrived by helicopter, spoke first. “Given the volume of truck traffic as you get further north of the border, I cannot give assurances that we won’t lose track of it.”
“You followed that car with the PAL plans all the way down to Arad,” Karen Hiller said.
“Yes,” Clarkson replied, “but we had time to prepare a lot of surveillance assets. Also, we’re dealing here with a very generic truck that could easily get lost in traffic once it crosses the border.”
“I agree, Mr. President.” Sonny Baker leaned forward and looked directly at Wallace. “It’s just too risky. If we lose track of that warhead we may never see it again until it goes off somewhere. Besides, I don’t think the Saudis would use the damn thing.”
Wallace did not consult with anyone else. This was on him. “Okay, Sonny, call the Saudi Defense Minister. Let’s hope we can wrap this thing up today. Feel free to interrupt my breakfast meeting with . . . ”
“The Small Business Administration,” injected Hiller. As she followed the President out of the Situation Room, Sonny Baker waited for one of his aides to place the call.
Chapter 72
September 18, 2017 0130Z (September 17, 2130 EDT)
White House Situation Room
“I received an interesting call from the Saudi Defense Minister. Seems they have a new nuke—at least that wasn’t a surprise. Are you ready for the surprise?”
“His ministry invited Muhammad Nazer in for a chat. Apparently one of the Yemenis transporting the warhead implicated him. He quickly gave up the whole scheme. Seems the plan was to use the nukes on the Iranians and eliminate the Shia threat. They hoped we would be blamed and then forced to evacuate the Middle East, leaving the Saudis as the dominant power. Apparently the King was not entirely pleased—but not all that displeased either. They’ve cut a deal with Abdullah Nazer for a PAL and in return will beef up their military aid and press ahead with their pipeline. The Saudis seem pretty happy with the outcome. Too bad I’m not.”
“With this much Saudi backing there’s not much we can do about Nazer—at least not right now,” Sonny Baker said.
“Agreed,” replied Wallace. “But get him a back channel message that we are keeping a very close eye on him, and that U.S. policy could change very suddenly if he steps out of line.”
“So what do we tell Congress and the press about the operation?” asked the Chief of Staff.
“Announcing that six nuclear warheads were on the lam will create a lot of public excitement, not to mention questions about their original source, even if the administration gets the credit for going after them,” Baker said.
“Could be an opportunity to make Putin look bad,” replied General Ted Lennox.
“It would create a shit storm, no doubt about that,” said Brendan Wallace. “On the whole, though, we may be better off letting Vladimir owe us one. We can get word back to the Kremlin that we have their warheads—send them photos, serial numbers—but will keep the lid on it.”
Sonny Baker saw a plan coming together. “Just say we seized a cache of WMD accumulated by an insurgent group based in Arad. We can be vague about the nature of the weapons—ongoing operation or something like that—and blame it on al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula or those ISIL fanatics; whoever fits best. There may be some leaks, too many people know, but we can just stick with the WMD scenario. Besides, who is going to believe another terrorist nuke story?”
There were general nods of agreement.
“I’ll take care of dealing with Nazer,” Sonny said. “Karen, can you work up something with the communications office?”
“Of course.” Her tone was agreeable enough, but the look she gave Baker was sharp and penetrating. “What about the Commandant? He’s still pissed off about our leaving those Marines behind. He could be a wild card in maintaining our cover.”
“Karen, I don’t think you’re the right one to be dealing with Dan Forrest, and Ted — ” The President looked at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs—“I don’t mean to override your authority, but this is better handled from the White House end.”
Lennox nodded. The Chairman would apparently just as soon avoid revisiting the abandonment of wounded Marines and Navy
personnel in order to maintain political cover, even if it seemed essential at the time.
“Sonny, you get along with him pretty well. See if you can get him on board?”
“I will, Mr. President.”
The meeting went on to smaller and smaller matters. Finally, the President stood and said, “I’ll leave the rest of you to finish up.” He abruptly left the room, Karen Hiller close behind.
Chapter 73
September 25, 2017 1515Z (0815 PDT)
Marine Corps Air Ground Combat
Center, Twentynine Palms
Lieutenants Jim Russell and Nicole Ellis were having breakfast with McGregor in the officer’s area of the mess hall—now known as the dining facility or DFAC, in the world of military acronyms. The sticky grits, overcooked eggs, and stale coffee were heaven.
McGregor was no longer in command.
After transferring a dozen of the most seriously wounded along with the KIA to Oman for an Air Force flight to the huge military hospital at Landstuhl, Bataan had been diverted with one destroyer to the base at Diego Garcia. There, orders came through disestablishing the 584 Composite Unit and returning its personnel to their original commands—for most, the 28th Marine Regiment or the MP Company. They were directed to proceed back to Twentynine Palms, where the regiment had left an administrative group to demobilize the command as it arrived. Ironically, they were the first ones back, most of the 28th being still aboard Essex, Iwo Jima, and Ashland.
At Diego Garcia, Captain Joe Castelli and his XO were relieved, and a Captain flown down from Bahrain to take command. As he departed Bataan by boat, the entire crew, in dress whites, manned the rails and rendered a sharp hand salute. One in which McGregor and the members of the 584 who could still stand were happy to join.
The administrative personnel, not privy to most of the details of Ocean Reach, had received orders to retain all personnel at Twentynine Palms for security reasons. The night before, First Sergeant Johanssen had arrived after a sixteen-hour flight from Germany, a long metal rod now in his left arm. Even he could not get answers or cooperation.
Nicole Ellis said, “It was great seeing the First Sergeant, but I’m getting really sick of this place. I need to get out of here and back home. Any idea when that’s going to happen?”
McGregor was about to answer with a wisecrack when a deep voice behind him said, “What’s your hurry Lieutenant? Tired of the desert so soon?”
They all stood to greet Colonel Aaron Mark.
“Seriously, there’s a big security blackout on this operation, which I’m sure you can understand better than most. We may be here another week or two. And, by the way, McGregor, well done back there. I’m proud of you all.”
“Appreciated, sir. But we lost a lot of good people along the way. And some of our wounded will probably never return to duty.”
“The price of battle, Doc. And you’re right; I just heard First Sergeant Johanssen will probably be submitting his retirement papers. They don’t think that arm will recover one-hundred percent.”
Damn. He and Johanssen had a long and close relationship. “What about Captain Moore? Have you heard anything about her? They don’t tell me shit . . . Sir.”
“I did hear that she’s doing fine. Sounds like you did a great job, Jim. They watched her for a few days in Germany then flew her back to Balboa. Should be discharged any day.”
McGregor smiled.
“What about those Royal Marines of yours?” Mark asked. “I’ve heard nothing about them.”
“They were flown up to Oman along with the wounded,” McGregor said. “I never heard anything else. To be honest, we probably wouldn’t have made it without those guys.”
“I met them when they came aboard Essex,” Mark said. “They seemed like serious characters. I forwarded your award recommendations on to the Commandant General of the Royal Marines, but I doubt there’ll be much action on them from our end, sorry to say. And probably not for our own people either. ”
“Why is that, Colonel?”
“You were an independent unit at the time of the action with no chain of command to endorse your recommendations—at least nobody below NAVCENT, and he isn’t touching this hot potato. He was the one who disestablished the 584 and returned everyone to their original commands. Then he made sure everyone involved got out of the CENTCOM AOR as soon as possible.”
“Well, that sucks . . . Uh, Colonel”
“There may not be much you can do. White House orders have been ignored, with good reason, but still . . . ”
“Not your problem, sir. Or theirs.”
“Commander, my advice is to let this one lie. You brought your people back against incredible odds, and believe me, plenty of people know that. You’ll be home soon. Really, let it go.”
Chapter 74
September 27, 2017
Muscat, Oman (Reuters)
“A detachment of British Royal Marines based in Oman encountered a U.S. Marine along the border with Yemen. Corporal Ryan Smith of Green Bay, Wisconsin had apparently become separated from his unit during the recent American operation which seized a cache of unspecified WMDs from a cell of the jihadist group al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula operating out of the small town of Arad.”
“According to Sergeant Major William Campbell, who was leading the patrol, Smith was fatigued and dehydrated from his overland journey, but otherwise in excellent condition. Smith was flown to the American air base in Qatar for a medical examination and transportation home.”
Chapter 75
October 16, 2017 0900Z
The River Earn, Southwest of Perth Scotland
Sergei and Anatoly Grishkov were knee deep in the cool waters of the River Earn, casting large flies upstream in search of the elusive Atlantic salmon. Just downstream with his own pole was Sir Roger Pearson, not long retired from MI-6 and now running the fishing lodge that was used as both a safe house and a facility for debriefing agents returned from the field. Piotr Kulakov, another experienced fisherman, was just upstream.
Both Grishkovs were rapidly adapting to their status as former naval officers, former Russian citizens, and fugitives from the SVR and the FSB. Both understood there would be no return to Russia or to any place with Russian influence. Putin wanted all of them dead, of that there was no doubt.
Each man had been entirely straightforward with the intelligence and technical specialists sent in to debrief them. The senior Grishkov, known to MI-6 as Stella, had naturally been the richer source of information, including the technical data which had allowed for a detailed examination of the captured warheads. Initially, the debriefers regarded Anatoly Grishkov as simply a bit of baggage brought along by Stella. They were thus surprised at the breadth of his technical expertise as well as his insight into a broad range of Russian naval topics.
Kulakov, it turned out had been deeply involved in the Stella operation. He had traveled all over Russia, gathering information for his boss, Admiral Grishkov, which he was now divulging to the British.
Once the debriefing was complete, each man, by then hopefully fluent in English, would be provided with an impenetrable cover and sent to live somewhere safe. They would be paid a reasonable pension, better than that provided by the Russian Navy, and set up in a comfortable household. They would, of course, be subject to appropriate surveillance and would make themselves available to the Security Services as needed.
The elder Grishkov looked downstream towards his nephew, who was looking very much the sportsman in a tweed cap and jacket and was handling the long fly rod as if he had been using one all his life. “Have you given any thought to what you would like to do once we are finished here?”
“I believe I would like to become an English gentleman.”
They both laughed.
Chapter 76
October 28, 2017 1300Z (0900 EDT)
Navy and Mari
ne Corps Reserve Center Ann Arbor
It was a cool, sunny October morning. A light wind blew bright red and yellow maple leaves across the paved area behind the reserve center used for outdoor formations. The reservists from the 1/28 and the MP Company were standing at attention, as were members of the command staff of the 28th Marine Regiment—including a stone-face Commander Kenneth Barnes. Most important, all surviving members of the 584 Composite Unit, including the Royal Marines, were assembled at the front of the formation. Several were leaning on crutches, two were in wheelchairs.
Commandant Daniel Forrest, accompanied by the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps, exited the rear of the building and marched to the front of the formation, where the Commandant returned the crisp salute of Colonel Aaron Mark.
“All sailors and Marines are assembled as ordered, sir,” said Mark. He then executed a left face and strode to take up a position at the left of the formation.
Two Marines from the Commandant’s staff appeared, one carrying a stack of red folders and the other carrying oblong red boxes. The Sergeant Major bellowed, “Attention to orders.”
Daniel Forrest stepped forward and handed the first folder to the Sergeant Major, who read the Purple Heart citation for the first member of the 584 Composite Unit wounded in action during Operation Reach. The Commandant had, after several long discussions with Sonny Baker and then with his headquarters staff, agreed to fast track awards for the 584. Karen Hiller hadn’t liked it, but Sonny Baker made it clear everyone needed a quick resolution. In truth, President Wallace secretly supported Forrest’s effort. He just couldn’t take any active role in a situation involving a violation of his personal orders.
Forrest finished awarding the Purple Hearts and proceeded to award Captain Randeep Singh, with the concurrence of the Commandant General, the Silver Star and the Purple Heart. Sergeant Major Campbell received the Silver Star as well.