He knew the purpose and the message of the visit before anyone had a chance to speak. Kelly, by chance, was the first one there. Kelly was just approaching the site's LZ when a blue Navy helo landed and Admiral Maxwell emerged. He found the Marines training in small groups, miming the use of their weapons while Captain Albie consulted with the four helicopter crews. ![]() He stood erect and headed down the hill, surrendering to his instincts. 'Make signal to Admiral Podulski on Constellation: Olive Green.' Maxwell's car was waiting at the River entrance, a master chief aviation bosun's mate at the wheel. 'Gary, we're going to need that transport we talked about.' But it was too late to change it now, and besides, who would have have seen the humor in it? Glazov reached in his pocket for his shopping list. I'm heading out now, but I'll be calling in every hour.'Ĭassius, he thought. Somebody has to help make the peace, and dithering around won't change that. ![]() 'You got it, Dutch,' the General replied, asking no questions. It was his personal touchstone to his profession. 'Thank you, James.' Dutch Maxwell turned in his swivel chair and looked at the side panel affixed to his wall, blue aluminium from his F6F Hellcat fighter, with its even rows of red-and-white painted flags, each denoting a victim of his skill. The latter was a matter of where he walked more than anything else, where he placed his feet, how he twisted and turned to pass between trees and bushes, watching both his path and the area around him with equal urgency. Kelly moved quickly for a man of his size, and silently. The weight wasn't excessive, and he found that he could move through the trees and over the hills without noticing it. ![]() It came out to a twenty-three-pound load, not counting his special gear for the insertion. A silenced 9mm automatic went into a shoulder holster, but his real weapon was a radio, and he would be carrying two of those, just to be sure, plus food and water and a map - and extra batteries. The primary weapon was a CAR-15 carbine version of the M-16 assault rifle. He'd picked his weapons load-out in the fervent hope that he would not need to fire a single shot. Kelly was working on his woodcraft, again, as he'd been doing for several weeks. He switched buttons on his phone and dialed another in-house number. ![]() 'Thanks, Roger,' Bob Ritter said in the sanctity of his office in Langley. Five minutes later he stepped into a black London taxi and directed the driver to head towards Harrods Department Store in Knightsbridge. It required all of his considerable self-control not to laugh aloud at the mixture of what he had just accomplished and the thundering irony of the portcullised stone arch before his eyes. 'No, Peter, you will not.' George walked down the stone steps towards Traitor's Gate. Other Marines at Quantico kept their distance when they saw the team, wondering why the special place and the odd schedule, why the Cobras on the flight line, why the Navy rescue pilots in the Q, but one look at the team in the piney woods was all the warning they needed to mute the questions and keep their distance. A trained observer could see it from their look: serious but not tense, focused but not obsessive, confident but not cocky. Every one began his own personal exercise regime, running a mile or two on his own in addition to the regular morning and afternoon efforts, both to work off tension and to be just a little bit more certain that he'd be ready for it. Every man walked over to the training site, checking placement and angles, usually with his most immediate teammate, practicing their run-in approach or the paths they'd take once the shooting started. A few wills were drafted - just in case, the embarrassed Marines told the visiting officers - and all the while the Marines focused more and more on the mission, their minds casting aside extraneous concerns and concentrating on something identified only by a code name selected at random from separate lists of words. At Sergeant Irvin's behest, chaplains came to the group.
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