Tom Clancy's op-center_ acts of war - Tom Clancy [72]
He'd been drawn to the greatest challenge of rebuilding and leading a team that had been demoralized by the death of their commanding officer. And of course there'd been the appeal of being with Rodgers himself. Since they were kids, they'd shared a passion for building model airplanes and reminiscing about old girlfriends. Rodgers had gone so far as to find one of August's childhood sweethearts as an inducement for him to return to the U.S.
It had worked. When August had gotten together with Barb Mathias, the elementary school princess who'd been his first serious crush, he'd known he wasn't returning to NATO. He'd bought a Ford for driving and a Rambler for fixing up on weekends, moved into the Quantico barracks, and become a bonafide man-at-arms for the first time since Vietnam. The Striker team was young but enthusiastic, and the high-tech gear was awe-inspiring.
August shut the door behind him. He walked to the gunmetal desk and hit the autodial on his secure telephone. Bob Herbert picked up.
"Afternoon, Colonel," Herbert said.
"Good afternoon, Bob."
"Turn on your computer," Herbert said. "There's a signed directive. Countersign and E-mail it back."
August's belly burned with anticipation as he booted up the HP Pavilion and input his identification code. He still wasn't speculating, but he was eager and damned curious. In just a few seconds Paul Hood's order appeared on the screen. August read it. Striker Deployment Order No. 9 simply ordered him and his full Striker team to chopper from Quantico to Andrews Air Force Base and board the waiting C-141B. August picked up the electronic pen on the desk and signed the screen. He saved the document and returned it to Herbert.
"Thanks," Herbert said. "Lieutenant Essex of General Rodgers's staff will meet you at the field at fifteen hundred hours. He'll have the mission overview. We'll download the details once you're airborne. However, I can tell you this much, Colonel, and it isn't pretty. Mike and the Regional Op-Center have been captured by what appear to be Kurdish terrorists."
The burning sensation rose in August's throat.
"Either you retrieve the facility," Herbert continued, "or according to the playbook, we close up shop. It may be necessary for us to do that before you get there, but obviously we're going to try and avoid that. Understood?"
Close up shop, August thought. Destroy the ROC regardless of where it is or who's inside. "Yes," the colonel said. "I understand."
"I don't go way back with General Rodgers like you do," Herbert went on, "but I enjoy and respect the hell out of him. He's the only guy I know who can quote Arnold Toynbee in one breath and lines from Burt Lancaster movies in the next. I want him back. I want them all back."
"So do I," August replied. "And we're ready to go get them."
"Good man," Herbert said. "And good luck."
"Thank You," August said.
The colonel hung up the phone. After a moment, he drew breath slowly through his nose. He let himself fill with air from the belly up, like a bottle. The "big belly'' was a trick a sympathetic prison guard had taught August when he was a POW in Vietnam. August had been sent into North Vietnam to find a Scorpion team which the CIA had recruited from among persecuted North Vietnamese Catholics in 1964. The thirteen commandos had been presumed dead. Years later, word reached Saigon that they were still alive. August and five others were sent out to find them. They discovered the ten surviving Scorpions in a prison camp near Haiphong and joined them. The Viet Cong guard, Kiet, had to do what he was doing in order to feed his wife and