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  “How may we address you,” asked Patricia. “Since we don’t know who you are, we need some way to ask for you or to ask questions,” she said calmly. The anger was rising within her and she had to control it.

  “You may simply call me Sergeant, for now.”

  Mitchell called out, “Sergeant, I need my medications. They are in my bags at our hotel. I have a heart condition that requires me to take these medications each day. Can someone get them for me?”

  The sergeant gave a grunt. “Do I look like an apothecary? I am afraid it is impossible to go to your hotel and retrieve them. You will just have to do without.”

  Mitchell turned slightly pale. “I’ve been told I must have them or my heart might quit on me,” he nearly pleaded.

  The Sergeant leaned angrily toward the man, pointing his finger at him. “It is not my problem. Do without,” he said emphasizing by shoving his finger toward the man. It was obvious the Sergeant enjoyed pushing others around.

  “Do without!” exclaimed Patricia. “You were the ones who brought us here and now this man may die because you didn’t think about the possible repercussions! I respectfully ask to see your superior, Sergeant,” she demanded.

  The sergeant lifted his baton again, and then growled an order in Spanish. Two men quickly opened the cell door, entered the room, and retrieved the food pots from one of the mayors before locking the door again. A smile appeared on the sergeant’s face. “It appears you already need to be taught a lesson. You see, I am in charge here and I won’t tolerate any disrespect. No more food until tonight. Now, the question and answer time is over,” he said before turning and exiting the building. A younger guard dressed in a similar uniform sat down outside the room on a bench. His rifle was laid across his lap. The young man simply stared vacantly into the cell.

  The mayors let out a small sigh and looked round at each other. “Pat, you gotta learn how to watch your temper,” said Roberts with a grin.

  Patricia nodded. “I know. People like that infuriate me. Sorry guys,” she said.

  “Yeah, I know. He has empowerment issues,” Roberts said. “We’re just going to have to find a way to suck up to this guy so we can survive, that’s all,” she said with a grin.

  “In the mean time, come get some food,” said Tim Sweeny in the front corner of the room. The mayors looked in amazement at fourteen plates of some sort of stew sat on the floor.

  “How the hell did you do that?” asked Kay May, staring at the plates in amazement.

  Tim chuckled. “Knowing how outspoken some of you are, it figured he might take the pots away, so I poured it out and then stood there with the nearly empty pots.” He began handing out the plates of food. “One thing I noticed. The young guards who took the pots definitely noticed they were empty. They didn’t say a word,” he said.

  George Kaye, the middle aged mayor of Jefferson, Tennessee, thought a moment on that one as he quickly began eating the bland meal. “That tells me not everyone agrees with our illustrious sergeant,” he said with a knowing eyebrow raised.

  USS Iowa

  Roger Hammond stirred from his sleep as the sun eased above the horizon and into the bridge windows of the ship. He opened his eyes to a familiar sight, across the window sill out over the ship’s two forward turrets and across the bow. It was almost as if they were underway once more. His thoughts were interrupted by hushed male voices on the other side of the bridge. That was when he noticed the blanket covering him. Wondering where it came from, he looked around behind his seat.

  The young female sentry had been replaced by another young petty officer standing by the rear entrance to the bridge. A Secret Service agent was just visible on the deck outside the bridge. The sentry was quieting someone inside the armored citadel.

  Moving the blanket aside, Hammons eased down from his chair and walked back to the huge 17 inch thick steel door. He urged the sentry to remain silent. Three young Boy Scouts were inside looking at the gear.

  “This is where we steer this thing,” said Hammond, startling the boys inside.

  “Whoa,” said one of the boy almost jumping against the bulkhead at the sight of the man in an admiral’s uniform.

  “It’s okay, guys,” Hammond said with a chuckle. “I’ve spent many a day on the bridge of this ship,” he said.

  The oldest of the three scouts had a questioning look. “Were you the guy I read about during the war?”

  Hammond raised his hands. “Guilty as charged. I’m Roger Hammond,” he said extending his hand.

  A look of wonder spread across the young man’s face. “Wow! I read all about you and all the stuff you did aboard this ship,” the young man said as he shook Hammond’s hand. “I’m Kurt and this is Tommy and Chuck.”

  Hammond nodded. “Yes, I heard there was a troop aboard. How do you like our ship?”

  “This is cool,” said Tommy. “I don’t even know how this thing floats,” he said.

  “Me either,” said Hammond. “You need to see if they’ll let you go all the way to the top. It’s the best,” Hammond said pointing upward.

  “Do you think they would?” asked Chuck.

  “I think I can arrange it. By the way, who brought me the blanket?”

  “We did,” said Kurt. “We were exploring some last night and saw you up here, so we brought up one of the blankets and they said we could come back when it was daylight.”

  “Well, I appreciate it. I was pretty tired after the concert. Did you guys like the music?”

  “Yes sir!” exclaimed Chuck. “I’m learning how to play the trumpet.”

  “Well, good. Keep practicing and you can get as good as my guys,” Hammond said.

  There was a shuffle outside the citadel and Brian Davis stuck his head in. “About time you woke up,” he said with a grin. “We have orders to get you back down to San Diego. We’ll be getting underway in an hour,” he said.

  “I can drive quicker,” Hammond said.

  Davis shook his head. “No, sir. Admiral Johnson told me personally that I was to bring you. I’ve arranged for one of my officers to drive your car down.”

  Hammond sighed slightly. He looked at the scouts beside him. “See. Even admirals get told what to do sometimes,” he said. “See you around again,” he said to the boys as he shook their hands again.

  Standing outside the citadel the sentry and agent were now joined by “Boats” Patnaude. “Boats, you still here?” asked Hammond.

  “Hell, somebody’s gotta be your wet nurse,” Patnaude said with a grin. Then he got serious. “Look, Captain,” he said quietly. “Let us know if there’s something we can do. You know you can count on us.”

  Hammond looked the old man square in the eye. “I know, Boats. Tell the guys I appreciate it. If you guys can help in any way, I’ll call,” he said placing his hand on Patnaude’s shoulder.

  A twinkle appeared in Patnaude’s eye. “You better,” he said.

  Hammond started to leave when he turned suddenly. “Boats, how about seeing that these guys get the chance to go up to the 0-11 level. They deserve a look,” he said with a grin.

  Boats nodded and waved as Hammond and the others left the bridge. He looked at the three young boys standing nearby. He eyed them intently, sizing each young man up, then mumbled, “Three future recruits.” After a moment he nodded his head. “Okay you three shitheads wanna see the real Navy? Let’s get going,” he said firmly. Patnaude was going to show them this ship if it killed them.

  One hour later, USS Kings Mountain took in her moorings and departed for San Diego. From her bridge, Hammond watched as Patnaude, in his old white helmet, had thirty young boys in their bare feet lined up on the Iowa’s deck holystoning like real sailors.

  The Pentagon

  Major General Claire Richardson sat in her office in a foul mood. The Chairman, General Black, had called her personally to get her up on what had happened and told her that he wanted her to organize a team. As the Chief of the Pentagon’s new Special Operations Division
, she had plenty to choose from, but not enough answers to make any decisions. Already she had contacted the Defense Intelligence Agency to get her those answers. Now it was time to organize a team. Her chief of staff was already working on a list or options, but until things started falling into place, there wasn’t much she could do. That left a bitter taste in her mouth. Hammond was one of her friends and she knew the President, another friend, needed her help.

  The Special Operations Division had been formed to gather the very best from each service to take care of the growing number of problems around the world that couldn’t be done with an army or navy. She was like a surgeon’s scalpel. She could go in and cut out a problem and then let the wounds “heal.” Already her teams had rescued some students in Kenya, a diplomat in Indonesia and some kidnapped businessmen in Angola without a single loss and without anyone knowing what had happened. This was going to be one of those type operations. Already the alert had gone out to teams One through Six, although Team Five was currently finishing up some intensive training in the swamps of South Carolina. In the mean time, everyone was getting equipment ready and waiting for the call.

  She was checking one team’s readiness report when there was a knock on her door. Captain Chris Spalding opened the swinging door and stepped in.

  “Excuse me, Ma’am, but you have visitors in the waiting room. It’s the Dickson family.”

  All her concerns were swept away as the smile spread across her face. She had met the Dicksons upon the death of their son, one of her own officers, during the war. They had adopted a young Korean boy who their son had saved from a grenade attack. Since that time she had followed the family and the young boy closely. She rose from her desk and walked to the reception area. There sat Mr. and Mrs. Dickson and a tall, thin 11 year old boy who jumped to his feet and saluted. She stopped and returned his salute. He then rushed up to give his Aunt Clair a hug.

  “Hey there, Marine. How have you been doing?” she asked with glee.

  “Real good, Aunt Claire. We’re gonna see the memorial today,” he exclaimed.

  “Well, I know you’ve been looking forward to that,” she said, and then turning to the Dicksons, she gave each a hug. “I’m so glad you could come by. Thanks for bringing my little boy to see me again. Come on it the office.”

  The three followed her to her office and sat down at a couch and two chairs opposite her desk. For the next fifteen minutes they caught up on everything going on since their last visit nearly a year before. Richardson was particularly interested in seeing how Jua Jing, whose name had now been changed to William, was doing in school and with other children.

  “Well, we had a problem recently in school. Will got suspended for a day,” said Russ Dickson, stifling a grin on his face. Obviously he was holding something back.

  Richardson turned to look at young Will. She gave him a skeptical look. “Suspended? Now how did this happen? I thought you were a straight “A” model student.”

  William hung his head slightly, then looked up at her. “I got in a fight.”

  The typing and rustling of papers in the outer office ceased and Richardson heard a couple of chairs ease back along the floor as the occupants quietly came to the door to listen. Everyone in the office liked the little boy and he had become their “mascot” once they had heard of how one of their own had personally saved him. Three faces appeared at the door.

  Richardson noticed, but continued her concerned look. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  Will looked over at his Mom, then his Dad nodded to go ahead. He looked back at Richardson. “Well, there’s this guy at school. He likes to pick on me because I’m Korean.”

  Richardson nodded. “You’ve had things like that happen before.”

  Will nodded. “Yes, Ma’am, that doesn’t bother me too much,” he said. “But he started saying things bad about my brother.”

  Richardson almost heard a growl from outside her office. The guys were listening intently. Even she was getting upset. His adopted brother, also named William, had made the ultimate sacrifice to save this boy’s life. This would be a very painful memory. She looked at Will. “I understand. So what did you do?”

  “Well, Mom always told me that I shouldn’t get into fights at school, but what he said just made me angry,” he said almost shamefully.

  Richardson nodded. “It must have been pretty bad then. What did he say?”

  Will looked at his Mom and then back again. “Mom says it’s not a nice thing to say.”

  Richardson smiled. Will was growing up to be such a good boy. Her pride in the young man was growing each time they saw each other. She smiled slightly and said, “I’m sure it’s alright to tell me. I won’t be angry.”

  He looked at her with almost a pleading in his eyes. “He said my brother and all Marines were a bunch of pussies!” he blurted out.

  There was a slight gasp in the other room as Richardson calmly nodded and asked, “And then what happened?”

  William suddenly stood up tall with a look of intense determination on his face as he told her, “I kicked his ass.”

  There was a whoop from the outer office as four Marines sprang into the room. They swept the young man up offering their support, then slapping him on the back. Richardson sat back laughing while his adopted father beamed with pride. Only his Mom looked a little skeptical. Richardson knew that it would be only a matter of minutes before every Marine in the Pentagon knew what had happened.

  “It turns out this guy has been a troublemaker for a while. He ended up with two black eyes and lost a tooth. The teacher had to pull Will off of him. When I told the principal the situation, Will got off with just one day. The other boy got a month,” Russ Dickson said with some pride.

  Richardson continued to chuckle at the situation. The boy had defended both his brother and the Corps. Not bad for an 11 year old.

  Will was now smiling broadly. Although the guys were reinforcing the idea of not starting fights, it was clear they approved of what he had done. To him, it meant the world.

  The celebration was short lived. General Black entered the room and the shouting and congratulations suddenly halted as everyone came to attention. Even Will stood straight.

  “I seem to be interrupting something,” Black exclaimed.

  After introductions and retelling the story which had just unfolded, Black stood back and grinned at the young man. “It appears our young man has some pride in the Corps and his family. That is a very good thing, young man. Now, what’s this I hear about you wanting to see the Iwo Jima Memorial?”

  “He’s been wanting to see it for over a year, General,” said Amy Dickson. “In the three years since he’s learned about his brother and the Marines, he’s wanted to see for himself. We can’t keep him from the history books.”

  Black looked at the boy, and then got down on one knee in front of him. “Tell me. What is so special to you about the Marines?”

  The young, dark eyes focused on Black. The boy’s face was thoughtful and determined. “The Marines always try to do good things. They stop people from doing bad things. They rescued me and my friends. A Marine saved my life and gave me my family. When I grow up, I want to be one,” he said.

  Black looked at the sincerity in the boy’s eyes. It was the most innocent and truthful thing he had heard in a long time. He placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and nodded his head. “Then I promise I will help you become one,” he said.

  Black got to his feet. “Mr. and Mrs. Dickson, how about you and Will come with me. Claire, you come too. I’m going to personally make sure you get to see the Memorial, but first, I want you to meet a friend of ours,” he said with a grin. Before he left the office with everyone in tow, he made a special phone call to a number only a few people know.

  The State Department

  “I just need to know if Parente will be cooperative or not,” said the Secretary of State Branson over the secure communications set. He had been on the phone for an hour with
Ambassador Jonas trying to get a feel for Parente and how far they could trust him. Jonas hadn’t given him a really straight answer yet. “We don’t know if we can trust him.”

  “Of course you can,” said Ambassador Jonas. “I keep a dialogue going with him just so he knows me and I can know him. He is a man of considerable power and can do quite a lot for us when the time comes. I know what makes him tick.”

  “So he’ll cooperate with our investigations?” Branson asked.

  “He has no reason not to since it doesn’t involve him. Just send one or two people down and I’ll see about getting them in with their counterparts,” Jonas said. “They can work through me to get their investigations done.”

  Through him? thought Branson. What did that mean? “We’re already working to get people down there. They may need a wide range of assistance,” the Secretary said without telling Jonas of the revelations about the truck. “What if we need the help of his armed forces?”

  “What? You think someone might make a break across the border? Parente won’t stand for that, and he won’t be willing to take orders from the United States. He is the leader of a sovereign nation and takes it very seriously. I can get him to do a great many things, but using his military will be his call and his call alone. He also won’t stand by and let someone else come in either. I can tell him if we have suspicions about this and he will act on it as he sees fit,” Jonas said.

  “I’m not talking about any invasion, but if we find out someone has spirited the hostages across the border, will he use his people to help in the search?” Branson asked.

  “I have no doubt,” said Ambassador Jonas, growing tired of the conversation. “I have been able to get on his good side and intend to keep it that way,” he boasted. “But at the same time, he will want something in return. That’s why I have to keep him informed about what we are doing and what we are planning. That way he will feel he can trust us,” Jonas said.