![]() ![]() ![]() Kelly was working on his woodcraft, again, as he'd been doing for several weeks. 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. Somebody has to help make the peace, and dithering around won't change that. It caused George to turn and smile one last time. The message delivered, Maxwell came back to the helicopter. Looks were exchanged, rather dubious ones, but they soon changed to simple, determined nods. The Recon Marines gathered around, and their reaction was surprisingly sober and matter-of-fact. Albie got the word, and his back went a little straighter. General Young's staff car pulled up so that he could deliver the news as well. ![]() ![]() Kelly waited by the chopper while Maxwell went over to Captain Albie. Well, he told himself, I know how to do that. 'Where to, sir?'ĭespite the expectation and enthusiasm, Kelly felt the usual chill. Maxwell's car was waiting at the River entrance, a master chief aviation bosun's mate at the wheel. 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. 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. The Old Man had a spring in his step like the chief's daughter heading out for a date. He didn't know what it was all about, but he knew it was about something. 'Aye.' The senior chief dropped the car into gear and headed for the river. 'Gary, we're going to need that transport we talked about.' 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. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |