Weekend Warrior

by kashkow

Another of my "view from the outside" stories. Maybe that Navy Reserve guy isn't such a bad deal after all...

Weekend Warrior

By: Ellen H.

Author's Note: I like to think of this as part of a kind of unofficial series called "from the outside looking in". We all know and love our boys, but part of the fun of reading fanfiction, at least for me, is seeing other characters come to know them and see in them the things we do. So, while there may be a slew of original characters here, there should be enough of the regulars to keep everyone happy. Of course the angst is the same. With special thanks to Kelly for suggestions and encouragement.

Ranger Unit 435 entered the small room and spread themselves out in the familiar chairs that they had used for many a mission briefing. There were five men, ranging in age from 22 to 40 and ranking from sergeant to captain. Captain John Tobin sat in the front row with Sergeant Bob 'Doc' Le Bond. The three sergeants that made up the rest of the unit sat in the second row, discussing their plans for the next leave. The comfort of long acquaintance was evident as they waited for the officer who had called them there. They had been there almost five minutes when the door opened and General Hank Craig, flown in from Special Operations Command for this briefing, entered the room. The unit sprang to attention and saluted. The general returned the salute.

"At ease. Be seated," he said and walked up to stand behind the podium at the front of the room. He laid the file he carried on the podium and looked up at the men who were sitting before him. "I apologize for having to call you back so soon after your last mission. I know you were looking forward to some R & R. This shouldn't take long." He pushed a button on the podium and a map was projected on the wall behind him. The experienced men quickly looked it over and recognized that it was in the highlands of Peru, in what could be considered the 'foothills' of the Andes. It was a place of dense jungle and hostile native tribes with the odd drug runner thrown in for good measure. Once they had a chance to look it over the general started to speak again. He pointed at one area of the map.

"We have information that an arms dealer has built a facility in this area. Our intelligence is that he has created biological and chemical weapons. We have tried to get satellite images but the jungle growth is too thick, and they seem to have taken steps to defeat the infrared sensors. However, you will have a guide into the area who has seen the facility and knows exactly where it is. The purpose of your mission is two-fold." He pressed another button. The picture of a man -by appearance, Latin American and in his mid forties or early fifties – appeared on the wall. The men in the unit, out of long experience, memorized the face.

"This man is Jorge Almondez. He is a drug manufacturer, arms dealer, and mass murderer. We have very good reason to believe that he is the owner and operator of this facility. The man who is going to be acting as your guide witnessed this man and his thugs murdering an entire village of local natives. Most likely to make sure that no word of the facility leaked out. He killed everyone but three small children and your guide. The main focus of your mission is to capture this man and bring him back with you for prosecution. He's been indicted and tried in absentia in the World Court in The Hague, and we're going to get him there for the sentancing. The second part of your mission will be to destroy the facility and all its contents. That part of the mission will be performed by your guide." The unit members looked at each other in surprise and Tobin instantly raised his hand.

"John, I think I know what you are going to ask, but go ahead," the general said.

"Why aren't we handling the destruction of the facility, sir? It's not like we don't have the experience or training." The unit had handled more than a few missions where the purpose was the destruction of some facility or the other.

"I know your capabilities, John, and this is in no way a reflection on them. What is at issue is the method of destruction. As I said, it is believed that this facility is manufacturing chemical and biological weapons. There has been some indication of what they are growing in that lab, and it has caused concern among the scientists that know about this stuff. They have warned that regular explosives might not destroy the bugs; in fact, they might just spread them into the atmosphere. That could affect anything downwind of the facility. Fatally affect them. Your guide will be carrying a specially made explosive, one that burns at a considerably higher temperature than those that you regularly use. It was specifically created for this particular use. He has special training in the use of this explosive. I understand it is pretty tricky stuff, requiring some special handling. With the window of opportunity rapidly closing, we don't have time to train your people for handling it. That's why there's been some special arrangements made."

Tobin nodded in understanding. He could understand the necessity for a specialist. Each of his men was a specialist in a particular field, though each man could fill in for another in a pinch. His next point of concern was who exactly this 'guide' was. He was not happy with the idea of trusting his unit to a stranger, especially a civilian stranger should that be the case. Of course the man could be military, or intelligence, not that the latter would be any better than a civilian. The spooks liked to think they were equal to the Special Forces but the men in the units knew differently. Of course they would work with whomever they were ordered to, but it was a cause for concern. He caught the general's eye, and the man nodded his permission to speak.

"Sir, who is this guide you have been speaking of? Is he a civilian, or a spook?" he asked. The general smiled, knowing the motivation behind the question.

"No such luck, John. He's military, Navy as a matter of fact," he said with a smile. He glanced at his watch. "He should have been here by now, but he was just reactivated yesterday for this mission and he had to take what he could get for flights from Coronado. It was my understanding that he would be here by 1000 hours, but his flight could have been delayed."

"Coronado, sir? Then our guide is a SEAL,." Sergeant Le Bond asked with some relief. While there was a professional competitiveness between Rangers and SEALS, at least they would know that the man was trained for covert ops.

"No, Sergeant, he is not assigned as a SEAL, though he has completed training with them," the general replied. "It just happened that Coronado was the closest base when he was contacted about this mission. He reported there last night for the flight."

"Excuse me, sir," Master Sergeant Bill Timmons said, "but did you say 'reactivated'? As in a reservist, being reactivated?" Timmons was the oldest of the unit with many years of experience under his belt. He was the unit's operations and intelligence officer. When they heard the question, the other men in the unit mentally reviewed what had been said and realized that the general had indeed said 'reactivated.' The idea that they would be going into the field with a reservist, a 'weekend warrior', was not a palatable one. Some of the disquiet that spread among the unit transmitted itself to the general but he decided not to address it directly.

"Yes, Master Sergeant, he is a reserve officer and he has been reactivated for this mission." As he spoke the door at the rear of the room opened and a slim figure stepped in. The general noted the activity and the other men noted his change of focus. They looked around to see who had entered the room, turning in time to see him come to attention and salute. They saw a slim young man in his late twenties or early thirties with dark hair and striking golden eyes. He was dressed in the same jungle camouflage BDUs as the men in the unit were, except that his jacket had no Ranger patch, rank designation, or name badge.

"Ah, Commander. Glad you could make it for the briefing," the general said, and indicated that the newcomer should take a seat in the front row. "I have shown the unit a map of the area and, as you can see, introduced them to Mr. Almandez," he added with a nod toward the picture.

"Sorry for the delay, sir," the man said as he seated himself. "We ran into weather over Denver and had to detour. The pilot did a great job getting us here when he did."

"I understand, Commander. I know this was short notice. I'm glad you could hook up with the flight in Coronado. I believe you were at sea when my aide reached you?" the general asked.

"Yes, sir. Fortunately, we were only a few hours out and it was fairly easy to get back to shore to catch the flight," the Navy man answered. The general nodded and returned his attention to the room in general.

"All right, gentlemen. Let me introduce you to Commander Lee Crane, US Navy, Reserve. Commander Crane will be responsible for guiding you into the facility and, once you have secured Almondez, he will take care of the deployment of the explosives. You John," he nodded at Tobin, "will be in overall command of the mission, though I am sure that you will avail yourself of the commander's expertise in the area." Having assured everyone of the chaon of command he turned his attention back to the podium. He clicked the button again and the map returned to the wall. The general pointed to an area five miles south of the previous area displayed. "You will land in this area, a nighttime drop from a chopper. You'll deploy out of Argentina. This area has been cleared for farming but there are no villages in the area. There should be no witnesses and no civilians. You'll find cover and wait for first light and then head toward the facility. You will evaluate the facility's security and try to verify that Almandez is present. If he is, you will move in at dark. If you are unable to verify his presence, then you will wait in the area until he is on site. I want to emphasis that, gentlemen. The first priority of this mission is to capture Jorge Almondez. The destruction of the facility is secondary." He stopped as Crane raised a hand. He nodded.

"Sir, it was my understanding that the destruction of the facility was to be given a higher priority. Admiral Nelson specifically created the explosives I have with the understanding that the facility would be destroyed and there would be no chance of the chemicals or biologics being used. While I understand that Almondez is often there, he might be out of the country or simply doing something else right now which would keep him from the facility. We can not afford to…" He stopped as General Craig raised a hand.

"I know I don't have to tell you, Commander, how these things go. The World Court has indicted Almondez. We can use that indictment and the threat of extended incarceration as a lever to pry information out of him regarding exactly whom he is dealing with. If we do this right, and it appears that he was killed in the destruction of the facility, then those people will not know that he is in custody and hopefully talking his head off in order to cut a deal on the indictments. We have to have him before that facility is destroyed. I understand that you are used to acting with more autonomy, but those are your orders for this mission. Is that understood?"

Crane gave a curt nod and responded in the only way he could to such a question according to military protocol. "Aye, sir. Understood."–though his tone made it clear he was anything but satisfied with the answer. The men of Unit 435 exchanged looks. The idea of openly questioning the reason for a mission was not something that had crossed their minds. The general didn't seem phased however. It was all very strange. The general took up his briefing where he had left off.

"John, after you have captured Almondez you and your unit will immediately start for the extraction area which is here." He touched the button again and a third map appeared. The extraction point was three miles to the north of the facility, located near a body of water. "You will send a miniburst on your radio indicating that you are heading for the extraction point. You will have thirty minutes to reach the area. Commander Crane, once the unit has left the area with Almondez, you will set the explosives and complete the mission. Then you will proceed to the rally point for extraction with the unit. Are there any questions?" He answered some general questions from the unit and then acknowledged Tobin. "John?"

"How long do we wait, sir? The longer we are in the area the more likely we are to be discovered. How long do we wait for Almondez?"

"We're working in a narrow window. We have reason to believe," the general said with a glance at Crane, "that there is a large sale going down in the next two weeks. Indications are that it is taking place in Algeria, and that Almondez himself is going to be there for the delivery. You'll be going in tomorrow night. If you cannot confirm his presence in the following five days, the mission will be scrubbed and you will be extracted the night of the fifth day. In that event, NO action will be taken against the facility," he added the last with a glance at Crane. The men of Unit 435 exchanged glances again.

"Sir.." Crane began only to be silenced by the general's raised hand.

"If the materials are moved from the facility in that time before Almondez arrives, interdiction efforts will be made at another time, by another team." The general said sternly. His tone did not brook further questions about the matter. Crane sat back in his seat, his face expressionless.

"If that's all the questions, I'll let you go. Your flight to Argentina is at 1600. My aide will give you the maps and mission details as you leave. Dismissed." The men all stood and came to attention. As the Ranger unit began filing out the general spoke again. "Commander Crane. I would like to speak with you in the office I am using in thirty minutes. You can leave your gear with Captain Tobin, he'll see to it that it is kept secure." With Crane's acknowledgement, he left the room. The slim Naval officer followed the Rangers out and took a folder of information from the aide who waited outside the room. Tobin noted that there was a regulation field pack against the wall near the aide and assumed that the Naval officer had left his pack there while he attended the briefing. He was proved right as the commander went to the pack and, using more care than usual, lifted it, hanging it from one shoulder. The four junior members of Unit 435 left to begin preparing for the mission. Tobin waited until the commander had turned and looked at him. He nodded in the correct direction and started down the hall. Crane moved up to walk at his side. Tobin looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

"I understand that you are a reserve officer, Commander. It's rather unusual for a reserve officer to be involved in missions of this type, isn't it?" he finally asked, wanting to feel out the man's experience.

Crane shrugged his free shoulder, apparently unbothered by the obviously laden pack. "I seem to have a slightly different experience from most reserve officers," he observed simply. Tobin wasn't sure if he was avoiding the question by being vague or had simply answered honestly, if briefly. He decided to assume the latter.

"You understand that I've got a vested interest in your experience with this type of mission. The monkey's on my back for the safety of my unit and the success or failure of the mission," he said, leading Crane toward the hanger from which all the units deployed. Their gear would be assembled there and the commander could leave his pack there with no worry about it being moved or opened, as it would be under the watchful eye of Master Sergeant Vince Thomas. He caught sight of the slight smile that crossed the face of the Naval officer.

"I understand your responsibility to your men, Captain, and to the mission. I have experience in covert operations. YOU will understand that I cannot give you any specifics regarding those experiences. I can tell you that I will not put your unit in danger or compromise the goal of this mission in any way," he replied. Tobin was again unsatisfied with the response and was becoming frustrated with the evasiveness of the Naval officer. He glanced around, seeing that they were in between two buildings in a sort of alleyway and out of sight of most passing personnel. He reached over and grabbed the nearest arm of the other officer, bringing him to a halt.

He was startled to realize that the man's other hand was locked around his wrist in an iron grip before he removed Tobin's hand from his arm with seemingly no effort. Tobin felt his level of respect for the man rise at that show of strength. The man might be slim but it was evidently a well-muscled and whipcord tough slimness. The unusual golden eyes gazed levelly into his, and Tobin noticed for the first time that the man was almost the same height as he was. They remained toe to toe, silently staring at each other for several seconds, then Crane turned and continued on in the direction they had been heading. Tobin watched him go, unsure of what exactly had passed between them in those few seconds, then followed, indicating the direction they needed to go as they reached the end of the alleyway. They continued in silence. At the deployment hanger Tobin led Crane to the secure area and introduced him to Master Sergeant Thomas. The two men conferred briefly in low voices and the commander handed over the pack to the sergeant who carried it off with due care. Crane turned to Tobin.

"Could you direct me to the general's office?" he asked as if the incident on the alleyway had not happened. Tobin, still unsatisfied, nodded. He gave the directions and watched the man move off in the indicated direction. He was standing there staring after the man when Sergeant Thomas appeared at his elbow.

"You going on a mission with Commander Crane, Captain?" the Sergeant asked, and Tobin turned to the non-com in surprise. As far as he knew, the commander had not mentioned his name, and there was no name badge on his jacket or on his pack.

"You know the commander?" he asked the older man. Master Sergeant Thomas had been around. He had first served in Vietnam at the age of seventeen. He had done three tours and then had gone on to serve in many other fields of battle since then. Now, with only a year left before he would be forced to retire, he was as tough and knowledgeable as any man in this man's Army.

The sergeant nodded. "Yes, sir. I had the honor of working with the commander about five years ago. He was a lieutenant commander then and working a mission alone and we provided transport to his LZ and extraction when it was over. Never knew what the mission was, of course, but he musta been successful 'cause he came back alive and with two other people that seemed damn happy to be there. Seemed mighty young for it then, but seeing as how he's still alive, he must be good at what he does," the sergeant observed before he went off to answer the phone. Tobin nodded slightly to himself and headed to his quarters to prepare for the mission. They had several hours, but he wanted to be ready well ahead of schedule and to get together with his unit and go over the maps. Crane would be there to guide them, but familiarity with the terrain might just save their lives should something happen to Crane or the necessity arose for them to improvise.

Chapter 2-

Lee Crane knocked on the door of General Craig's office as there was no secretary at the desk to announce him. He heard a call to enter and he did so, coming to attention and saluting. The general returned the salute.

"At ease, Commander," he said. Crane slipped easily into the stance, eyes forward and face carefully blank. The general wasn't buying it, however. "I wanted to speak with you privately, Commander, to make sure that I have made myself clear. I realize that working with Nelson, and with ONI, you are given a degree of latitude in how you handle your missions. That will not be the case here, Mister. You are working with one of my best Ranger units. They have been given the parameters of this mission, and they will carry it out as they have been ordered. YOU will do the same." He stood and paced around to stand at the window that looked out over the base.

"I understand that this is a mission that is very personal to you. I can't imagine what it must have been like to be there when they wiped out that village; the fact that you and those kids made it out alive speaks well of your skills. That fact, and the reports I have had from several of your past commanding officers, are the only reasons that I agreed to this joint mission. Quite frankly, I am still not sure that you are the best choice to go. You are personally involved to a degree that is unacceptable to me." He turned to face Crane, who was still staring straight ahead expressionlessly. The general harrumphed. "However, you are the only one who knows exactly where the facility is. That makes you irreplaceable. I don't like that. I don't like sending my men into an unknown situation with a man who might have a private agenda. Why don't you persuade me that you don't, Commander?" the General said, coming to stand close to Crane, used to intimidating men with his rank and his size.

Crane turned his head to look at Craig, with no indication that he was in any way intimidated. Craig's estimation of the Naval officer went up a notch. "Sir, the fact that I made it out alive from there is why I have to do this. I wasn't responsible for what happened, but I couldn't stop it either. Almondez is an animal and, frankly, you can do with him whatever you want to do. I hope they lock him in a cage and throw away the key. If he can help us to catch some terrorists while they do it, great. I might prefer that he was dead, but I am NOT an assassin, even for a man who deserves it as much as Almondez," he said, his voice a low growl. He looked away from the general for a moment, swallowing heavily, then he looked back.

"My concern is the poison and viruses he is producing in that facility. If we allow them to be distributed to terrorist networks, there could be more massacres like what happened there. Hundreds, thousands, maybe more could die. Admiral Nelson spent a lot of time developing a new explosive that can destroy any viruses they may have created. He suggested this joint mission to be sure that the facility was destroyed BEFORE the products could be distributed. ONI wants the facility gone and the president wants to be able to hand over a criminal like Almondez to the World Court to make points, and to use it to pump him for information about his customers. I'm ready to take care of my part of the mission, sir. My concern is that should Almondez happen to be enjoying himself in some city somewhere, raping and killing another underage girl as he likes to do, then we will not be able to destroy the facility. That was not part of the agreement that Admiral Nelson made with the President."

"I don't care what agreement Nelson made with the President. I only care about what orders I have received from Washington. Almondez MUST be captured when the facility is destroyed so that his contacts think he is dead. If they know he has been captured they will disappear. A lot of people have gone to a lot of trouble to plan this out. The world court has agreed to keep his capture quiet pending any deals that might be made. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, Commander, about your intentions. But you will conform to the parameters of this mission. I am not Nelson. I will not cut you any slack. Is that understood?"

"Aye, sir. Understood," Crane said, coming to attention, his eyes forward once again. The general nodded and returned to his chair.

"Now then, about this explosive. Just how touchy is it? I don't want your plane exploding if you hit some turbulence over Mexico."

"Not a problem, sir. The explosive is in two parts. I won't mix them until we're on site and ready to go in. It will be unstable and I'll have to handle it carefully at that point, but it'll do the job."

"Very well then, since we understand each other, I'll let you go and get some chow and some rest before you take off. You'll also want to get with Captain Tobin and his unit while they go over the particulars. I realize that you can't share with them why you were there, or even that you do work for ONI, but I believe that a bit of reassurance on your part that you will not be a burden to the unit would not be amiss. My aide has arranged for a room in the BOQ for you. He'll give you directions. Dismissed," the general said. Crane saluted. He did a snappy about face and marched out of the room, his posture ramrod straight. He got directions from the aide who had reappeared in the outer office. He arrived at the Bachelor Officer's Quarters, and was directed to the room that had been reserved for him. The man at the desk handed him an envelope with his name on it as he checked in. He sat on the bed and opened the envelope. It was a note from Tobin, requesting his presence at a unit briefing at 1500. A quick glance at the clock showed that it was just after 1150. He had some time to kill, and some serious frustration to work off. This wasn't turning out to be what he and Nelson had planned.

Despite the bumpy ride, he had managed to sleep on the plane from the west coast so he was not tired. He had wished that he could have used the flying sub, which had brought him to Coronado from the Seaview, but there were no facilities near the base that they could have landed in, and it would have just been too much trouble to arrange something. Not to mention that the appearance of a flying submarine in the area would not exactly be the understated arrival he was looking for. He was also not hungry though he knew he should eat. He could almost hear Chip Morton's voice in his head telling him to eat SOMETHING. He rose from the bunk and made his way to the mess hall, which he had passed on his way to the BOQ. He was conscious of the odd looks he was getting as he made his way through the line with a bowl of soup and a roll. He smiled slightly to himself at that evidence that scuttlebutt had already traveled around the base about a Naval officer deploying with one of the Ranger units. News traveled fast on any military base, and he knew that he was news. He got some coffee and seated himself at a table away from the other diners.

He ate his meal and returned to the BOQ. He asked for and received a set of workout gear from the BOQ orderly. The man apologized that they didn't have any Navy issue on hand and Crane told him that he felt it would not be a breach of the uniform code for him to sweat in Army workouts for one day. He changed quickly and went out to the PT field, finding a good track. He didn't often have an opportunity to run on a track and it brought back memories of Annapolis where he was on the track team. He went through his stretching exercises and then went onto the track, starting slowly. There were several other men and women running the track, and he caught their curious stares. Evidently even the Army workouts didn't hide the fact that he didn't belong. He amused himself briefly by wondering exactly what it was that gave it away: gills, webbed feet, a large neon sign above his head that flashed 'Navy'? He soon was running around the track at his best pace, moving into that comfortable zone where there was only the pounding of his feet against the ground, the beat of his heart, and the air rushing in and out of his lungs. He really didn't see the other people there, or even the track; Instead, he saw the events of the past several days run before his mind's eyes.

Chapter 3

Two days previously he had been on Seaview in Santa Barbara preparing for a routine mission, charting and placing seismographs. He and Chip Morton, his XO, had been going over supply lists and maintenance reports at the table in the nose of the submarine when they heard Sharkey speak to Admiral Harriman Nelson, creator and owner of the Seaview, as he came down the ladder into the control room. Both men had risen as Nelson approached though he waved them back to the chairs immediately. He had looked over the papers with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

"I see that you two are occupied for the afternoon. Are we on schedule for tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Crane replied. "Just getting some of the paper work out of the way now so we can be free to dive when we get to the mapping area. I've heard that it is terrific conditions there. We should be able to place the seismographs with no problem, and still have time for a short liberty before we have to head for Pearl." Nelson nodded.

"That sounds like a good idea. We've been pushed with the missions lately. It seems we've been adding more and more at the last minute. We'll have to start rescheduling to allow for a significant break for the crew on a regular basis. Tired men make mistakes," he noted. Crane and Morton murmured agreement. Nelson sat in one of the chairs and looked at Crane. The serious look on his face made the smiles drop from the younger men's faces. "I need to speak with you, Lee. It's about Almondez." The captain shifted uneasily in his chair and dropped his gaze to the table. Morton started to rise to his feet to give them some privacy, but a quick shake of the head from Nelson kept him in place. He could see that Nelson was not happy with having to bring up the subject. Nelson continued, addressing himself to Crane's down-turned head.

"As you know, I was in Washington yesterday. The President and his advisors have decided that we are going to go after Almondez for the World Court and that the facility will be destroyed. They wanted it to be a Ranger unit that took care of both, but I pointed out that you were the only one who had been to the facility, and since the satellite data was useless, it would be more efficient if you guided them in. Also, since they will need my explosive to safely take out the facility, I made sure to mention that you were trained in its use. The President has agreed. We will be notified when a Ranger unit is available, and you will lead them into the facility."

"You know what they are doing in there. Is it really going to be safe to blow it?" Crane asked without raising his head. His voice was expressionless and he seemed to be engaged in a minutely precise study of the tabletop.

"Given what they are producing, I believe that a conventional explosive might indeed spread the viruses. Since we don't know exactly what chemicals they are producing it's better to be safe than sorry there too. The new explosive burns much hotter than anything we're using now. If it's any of the Methatriphanes the heat from a regular explosive would only act as a catalyst and create an even worse problem that would be pumped into the atmosphere. Anyone near would be…" He broke off as Crane's hand slammed down on the table. The young captain surged to his feet, his golden eyes blazing.

"There isn't anyone NEAR." He ground the word out through clenched teeth. "Almondez and his men took care of that. I could have done what needs doing myself. I don't need the Rangers. You want the facility destroyed? I'll do it. You want Almondez? Fine, I'll drag his ass back here and they can do what they want with him. But, it isn't going to change ANYTHING. The time to make a difference was three months ago. Why didn't they want him then? No warrant from the World Court? No points to make with the international media?" He started pacing in the small space of the nose. He ignored the startled glances of his friends and the few men working in the control room. He waved an arm in agitation.

"ONI knew about him, and the facility, over a year ago. Did they mention that?" he said to Nelson. "They knew what he was making and what he was planning to do with it. Then they send me in to take care of something completely different and don't even so much as mention Almondez." He suddenly seemed to loose all the energy that had animated him, and he sank back into a chair at the far end of the table. The eyes he raised to them were no longer angry, but the depth of sadness in them was almost as startling.

"All those people, all those women and children, every one would be alive now if they had only ACTED when they found out about it. Now, when it's POLITCALLY convenient to make points, NOW, they want to deal with it. All wrapped up in a pretty bow," he said in a voice only slightly louder than a whisper. He turned haunted eyes on Nelson, who could only sit there looking back, at a loss for anything to say in the face of the despair he saw in the younger man's eyes. Finally he rose and went to stand at Crane's side, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Lee. I know that this is hard for you and there is nothing that will bring those people back. Political expediency is a distasteful fact of life. There are actions we can take only when they can be fully justified to Congress, to Commissions, to the media, to the American people. The only thing we can do now is make sure that Almondez doesn't kill any more people, either directly or with the chemical and biological weapons he's selling to the highest bidder." He continued in a low voice, "Perhaps I should have spoken with you before I made the arrangements. I believed that you would want to go. Would want to have a part in bringing Almondez to justice and destroying the facility for good. If I was wrong, I can tell them that the Rangers will have to find their own way. Tell me what you want, Lee."

There was silence for a moment then Crane looked at Nelson. "You weren't wrong, sir. I want to go, I NEED to go." He rose to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I have some things I need to do in my cabin." With that he turned and went up the spiral stairs, disappearing quickly. Nelson sank down in the chair he had vacated and looked at Morton.

"That went well," he muttered, pounding a fist gently on the table in frustration.

Morton shook his head. "There really wasn't any way to bring that up without him blowing, sir. He's been holding it in pretty well since he got back, but I could tell it was still bothering him. He's been even more broody than usual lately, and very quiet. At least with the schedule we've been keeping he's been busy and not able to think about it much." The blond XO sighed and looked at the empty stairs. "He says he doesn't blame himself, that he knows he couldn't have done anything to stop it, but you know how he is."

"Yes, and that's why I got him involved in the mission. I thought it would give him some closure. That and the fact that if he heard about it later and found out he hadn't been included in the mission, he would have been very angry." Nelson also sighed. "You know that I prefer he not take these missions at all, this last one being a perfect example of why. It's only due to his training and general will to survive that he made it out with those children. Now I actively got him involved in one. It somehow feels both wrong and right at the same time."

"I know, sir. If it's any consolation, I feel the same way. I would prefer that he stuck to commanding this submarine and left the covert operations to others, but I don't think this is the battle we want to pick to make a stand on. He needs to go, as he said. It's grinding on him." Morton looked at the men in the control room who had returned to work after the captain's unusual outburst. They were well trained, and Morton was glad to see they were now ignoring the two men that sat in the nose. Nelson rose to his feet and looked at his watch.

"It's time for lunch and I don't think Lee is going to be joining us for a while. Why don't we go down to the wardroom and see what Cookie has created?" Morton nodded and he rose to his feet also. They headed toward the mess hall.

Lee Crane sat at his desk in his cabin, cursing his own temper. He didn't know what had come over him in the nose. He had heard what the admiral had said, had tried to think of it as simply another mission, and had failed miserably. The anger had boiled up in him like lava in a volcano and he had not been able to hold it back. He could still vividly remember the screams of terror as Almondez and his men had slaughtered the people of the village he had been staying in. He had been there only by chance. He had been working with the rebels in neighboring Costa Nueva, acting as a military advisor and helping them to acquire weapons in their fight against the Junta government. His position had been compromised, and he had been forced to hastily leave the country just moments in front of government troops intent on catching and interrogating him. Being able to prove American involvement in their politics would have given the Junta a lot of satisfaction.

Having been barely able to elude the troops, Crane had stumbled nearly exhausted into the village and had been taken in by the primitive, but friendly, tribe. Luckily there were several people that spoke Spanish, so communication had not been a problem. He had stayed with one family for two days, working out what he would have to do to get to his extraction point on the coast. Then he had heard about the facility.

Knowing what went on here in the area with drug trafficking and gun running, he had been curious. He had asked to be taken to the site, and the natives had agreed. He had watched as Almondez and his men had come and gone, and had made a preliminary survey of the facility. He overheard enough to figure out what was going on there and memorized the names he had heard used by scientists working in the labs. He had returned to the village, in full expectation of leaving the next day to meet the fishing boat that was to extract him, pondering the implications of what he had seen and heard. He had been amazed that such a facility had escaped the notice of the numerous agencies that monitored such things, including his own ONI. He would have to speak with someone upon his return.

That night he had woken from a sound sleep to the feel of a hand over his mouth. It was his host, one of the Spanish-speaking members of the tribe. He had told him hastily that there were strange men in the village, possibly looking for him, possibly looking for slave labor or other types of human slaves. He had suggested that Crane slip out the back of the hut and asked if he would take the children with him, as the raiders were known to take them in preference to adults. Crane, unwilling to endanger the village if the men were looking for him, agreed to slip away quietly and, in deference to the generosity that he had been shown, he agreed to take the children.

Two little girls and the infant boy were taken from their beds. With the boy in a sling against his back and carrying the twin five-year-old girls still sleeping against his shoulders, he slipped into the jungle away from the lights of the torches that now lit the center of the small village. He had moved around the village to a spot that gave him a view into the square formed by the huts, and had watched as the raiders, led by the man he had come to know as Almondez, had driven everyone out of the huts, lining them up in the square. There had been some talk between a man Crane recognized as Almondez's head bodyguard and right-hand man, and the head of the village. What ever had been said had not gone down well with the village chief. He had turned and yelled something at the villagers in their own language and many had started to run, but it had been too late. The men, armed with machine guns, had surrounded them. As Crane watched, cradling the children in his arms, they had gunned down everyone, young and old alike. It had been a blood bath, and in the end, Crane had shut his eyes and wished there was some way he could close his ears without dropping the children. He prayed that they would not waken and, by some small bit of mercy in that horrible night, they had not. Finally the firing had stopped, and he opened his eyes and looked with reluctance on what the flickering torchlight revealed. Bodies had covered the ground. He had turned away unable to stomach the sight, and moved back into the jungle, out of the light of the torches. He had stumbled upon a mostly cleared area that he recognized as a small garden plot for the village, and he lowered the girls to the ground and collapsed to the ground beside them, conscious of the weight on his back. He simply sat there for a moment in the soft light of the stars that shown through the sparse overhead vegetation and then leaned over and threw up everything that was in his stomach.

Sitting in his cabin on the Seaview, three months later, he could still taste the bile in his mouth, and still hear the cries of the dying villagers in his head. It had taken him three days to make it to the coast with the children, a task made all the harder by the fever that seemed to have taken hold of his body. There he had met his extraction boat at almost the last minute of the last pass they were making. He had been forced to threaten the captain of the boat with a pistol before he would allow the children aboard. Later, after he had described what had happened, the captain and his wife, who was also part of the crew, had taken the children in, promising them a good home. He had been relieved for the children who had been bewildered and lost, crying for their parents most of the trip to the coast. It had been the best thing for them. The captain had spoken a little of their dialect, and they would be raised in the area, if not in the village where they had been born.

Crane had struggled for almost a month to overcome the nightmares that the night had spawned, along with the nasty little jungle virus that had confined him to his house for a time at Jamieson's insistence. He had not told anyone of the dreams, but the looks he received some mornings from Chip Morton, his nearest neighbor on the boat and a frequent overnight visitor during his 'house arrest,' had given him the impression that he might not have to. He had also struggled to contain the anger against Almondez and his men, anger that had been fanned to a new high when he found out that ONI had known about the man and his facility for over a year. They had been waiting to find out who the man was dealing with, hoping to catch him in the act. Everyone was sorry about the massacre of the village, but that was as far as it went. He had read the surveillance file on the man, and had been sickened that such a man was allowed to walk free for the 'greater good.' Crane had silently accepted it, but had slowly stewed in his own anger. He hadn't realized how much anger until he had found himself exploding at Nelson.

He would have to apologize to the admiral and to Chip. There was no excuse for him to have blown up in front of his two best friends, his family. He reached up and ran a hand through his short dark hair. He was glad that Nelson had gotten him on the mission. He would like nothing better than to see that facility blown to small bits with every drop of chemicals and microbes that were in it. The problem he was currently having was that he wanted Almondez to go with it.

He had been forced to kill in the course of his career in the Navy, both in the course of his regular duties as a submariner and with ONI, but never had he WANTED to kill someone like this. He didn't like to think about himself as being that vicious, and he really didn't want Nelson knowing, considering the man's avowed dislike of taking ANY life. He needed to reevaluate his feelings, needed to understand and modify them. He had to distance himself from it. He had dealt with many men of Almondez's stamp: murderers, thieves, and human scum. The difference here was that he had seen the man in action, had known the victims, though not well. If he had not had the previous experience, if he had simply read or been told of the massacre, he would be saddened, but the fire in his gut would not be there. He had to put himself, his feeling, out of the equation so that he could do the job he was supposed to do. He closed his eyes and simply listened to the gentle throb that was the heartbeat of Seaview. Reaching back he put his hand on her cool bulkhead and felt the subtle vibrations that were her life.

He had told Chip once, in a moment of well-lubricated seriousness, that it was almost like meditating for him. He could feel her around him, and it calmed him, like he imagined it would be for a child in the arms of his mother. Chaos was stilled, problems became clear, and the world seemed very far away. He let it beat through him now, that throb, and could feel his anger waning. He felt as if he could breathe again, think again, without the veil of red-hot anger that welled up in him. He suddenly realized that tears were running down his face, and he finally let them come. There, in the privacy of his cabin, surrounded by the life beat of his boat, he let the sorrow and anger come out.

Two hours later, Morton and Nelson were sitting at the table in the nose once again, finishing the reports, when they heard the sound of someone on the spiral stairs. Both looked to see Crane coming down. He looked…for lack of a better term, Nelson could only think of 'serene.' As if, somehow, in the time since he had left, he had come to terms with what he had seen, with what he had to do. Crane stopped at the end of the table and in his usual forthright way spoke to them.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken it out on you, or made a spectacle of myself in front of the men. Those emotions had no place here and I have worked through them for the most part; and I will do what I have to do, the way they want it done."

Nelson met the golden eyes and saw that Crane was speaking the truth. He had indeed made his peace with what had happened and he would perform his duty as set forth, and no more. He would take no action of his own out of vengeance or revenge. Nelson could not help but admire the younger man's strength of mind and resilience. A lesser man would not have been able to see past the anger. He rose and placed his hand on Crane's shoulder.

"I never doubted that you would do the job. I just didn't want it to tear your heart out in the process," he said. He saw the gratitude in Crane's eyes, and he smiled at him and then at Morton. "Enough of these reports. I have several steaks marinating in my special sauce at my house and a refrigerator filled with various salads and side dishes. Mrs. McCauley doesn't believe me that Cookie can turn out a quite decent meal here and feels that we all need to be fed before we go. She'll be horribly hurt if she comes in tomorrow to clean and its hardly touched. I have appointed you two gentlemen to aid me in this endeavor. What do you say we leave now and spend some time on the beach before we grill the steaks?" Crane looked at Morton, who nodded, and then back at Nelson.

"Sounds good, sir. Of course, you'll have to explain to Cookie why we aren't eating on board tonight," he said and started to pile the reports and papers into a neat pile.

"Oh, I don't think so, Captain. Admiral's perogative, I hereby appoint you as our emissary to Cookie." Nelson teased back. Crane shook his head.

"I'm already in his black books because of lunch, sir. I would never survive." He turned to Morton. "You'll have to do it, Chip. Good luck." With that he tucked his portion of the papers under his arm and headed back toward the stairs, Nelson quickly following. Crane spun around, cutting off Morton just as he was about to protest. "We'll meet you up top when you are done. Say in ten minutes? Good man." He was gone up the stairs, a grinning Nelson on his heels.

As Lee went up the stairs, he mentally followed his good friend's actions and even his thoughts. Left sitting at the table, Chip would be piling up the papers spread out before him. Lee could just hear a snicker from the control room and knew Morton would too. The acoustics in there were very good. He would scowled in the general direction of the laughter, not sure who it had been, but every crewman would be concentrating on his task. He finished piling everything together and stood, picking up the resultant stack. He sighed. Lee knew that Chip was well aware that this was not going to be a pleasant conversation. Cookie was VERY easily offended. He was well aware that the captain and XO had moved onto the boat that day, and usually would take their meals there. And he always provided something special for a departure meal. That they were dining with the admiral would be no excuse. With another sigh, the XO hefted the stack and headed for the spiral staircase following his senior officers. Lee knew he would think of something. About half way up the stairs Chip began smiling evilly, and Crane had the distinct impression that he was not going to like whatever Morton had come up with.

Chapter 4

Crane broke out of his thoughts as his body started to signal that it had had enough running. His chest was heaving and he realized that the shirt he was wearing was soaked with sweat. He wasn't sure how many times he had circled the track, but his body was telling him he had run about ten miles. He slowed to a walk, and finally moved to the grassy interior of the track to stretch and cool down. He was bent over stretching his leg muscles when he realized there was someone standing in front of him. He looked up to find Captain Tobin watching him consideringly. He met the man's eyes for a moment then went back to his stretching.

"Something I can do for you, Captain?" he asked, without looking at the man. He could feel the man's uncertainty regarding this mission, and could not blame him at all. He would not have wanted to trust his men to a stranger, and he could not expect this man to do it either. His tactic in the alleyway had been no surprise and Crane was ready to continue the fencing if necessary. He would have preferred to be open regarding his status with ONI and his experience with covert missions, but orders were orders. Much of his success in his missions was due to his anonymity – people didn't expect to find a submarine captain on covert operations, or an intelligence agent on a submarine – and you couldn't have that if people knew what you did. His crew was one thing, he trusted them implicitly; unknown Ranger units were another.

Tobin had been watching the Naval officer circling the track for the last twenty minutes as he did his own stretching and calisthenics. Crane had pounded around the quarter mile oval easily, moving smoothly, and with no hint of tiring. He had finally stopped and gone into the infield to cool down, and Tobin decided to approach him. He was well aware who had come out ahead in the small confrontation in the alleyway, and he did not want to find himself on the losing end again. He had been ordered to work with this man, and so he would. There were questions he needed answered to assure the safety of his unit. A Ranger never gave up, and he wasn't about to mess with tradition.

"Did you get the notice about the mission meeting?" he asked after the commander had acknowledged him.

"Yes, the orderly gave it to me. I understand it is at 1500 at the hanger. Was there something else?" Crane said, twisting his upper body back and forth to loosen up the muscles in his back and sides.

"I want to quit this dancing around and just get to the bottom of this, damn it. Are you capable of leading my unit into that facility, completing the mission, and then leading us out of there, without getting any of my men killed? Just because you've worked covert doesn't mean you could find your ass with both hands and a map. We've worked with spooks before and most of them haven't exactly been encouraging," Tobin growled, finally coming to the point directly.

"I'm not a spook." Crane replied, amused at the description of the intelligence community as a whole. He couldn't say that his own experience hadn't been the same sometimes. He looked around and noticed that most of the people that had been there previously had gone. Evidently the novelty of an unknown, unexplained Naval officer running the track had worn off, and they had gone about their business. He and Tobin were alone for the most part at the end of the oval track. "I'm a submarine officer," he paused for a moment considering his next words, but he could see no way around his orders regarding his status with ONI. He knew what Tobin wanted, and this wasn't it. "I can't give you what you want. I can't give you guarantees about my abilities. That's just the way it is. I'm sorry. I wouldn't be happy about it myself." He started walking toward the BOQ, seeing Tobin falling in alongside him. He tried to figure out a way to tell the captain something, even if it wasn't what the man wanted. Finally he started to speak.

"It's not a pleasant part of the world there, Captain. It's both beautiful and terrifying in its own way, like the sea, and most of the people would give you the shirt off their backs if you needed it, but there are other people there; people with power and money that make it ugly. There are drug runners, gunrunners, and slavers that would sell you to the highest bidder for things that no one should ever be subjected to. There are snakes that can kill you with one bite and some nasty little spiders that can do the same. Several native tribes that have turned their backs on the so- called civilization that they have seen in their countries might kill you for stepping into their territory, or they might invite you back to the village and try to marry you off to one of the available women. You never know which it might be. Almondez stands to make a lot of money if he sells his poison to the right bidder. He has a group of men around him that have no problem killing innocent people for the fun of it. I can't guarantee that none of your men will be hurt or even killed. That is the nature of the business. But I can assure you that nothing I do will endanger your unit. I command men, too. As I said before, I understand your concern."

It had been the longest speech Tobin had yet heard from the commander. The man obviously understood his concerns as a commanding officer. But one thing struck a strange note. "A submarine officer?" he asked, not sure if he had heard correctly. The commander simply nodded, obviously not willing to expound on it, though Tobin thought he saw a flash of amusement in the golden eyes. Another thing he noticed was that the other man was no longer breathing hard and seemed to have recovered from his run quickly. He showed no signs of fatigue and looked ready for another ten miles. Obviously he was in good shape. He would not have to be concerned about the man keeping up. They reached the BOQ and Tobin took his leave. He was minimally happier with their lot in life now and found himself looking forward with more optimism to the successful completion of the mission, though he couldn't exactly say why.

Crane went in and indulged himself with a long shower. Showers on the Seaview were of necessity short, due to the availability of fresh water. A long, hot shower was a definite pleasure. He came out of the shower and toweled off. He slipped back into his fatigues and looked at the clock. It was just a little after 1300. He looked at the bunk. Perhaps a short nap would not be a bad idea. The run had relaxed him. He set the alarm on his watch to 1430 and lay down, closing his eyes. A short catnap might be just the thing he needed to completely regain his equilibrium.

Two hours later he entered the small room used for briefings at the departure hanger. The unit members were already there, seated at the small table. Tobin sat at one end, and the other four men were seated in the chairs on either side of him, leaving an empty chair on each side of the table next to the chair at the foot. Crane couldn't stop a small amused smile at the team solidarity. Of course they were solidified against him, but still. He seated himself in the chair at the foot of the table and put on his most neutral face. Tobin, seeing the smile, tried to figure out what had caused it. He could think of nothing until he looked at the way the men were arranged, and it came to him how it must have looked to Crane. The Navy officer was now sitting at the end of the table, calmly waiting for Tobin to begin the briefing. Tobin handed out copies of the map of the region, sliding one down to Crane.

"This is the map of the area. We will be parachuting into the area marked 1A. Commander, what can you tell us regarding that area?"

Crane glanced at the map, orienting himself to the area once again. "The area is in a slash and burn farming region. It has been cleared and burned over. The soil has been worked, but they have not planted as it is the end of the rainy season and too much topsoil disappears during the rains for them to plant effectively without losing too many seeds. It should be almost totally empty of any obstructions, but there could be some large tree trunks that did not get removed or burned down to the ground. We'll have a half moon going in; if there is no cloud cover, we should be able to see pretty well without lights. We may not need the night vision glasses until we are in the jungle itself. It will be a little over two miles to the facility."

Tobin nodded and traced a finger over the terrain between the LZ and the facility. "Do you have a proposed route to the facility? I don't see any roads marked on the maps, but I assume there must be some made when they built the facility. We will be avoiding those, of course." He almost winced as he realized that he had added the last. He was sounding condescending. It was hard to remember that this man, while younger than himself was a superior officer. He saw that slight smile cross Crane's lips again, quickly chased away by seriousness.

"Actually, the road may be our best bet. They stopped using it after the facility was built, and the jungle has reclaimed it to some degree. They use helicopters to move people in and out now. The natives…" He stopped for a moment then continued, "The natives never used it. They had their own paths and stuck to them. It will be a slightly easier passage, and it will take us right up to the facility. We can access it from the LZ by going about two hundred yards to the north. The road was cut in almost straight from the coast to the facility, no expense spared. With night vision glasses, we'll be able to move quickly and should be near the facility in under an hour."

Bill Timmons spoke up, used to the open briefings that the unit usually had before any mission. "Commander, you said the natives HAD their own paths. Are they the ones this Almondez fellow killed to keep the facility under wraps?"

Crane took a deep breath before he answered, but then nodded. "Yes, Master Sergeant. There was a village located just under a mile from the facility. Evidently Almondez was afraid that one of the hunters would mention the facility to some neighboring tribe and word would spread, so he took steps to make sure that it didn't happen."

"And you saw this happen, sir?" Timmons asked. The others in the unit all looked at him, wondering why he was pursuing the point. Tobin, having known the master sergeant a long time, was prepared to let him have some latitude, but he was ready to cut off this line of questioning if he felt it was getting out of hand. He favored open discussion at his briefings, but there was a limit, especially given the circumstances. Timmons ignored the others and kept his eyes on the Navy officer. Crane, for his part, showed no response to the question beyond a tilt of his head and then another nod.

"Yes, I saw it," he said, calmly. "Do you have a point , Master Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir, a couple of them as a matter of fact. Number one, have any of the other locals moved into the area to fill the vacuum, so to speak, and what are your feelings about us capturing Almondez alive? Do we have to guard him against you as well as keep him from escaping to do our job?" Tobin moved restlessly as did the others, taken aback by Timmons' bluntness.

Crane seemed unmoved by it, however, and the now familiar smile came and went again. "To answer your first question; no, the other tribes have not moved into the area. They know that something bad happened to the locals. They are highly superstitious, and it will take some time before they are willing to risk moving into their lands. Almondez is reinforcing that, according to local contacts. As to the other…..I know what my duty is too, Master Sergeant. I will carry out my mission as it has been assigned. No less, and no more." He met and held Timmons' eyes as he spoke. The master sergeant found whatever he was looking for in the officer's eyes and nodded. He sat back in his chair. The other men of the unit exchanged glances; Timmons was not a man to trust easily, and he was a very good judge of character. Sergeant Le Bond cleared his throat and looked at Tobin then Crane.

"Sir," he addressed Crane. "Do you have a place in mind for a base while we evaluate the situation?"

Crane pointed to the map. "Point 1G. This is a natural grotto with a small spring. It's over a mile from the facility and there should be no reason for anyone to be there but us. It is sheltered on three sides, and will be a defensible position if necessary." Le Bond studied the map and nodded. Edward Cruz, the unit explosives expert, asked the next question. He was a stout swarthy man of 25. His shoulders were massive from working out.

"Sir. I have a question regarding your explosive, if it isn't classified that is. I've dealt with every explosive used in this man's army, and a few from other places. I gotta tell you, I'm kinda curious as to what you have that's so different."

Crane looked at Cruz. Tobin noted that the Naval officer did not seem to have any problem with being questioned by subordinates, in fact, he seemed most comfortable with it. "I can't give you too many details, Sergeant. Not because of its classification status but because it was created in the last month. I can tell you that I have had training on its use and properties from the man that created it, and have used it under controlled circumstances only. It's not the best of circumstances, and I would rather have had some field tests before I came, but time is not our friend. What are your questions?" The two men had several minutes of discussion, throwing around technical terms that left the others pretty much in the dust even though they were all capable of using the standard explosives well enough to blow up your average structure. Cruz was finally satisfied, and like Timmons, he sat back in his chair. Crane seemed to be winning over the members of his team one at a time, Tobin noted.

The last member of the Unit, Sergeant Hiram 'Too High' Schultz, cleared his throat. At 6'5" he was the tallest of the unit. If his height weren't enough to make him stand out, his bright red hair and the scattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks would have. Despite his height, he was one of the mildest looking men that Tobin had ever met, and he happened to be the deadliest. Schultz was the unit weapons specialist. He could use almost any weapon effectively and was deadly with no weapon at all. He sat forward as Crane's attention turned to him.

"Sir, how many men do you expect to be on site in addition to the target?" he asked.

"Almondez travels with a four man body guard. They go everywhere he goes. He has a suite in the facility that he uses when he is there. Usually there is at least one man with him at all times, with the possible exception of when he is sleeping. Even then I suspect he has the room guarded. The facility itself has a security detachment of ten men that I could see. The scientists that were working on the chemicals and biologics were withdrawn last week. Right now our informants in the area are telling us that it's Almondez, his bodyguard, the facility security, and the facility manager. Almondez flies in and out on his own helicopter so there will also be a pilot. Let's say seventeen, eighteen men in all."

"Any idea on how they are trained? Are we talking a bunch of guys with guns that think they are tough, or some trained men who know they are?" Schultz said. Crane cocked his head and seemed to be considering.

"I would say that the bodyguards are ex-military or ex-police which is almost the same thing down there. The facility security seemed to be less disciplined as a whole. They didn't keep a tight schedule on rounds. They were sloppy with their weapons. They were out of shape. There may have been some ex-military among them, but they had let themselves go," he finally said. Tobin had the impression he was seeing the facility in his mind's eye, watching the men on their rounds, evaluating what he had seen. "The one thing you have to remember is that Almondez, personally, is dangerous. He has no respect for human life and would just as soon kill you as look at you. If he doesn't have a weapon, he'll go after you with his bare hands. He may look like an overweight, middle-aged businessman wearing an expensive suit, but he's like a snake. Remember that; it'll keep you alive." Schultz's eyes narrowed at the warning and he nodded in understanding. He had known many men who didn't look near as dangerous as they were, obviously Almondez was one; he suspected that the man at the end of the table was another. Satisfied with the information he too sat back, signaling he was finished.

Tobin, seeing that his men seemed to have asked their questions for now, looked over the map. He thumped a finger on the area that had been set for their extraction point. It seemed to be on the edges of a reservoir. "I'm interested in the extraction point. Wouldn't it have been just as easy to use the LZ? It's not that much further. Why the change?"

"The extraction point was dictated by the method of extraction. We'll be taken off the shore and out to a submarine which will bring us to Norfolk Naval base. Almondez will be transferred from there to Washington, DC, and from there to wherever they plan to move him. Your responsibility will technically end once we reach the sub."

"What method of extraction requires a reservoir?" Tobin inquired.

"Actually, any body of water would do, even a deep river. We'll be extracted in a rather unique vessel that can be used as both a submarine and as an aircraft," Crane replied.

"What? Are you telling me that we're going to be picked up in some kind of….flying submarine?" Tobin said. Before he could continue, he heard a gasp from Le Bond who was seated on his right.

"Are you talking about Admiral Harriman Nelson's flying submarine, sir? Are we being picked up by the Seaview?" he asked Crane excitedly. He was something of a technology buff; his second specialty in the unit was as communications specialist, and he had a fascination for men like Nelson who seemed to create things out of thin air. "Do you work for him?"

Crane smiled and nodded. "Yes, Sergeant, I do. And, yes we will be picked up in the FS1 and taken out to the Seaview."

"Do you work onboard, sir? I know you told the general that you had been at sea when you were recalled."

"Yes, I do," Crane said simply, though Tobin thought he caught that twinkle of amusement again in his eyes.

"Wow! I would love to talk to Admiral Nelson about some of his inventions. I've been reading about him in several journals. If we're going to be on board, do you think he would have time to speak with me?" The other men exchanged looks. What would the commander be doing on Nelson's Seaview? Was he some sort of Security Officer? They had all heard that the Seaview carried nuclear weapons, despite being a civilian submarine, and it seemed likely that the security aboard would be a high priority for the Navy. It might explain some things.

"Uh..Doc..Maybe we can discuss this later?" Tobin suggested with an amused grin. If Le Bond's dark complexion could have shown a blush, he would have been glowing red as he realized he had let his enthusiasm get away from him. He was the youngest member of the unit, and it was hard sometimes working with men more experienced and older than he. He really didn't need to seem any younger.

"Sorry, sir," he said. Tobin exchanged amused grins with Crane at the other end of the table, only realizing that he had done so afterward. He realized that Crane had recognized the young man's enthusiasm and was amused rather than put out by it. He was beginning to like this Naval officer more and more. He seemed a man and an officer after his own heart.

"So, we are actually going to be…airlifted out in a combination plane and submarine?" he asked, taking back control of the discussion. Crane nodded. "Okay. Well, that will be something new." He shuffled through his papers and picked up one he had been working on. "I want to go over what satellite pictures we have and the intelligence that we have been provided on Almondez. Let's start with the intelligence…" The briefing continued from there as usual, breaking up just before their departure time.

Chapter 4

Eight hours later the unit was assembled on the tarmac at the Argentinean army base that was their jumping off place. They had arrived that morning, tired of the droning of the plane they had been on. They were all dressed in dark fatigues. All of their accoutrements, packs, weapons, and assorted gear were also black to blend into the darkness. The helicopter that would take them out to the landing zone, apparently a recent purchase from the U.S. Government, was familiar to the unit and they knew its capabilities. Tobin cast a glance at their 'guide.' Crane seemed comfortable in his gear; he was relaxed and showed no anxiety. The Naval officer had been quiet during the flight, sleeping for part of it, seemingly engaged in his own thoughts for the rest of it, checking his gear, and simply sitting and listening as the members of the unit passed the time talking. He had spent some time up in the cockpit talking to the pilots, but otherwise had kept to himself. It didn't seem to be anything personal, or that he didn't feel he should be mixing with the Army personnel. He just seemed quiet by nature, almost….broody. Tobin had shrugged it off. The man could be as quiet as he wanted, as long as he did his job.

The Argentinean co-pilot of the helicopter looked in their direction and motioned with his hand. Tobin nodded to him and turned around to his unit. "All right, that's our sign; everyone in the chopper. We have one hour to the LZ and we'll be traveling low to avoid radar. We don't want anyone to know we're going in case it should get back to Almondez. We'll be hooked up on our own channel so we can talk while we are en route; but we need to keep it low key since the pilots don't know what we are there for. As far as they are concerned we are on a drug interdiction mission. We will not disabuse them of that opinion. Understood?" His unit all acknowledged him, as did Crane. They got on the helicopter and arrayed themselves down the seats on either side of the cargo area, their packs at their feet. The helicopter lifted into the night.

Just under an hour later the cargo master of the helicopter signaled to Tobin that they were approaching the LZ. They were all wearing their harnesses and would be dropping down to the ground on lines while the helicopter hovered about fifty feet above the ground. It was a rapid form of deployment that allowed the helicopter to clear the area very quickly, thus drawing less attention. They lined up on either side of the cargo area, three to a side. There would be two lines per side. As soon as the first men were halfway down, the two remaining men would start down. It would take only just over a minute for all six men to be on the ground and heading into nearby jungle.

Everything went as planned, and the men were soon at the edge of the jungle, listening as the sound of the helicopter faded into the night. They paused there, where they could not be easily seen and got out their night vision goggles. The unit members donned their's quickly; but Tobin noted that Crane was still looking around, standing about five feet away in the open area.

"If you don't mind, Commander, it would be best if you didn't stand out there where you can be seen. And you need to get your goggles on. We need to get moving and we'll need the night vision glasses for that," Tobin noted, finding himself surprised at the man's seeming inexperience. Crane had seemed more than competent up to now, and this seemed out of character. Even with the night vision glasses, he could not see the man's facial expressions clearly, but he could tell when he turned to look at him.

"It seems best that we 'get moving,' as you say, in the correct direction. The helicopter dropped us almost a mile further out then we were supposed to be. We'll have to go further to get to the road, and even with the night goggles it's going to rough going until we can get there if we go through the jungle. The only other choice is to follow the clear cut and I don't think that would be a good idea. As to the glasses, I passed through here without them the first time, and it's easier to get my bearings without them for the moment."

"You sure?" Tobin asked. Crane nodded. "All right then. So we hump it through the jungle. We've done it before, and I assume you have too. We weren't planning on more than setting up base tonight and finding a good observation spot or two. We should still have time." He turned to his men. "You heard the man. It's time for our evening constitutional. It seems it will be a bit longer than planned. Keep your eyes and ears open. We don't want to be surprised by anyone. Commander Crane will lead us in." Crane had donned his night goggles and he plunged into the jungle followed by the unit. They moved through the jungle in single file, not speaking, and keeping noise to a minimum. They didn't know that anyone was in the area and silence was necessary, but that was the way they were trained.

Each man noticed that Crane seemed to be moving with the experience of a man that was familiar with jungles and the way to move quietly and quickly through one. Curiouser and curiouser; bush smarts was not a skill one would expect of a submarine officer. Who was this man? It was becoming more and more of a question in Tobin's mind. Certainly he seemed to have the training to be some kind of security officer. Maybe not just for Seaview, but for Nelson as well. The man was a constant target. The Navy would want someone watching out for him. General Craig had said that the man had SEAL training but wasn't a SEAL, a man like that would make a good bodyguard.

It took them almost thirty minutes before they came to an area that was comparatively clear. They could see that the sparsity of plants continued in either direction as far as their glasses would allow them to see. They had reached the road. Crane had a short consultation with Tobin, who was walking behind him, and turned to his left. The going was a lot easier, though there were still plants and woody vines that needed to be avoided. They were also more easily seen if there should be anyone out there, and their level of alertness went up a notch. Schultz, who was bringing up the rear, turned often to make sure that their six was clear.

In another hour, they entered a small grotto that was much as Crane had described it. It was protected on three sides by rocks and large trees, and it would be a defensible position. They quickly dropped their packs, and Le Bond set up their communications equipment. Each man had an ear set and microphone and could communicate with the others. It was swiftly decided that Le Bond would stay at the grotto on guard. The rest would go to the facility. It did not take them long to make the trip as Crane used the paths that the local natives had worn through the jungle to go to the perimeter of their target. The facility had been cut into a hill, and the unit could see why satellite pictures had been of little use. The hill over the facility was overgrown with jungle; only a small area had been cleared for the helicopter and a small yard. Fencing, partially overgrown by plants, surrounded the area, and from their vantage point they could see two men walking the perimeter. It was not a large compound, and it was well lit with lights mounted on each corner of the building. It was clear they didn't want any visitors.

The unit watched with experienced eyes, and quickly saw that Crane had described the guards exactly. They weren't so much patrolling as ambling along, smoking and talking, unaware of their surroundings. Their guns were slung on their backs and they had no sidearm. These were not experienced men. However, even inexperienced men could easily injure or kill a member of the unit if things went wrong, and there seemed little opportunity to enter the facility with it lit up like day. Short of killing the men from a distance and then rushing the building, there seemed to be no easy way to enter. Of course, Rangers didn't expect things to be easy, and they were trained to access places other men would never go. They moved from their vantage point and went around the entire perimeter of the facility, ending at what appeared to be a ventilation pipe. It was not very large, and it was very well hidden by the vegetation. Crane walked them up to it. The fine mesh grill – used no doubt to keep the local animal life out – was locked down with a large padlock. Without waiting for consultation, Crane withdrew a small packet of tools from his pocket and in a matter of moments was pulling open the lock. The members of the unit exchanged looks again. Not something your average "submarine officer" should know how to do.

The opening was small but the members of the unit could squeeze in if necessary. Crane softly told them that there were some places where Timmons, Cruz and Schultz, who were all broad shouldered, would have some problems. Tobin and Le Bond were slim and narrow of shoulder compared to the other three men, as was Crane. After some discussion, Tobin decided that there was no need for the others to go in, and he and Crane would do the initial probe. Crane went in first to lead the way to the places he had discovered on his previous reconnaissance. Tobin, not unlike his men, was beginning to wonder just why this man had been in the jungle and why he had broken into this facility. Not to mention how he had the capabilities. There was obviously much more to the man than they had been told. They slipped into the ventilation system and moved forward. Tobin noted that Crane seemed to move easily through the cramped space, as if familiar with using such a mode of progress. But that was silly, even in a submarine you had more room than they had, and who spent time in a ventilation shaft? He turned his attention back to what they were doing.

Back at the entrance the remaining three men settled down against the pipe, blending into the night. They each faced in a slightly different direction, using their night vision glasses to good effect. There was little chance of anyone walking in on them, given what they had observed of the less than professional quality of the guards, but they would take no chances. Cruz, on one side, looked around at Timmons and Schultz. "I don't know that I really like the Cap going off with Crane alone," he said in a carefully modulated voice after making sure his mic was off. He left the earpiece active though so he would be able to hear any call from Le Bond or Tobin. "I mean what do we really know about the guy or what might be waiting in there. You gotta admit this guy isn't kosher. He says he's a submarine officer, but what bubblehead have you ever seen that could pick a lock and knows how to rappel off a chopper? Then there's the way he talks all the lingo."

"What do you mean?" Timmons said.

"I guess you guys didn't hear him; you were getting the gear off the plane. The Cap and Doc were on the comm with HQ confirming our arrival. The Cap sent me out to talk to the welcome wagon in case no one spoke English. Didn't matter though, the main guy, Lt Fortunato, spoke English well enough. He ordered the rest of the guys to take us to the barracks. One of the men spoke some funny dialect that I didn't catch. Some of it was Spanish but the rest was something else. Crane started talking to him in it, seemed to be pretty damned good at it. I'm telling you something is pretty hinky with the man," Cruz finished with a shake of his head. It wasn't that he disliked the Naval officer, but he didn't like mysteries, and the man was shaping up to be one.

Timmons shook his head, his eyes never leaving the jungle. "You're right, Cruz, the commander is kind of an odd duck, but I think he's okay. He talks the talk and walks the walk as far as I am concerned. He didn't have to, but he was helping me look over the supplies. Checked over the harnesses and ropes himself, and he even got them Argentinean guys to let us use our equipment instead of theirs. Can't say I was unhappy about that. I'm gonna be rapelling down a fifty foot rope, I want to be sure it ain't frayed. He ain't just some bubblehead." He paused and looked closer at a movement in the jungle. It was a lizard chasing a bug. "You remember that the general said he trained with the Seals even though he wasn't one? Well, you reckon they let just anyone do that? In fact, if someone was to come and do the Ranger training, did the whole program start to finish, wouldn't that make him a Ranger even if he didn't call himself one?"

The other two men considered that for a moment. Then Shultz looked around at Cruz for a moment. "Timms has got a point, Eddie. The man may be a submarine officer, but if he made it through SEALS training, he ain't just your regular swab jockey. I can tell you he knows weapons. I was talking to him about what he wanted to carry with him, and he seemed to know what was what. I also watched him field strip both the rifle and the handgun I got him on the plane. He did it faster than you do. I haven't seen him in action, but according to what Doc says he can hold his own in a fight, too." At the puzzled look from the other, Schultz grinned. "Did you see the big guy that was hovering around behind the Argentinean general that saw us off, the one that looked like a gorilla, had him a split lip and an attitude?" The other two nodded. "Well, I guess you boys didn't notice that the commander had him some bruised knuckles. Seems the guy tried to give Doc a problem when he went to do the radio check and the commander stepped in. The guy had to have fifty pounds on the commander, but you don't see no split lip on him." Schultz looked at Cruz, not wanting to get into the whole story there. "Seemed to know what he was talking about with the explosive, didn't he?" he asked.

"Yeah," Cruz conceded. "He seemed to know all the stuff, but….there's just something about the guy. Like he's hiding something," he finally said. The other two men just shook their heads, and he sighed. He really couldn't put his finger on what made him nervous. His teammates seemed happy enough with the commander, but he wanted a few more answers. If the guy was working covert missions, why not just say so? You didn't have to mention details, just that you did it. He shook his head. The Cap knew how to take care of himself, and if he needed help, all he had to do was call, and they would find a way in there, one way or another.

For Tobin this was something of a new experience. He had never accessed a facility that way. It was usually more of a stealthy entrance through a back door or window, or a not so stealthy entrance through the front on the rare occasions that there was no other way. He would have to file this method away for future consideration. They had moved past several unoccupied rooms, some sealed from the ventilation shaft by large filters. Crane explained that they were the chemical production rooms. The labs used for creating the viruses were not on the ventilation system. The slim form in front of him finally stopped moving, and shifted to one side next to a vent grill. Tobin took that to mean they had reached the destination to which Crane had been heading. He looked out through the grill to find himself looking at a well-appointed room containing two sofas, a bar and large desk. He could see through an open door to a bedroom beyond. As he watched, Crane expertly popped open the grill.

Tobin started to speak, but the Naval officer was already sliding out of the vent into the room. He followed suit and was soon standing on the plush carpeting looking around the room. He felt very out of place there in his BDUs. It was like being in an expensive suite at a hotel. He assumed this was Almondez's suite that Crane had described. While he looked around, he saw that Crane had gone to the desk and was going through the drawers. After he checked them all, he looked at Tobin and shook his head.

"Nothing. I know Almondez keeps a planner. Nothing like an organized gunrunner. With the helicopter gone, and the guards being so lax, I figured there was little chance of him being here. I was hoping there might have been something to tell us when he would be back though."

"Probably didn't get where he is by being sloppy about leaving things lying around," Tobin noted. He started walking around the room, moving to the bedroom door. He glanced in and was going to move on when his head jerked around and he stared at the bed in shock. "What the….." He started to say. He became aware that Crane was at his side. With some difficulty he dragged his eyes from the bedroom and looked at the commander, who glanced into the room and then gave him a small humorless smile.

"Almondez has….hobbies. Unfortunately, not all the participants want to be there. He took steps to make sure they stay put," he said and, without another look, went back to searching the room. Tobin watched him for a moment and then glanced back at the bedroom, feeling ill as he looked at the shackles and leg irons that were attached to the massive frame of the bed.

"And we're gonna let this scumbag live exactly why?" he muttered to himself, turning back to the living area. Crane looked up at him, obviously having heard the comment.

"Because the ones that he's selling the biologics and chemicals to are worse, though it's hard to believe that's possible. He's just one sick animal. If he can bring more of them down and stay locked up for the rest of his life instead of being executed, I can live with that," he said. Tobin somehow got the impression that Crane really meant what he said and that reaching that point had not been easy for the other man. He glanced back at the bedroom.

"Yeah, well, I guess we have our orders. But I don't have to like it," he said, surprising himself with his honesty in front of this man. He would have said something like that in front of his unit, but he was usually more circumspect in front of outsiders. Crane seemed to understand and nodded at him. He had finished his quick search.

"There's nothing here, unless there's something in the safe. I could possibly crack it, but it would take a while," he said, waving a hand at the wall where a nearly pornographic picture hung. "My suggestion would be to just wait and watch." Tobin looked from the picture back to Crane, and the slight smile appeared again. "I found out about it last time I was here." Crane explained. "I'm not psycic or anything." Tobin realized as he smiled back at the commander that he felt a release of the tension that had grown in him since the discovery of the 'equipment' in the bedroom. It took an experienced officer to recognize tension and diffuse it so casually. Another part of the puzzle.

Tobin nodded and looked around the room. He really didn't want to spend any more time here than necessary. The commander's suggestion sounded like the best bet. He jerked his head back toward the vent. "Let's get out of here. Don't want to get caught by the cleaning crew or something. It would be embarrassing." He got a genuine smile that time, and followed Crane back into the vent. Minutes later they were climbing out the outer vent and locking the grill behind them. Talking was kept to a minimum as Tobin assigned Cruz to remain on site to watch for Almondez while the rest of them returned to the grotto.

Le Bond, who had been sitting in the crook of one of the large trees near the grotto, gave a small whistle as they approached and waved to catch their attention. Tobin waved back and indicated he should stay on guard. The others went in and sat on some fallen logs that Le Bond had dragged into position. They made sure the two absent men were listening on their communications gear and Tobin shared what they had found, though he didn't mention the hardware on the bed.

"So, Cap, when he does get here, how we gonna get Almondez out? We can't haul him through the ventilation shaft, and if we want it to look like he was in the facility when it blows we can't be seen with him," Timmons asked in the casual way that the unit adopted when in the field.

Tobin shook his head. "I haven't thought that far ahead in detail. I wanted to see the layout before I made any plans, and I've got to tell you, I am at something of a loss. With only the front entrance and the ventilation shaft as access our options are limited. Right now my best idea is to make some sort of diversion, something in the jungle or maybe with his helicopter when it gets here. Draw off as many of the security people as possible. At that point, some of us would have gone in through the ventilation shafts and be standing by to bring him out through the front as soon as they are out of the way. Of course, that means we might be seen and, even if we aren't, the commander will have to blow the facility right away to cover our tracks. It wouldn't give us time to move out very far, and we might end up with someone on our tails. A running fight with a prisoner is not the best scenario. Anyone got another idea, or part of an idea?" He saw Crane shift on the log where he sat slightly apart from the unit. He had almost forgotten that the man wasn't one of his unit. "You have an idea, Commander? Speak up."

Crane looked around at the other men and saw only interest. He didn't want to step on any toes here, but he had an idea that just might work. "I do have an idea. It has a fair chance of working if we time it right and I think your idea about a diversion will work well," he said. As he finished speaking, he saw Tobin tilt his head as if he was listening, and he knew that one of the missing men – Le Bond or Cruz – was talking to him on the command channel that excluded the other men. He suspected it was Cruz. He had noticed the suspicious looks, and he knew the man was wary of his motives and background. He didn't blame him.

"Understood. I'll take that under advisement," Tobin finally said, and looked back at Crane. "Go ahead, Commander." Tobin could see the understanding in Crane's eyes, and knew that the other officer was not offended by Cruz's skepticism. The slim Naval officer rose and began pacing between the two logs. It seemed a natural mannerism for him. He began detailing his idea, speaking quickly and concisely, revealing the amount of thought that had gone into the plan. As he spoke, Tobin found himself leaning forward in interest, and saw the rest of the men doing the same. It sounded like it would work.

Chapter 5-

Chip Morton put down the microphone he had been using to speak to Sharkey in the FS1. The small yellow craft was just moving away from the Seaview. In just under twenty minutes, they would be on station in the reservoir awaiting the call that would mean they could pick up the Ranger unit….and their skipper. They had received a 'stand by' code from the unit, and that meant that they would be moving in the next twelve hours, probably under cover of darkness. Sharkey had Kowalski along as co-pilot, and Morton knew that the two would keep each other entertained as they waited. He had wanted to go himself, but he didn't feel right leaving the boat since Nelson was in Washington. It wasn't a lack of trust in his junior officers, but that he knew Crane preferred that one of the senior staff be on board while at sea.

Nelson had been in Washington because he wanted to be sure that in their desire to make points with the World Court the Administration didn't allow Almondez to go free. He felt that the man had to be punished, and was well aware that in the fast shuffle of political doings that such things happened. He had been speaking to several key personnel in the Attorney General's office as well as several advisors in the White House. He had receive some disturbing calls from contacts there in Washington, and after getting something less than satisfying answers on the phone he had opted to appear in person. He wasn't going to have political infighting putting his captain at risk for nothing. He was on his way back from there in FS2, newly repaired and being put to the test by her creator.

He was due back any time but Chip suspected that even if the admiral had been on board when they got the call that Almondez was on site, that Seaview's XO would still be watching the aft end of the FS1 disappear into the distance. Nelson would probably have been piloting the small craft to wait for the final call. Sharkey would probably have been tapped for the co-pilot position, leaving Morton where he was. A lesser man might have found himself dissatisfied with the responsibilities that kept him from doing what he wanted, but not so Chip Morton.

He was a good XO, maybe one of the best. He knew it, and he knew that Nelson and Crane knew it and trusted him to act in the best interest of the boat, regardless of his personal wishes. He valued that trust. He would do nothing to compromise it. He glanced about the control room, seeing nothing unusual. All of the men were concentrating on their stations. He looked around as he heard Sparks call his name.

"I'm getting a signal from FS2, sir. The admiral says he should be here in about 30 minutes. He wants us to monitor the frequency that the final call will come on so that we know when they are moving." Sparks relayed. Morton nodded. He had been going to order it himself even if Nelson hadn't.

"Very well, keep me posted on the FS1 and let me know when they are in position. Remind the chief that they are to check in every fifteen minutes and I do not want him near the shore until they get the signal. There is to be no chance of them being spotted." Sparks acknowledged the order and returned to the radio. The orders were much the same as what Morton had already given Sharkey, but he didn't want the chief's enthusiasm at retrieving their wayward captain to get out of hand and endanger the mission. He had no doubt that the spotting of a large, yellow, manta-like object in the reservoir by some passing native would be big news even in that remote an area. With their luck there would be a reporter from some trashy supermarket tabloid who would call in a story on the 'monster in the lake' eating local people. Wasn't going to happen on Morton's watch. He looked at the clock again. It was nearing dusk now, and he assumed that Crane and the Ranger unit were going to make their assault on the facility under the cover of darkness, which made sense. He notified one of the other qualified pilots on board to get ready to take FS2 back to Santa Barbara once Nelson docked, so that they would not have to tow the small craft. They had done it before, but it wasn't an ideal situation

Twenty-five minutes later, Chip was just reading through the last of the current duty shift reports when Sparks announced that FS2 was ready to dock. They had heard from Sharkey less than ten minutes previously that FS1 was on station awaiting the call. Chip ordered the bay doors opened to accept FS2 into the docking area and waited through the process. As soon as the indicators went green, he began spinning the wheel on the hatch. He was surprised when Nelson popped out of the hatch almost as soon as he opened it. He could see in the way that the admiral was moving that he was highly agitated and his famous temper was fully engaged. Someone or a group of someones in Washington must have pissed him off really good for him to still be this hot even after hours of flying. Nelson stalked to the table in the nose and flung his briefcase on the table. He practically ripped off his flight jacket and threw it over the top of the case. Morton, who had come to stand quietly at his side, recognized that the better part of valor was to simply wait for the impending explosion and not ask any questions. It wasn't always easy dealing with a man as volatile as Nelson could be, and there was only one man that Morton knew of who could give Nelson a run for his money when it came to temper or who could handle Nelson's own temper with equanimity and studied indifference. However, the captain wasn't here now, and it fell to the XO to provide the quiet support needed, which he did as Nelson got out a cigarette. The admiral lit it and began pacing the nose, puffing furiously. Jamie would have a cow if he saw him; he had been after Nelson to keep his smoking to a minimum and was trying to keep his blood pressure under control. Morton suspected it was rather high right now. Finally, Nelson reached a point where he could no longer contain himself.

"I swear if I ever allow myself to be draw into the petty political maneuverings of the current or any future administration again, I hope that Lee has me committed to the nearest nursing home under lock and key!" he growled, stubbing out his cigarette and flinging himself into a chair. Morton slid into one across from him and let a small smile cross his face.

"I believe I HAVE seen him looking at some brochures," he joked lightly and saw a spark of humor in the blue eyes across from him. Good. The raging fire was becoming banked for now, though that didn't mean it couldn't flare again, especially if this was about political maneuverings that put the admiral, Seaview or, more importantly from Nelson's point of view right now, Lee, in danger.

Nelson gave a snort. "Not quite yet, thank you," he muttered. He was well aware that he was being 'managed.' There had been few people in his life that had cared enough, or been brave enough, to do it. Lee Crane had been one of the first in a long time to be so successful at it that he hardly noticed anymore. It seemed that Chip Morton had learned the technique from his captain. He sighed. Thinking of Lee threatened to get his temper flaring again, but he pushed it down. He met Morton's eyes. He would feel better if he got it off his chest, and Morton deserved to know just what he was handling.

"Imagine my surprise after being there for three days, talking myself blue in the face to anyone I could hunt down, only to find out this morning why it's taking so long," he said.

Morton frowned. "I assumed they were just having a hard time finding Almondez and had decided that Lee and the team should wait on site for him since there was a better than good chance he would come for the weapons. If all else failed they could at least destroy the facility and worry about getting Almondez later." He saw by Nelson's eyes, which were once more burning with ire, that wasn't the case. "What did they do?" he asked.

"It seems that Almondez's whereabouts have been known for the last two weeks. He is under very heavy observation by about three different agencies, including I might add, ONI," Nelson growled, pounding his fist. Morton took it in and shook his head.

"Then why have Lee and that Ranger unit been sitting in the jungle for the last three days? Did the Rangers need a break or some jungle training or something? Why didn't any one of those agencies just pick up Almondez and let Lee's group just go in, blow the damn place, and get out. It would have taken only a few hours and Lee wouldn't have had to…" he stopped. He knew he didn't have to finish the thought. He was never happy to see Lee off the boat on one of his missions, but to have him simply waiting in a place that held such memories for him, that was just inhumane. This looked like it was shaping up to be even more of a mess than he had thought.

"Nothing so nice, I'm afraid," Nelson said. "The orders as presented to me were quite a bit different then those that Lee was given by the general on the Ranger base. It seems that it has been decided that Almondez is the key to making points with the World Court. His testimony against the buyers of the weapons will be offered in exchange for a lighter sentence, for instance, spending his life imprisonment in the United States instead of in some third world country where no one in their right mind would want to be.

At least that is the plan. An integral part of this 'plan,'" he emphasized the word with sarcasm, " is that Almondez be thought dead by those that they want to arrest. That way they won't be warned prior to the World Court warrants being issued and won't have a chance to disappear into some terrorist friendly country. Since they can't exactly fake Almondez's death easily, without the chance of some sort of leak, they decided that his arrest would take place at the facility, and then the facility would be destroyed, making it appear that Almondez perished in the explosion. They also decided that should Almondez not come to the facility in the window of opportunity that has presented itself with the Ranger unit and Lee, then the facility would NOT be destroyed, and they would simply allow Almondez to take his poisons and meet with the terrorists. Then they would move in and get what they could. That was the second choice by a far margin. They don't care that perhaps they might not get all of the weapons or even all of the terrorists, they just want to make points." He ended with a snarl.

Morton's mind was whirling. What Nelson was saying made sense on some level he supposed, in a purely dispassionate, political way. The current administration was on the outs with the World Court, and wanted to get back in the good graces. Although Chip suspected they really didn't want to get back in the World Court good graces all the way since that would give it a political legitimacy that could call into question the US' refusal to admit it has jurisdiction over US citizens and forces. In any event, this would give the Court a good toehold on the terrorists who were trying to buy weapons of mass destruction, and they would not have to put any effort into acquiring Almondez themselves, or wait for some government to finally honor the warrant. He could also appreciate how the various agencies that were involved would come up with the plan to make it appear that Almondez was dead. Looked at logically it was perfect. Almondez spilled his guts, was sentenced by the World Court to life in some United States federal penitentiary under an assumed name, and no one ever had to know he was alive. The terrorists were arrested, hopefully along with their funds and WMD, and they, and possibly their contacts, were imprisoned. Lives were saved. There was a certain ruthlessness to the logic.

The powers that be seemed to have dedicated themselves to the plan. The back up plan, at least as Nelson described it, seemed shaky and possibly dangerous. If Almondez's men were allowed to bring the chemicals and biologics away from this facility that meant they might be transported near populations of people. What if something went wrong? Hell, what if his plane crashed on the way to meet the terrorists? What if, when the forces went in to arrest them, the terrorists refused to give up and decided to martyr themselves and as many innocents as the gas and germs could kill? Whoever had come up with this plan must be at a high level to be able to push it through against what he assumed must have been some powerful naysayers who must have pointed out the negatives as easily as Chip had found them. He looked at Nelson.

"Who is pushing this plan? It's not exactly what I would call well thought out. Lee must have gone ballistic when he found out he might have to leave that stuff there and let Almondez's people take it out of the facility to who knows where, let him have an opportunity to kill more innocent people."

"No, I don't imagine he took it well at all. I also didn't really expect him to leave the area without destroying the facility, regardless of orders. I am happy in a way that Almondez chose this time to show up at the facility. At least Lee won't be up on charges of disobeying a direct order." He stood and started pacing again. "As to the power behind the plan…that came directly from the White House. This masterwork is the brainchild of Presidential advisor Rear Admiral Hal Yackman, retired. The man thinks he's the best military planner since Patton and has the president believing him. He came up with this after I left Washington, and the plan, as I knew it, was altered. No one felt I needed to be updated." Nelson paused to light another cigarette then continued.

"Yackman always was a pompous ass. His position with the administration is shaky. He's pissed off everyone but the President, and if this plan is a success you can be sure that he'll take all the credit. If it goes wrong, you can be equally sure he'll take none of the blame. That, he'll spread around to as many people as possible, including Lee. Frankly I don't care if he gets the credit when this is over, as long as it GETS over."

"Can't say I disagree with you there, sir," Morton said, sitting back in his chair with a sigh. "Were you able to find out if there were any reports from the unit about what they were planning?" He would like to know how long they would have to wait. The signal they had received had only been a warning that sometime in the next twelve hours the team would be moving. He would rather it be sooner and not later.

"Not that anyone was willing to share with me by the time I let them know what I thought of their change of plans. I'm afraid I may have burned a few bridges in DC that we could have used in the future," Nelson said with a smile and a shrug. He wouldn't take any of it back.

Morton smiled at the older man. "Well, sir, the current administration only has a year left before elections, and he's already had two terms so he won't be back. We can make new contacts, we've done it before." Nelson had never been one to pander to political egos, and they had lost contacts in Washington before, and would again. It had amused Morton to no end that when Nelson, feeling a little sheepish about his last trip and the toes he had stepped on, had sent Crane in his place the year previously, Crane had returned with a defiant tilt to his chin and the report that they were no longer to darken the door of a certain senator on the appropriations committee. Crane would not explain what had happened, but certain other contacts in Washington reported that a certain young submarine captain had interrupted a certain senator in the process of 'welcoming' a new intern at a party. The intern, who it was reported had only been complying out of fear, had fled and evidently words had been exchanged. Knowing Crane's opinion about those who abused their power over others, Morton suspected just how the scene had played out. Any respect that Crane might have had for the man would have been gone and only contempt would have remained. Since Lee would not have dealt with the man again, he had probably had no trouble making his feelings clear. Nelson had not been dismayed in any event, and they still had gotten the funding they needed.

Nelson snorted his amusement, knowing what Morton was probably thinking of. For all that he and Lee Crane were so different, there were times, that being one of them, that they were very much alike. It was a point of some private pleasure to Nelson to see something of himself in Lee. The young captain was very much his own man, formed by his own effort and character given his childhood and adolescence, perhaps more so than anyone Nelson had ever known. Not having had the chance to influence the early life of the man that he had come to consider his son, Nelson was secretly amused when he saw the extent of his current influence. He knew that Lee had felt free to….express himself because he had known that Nelson would support his stand. It had been a proud moment for Nelson, listening to a friend of his in Washington who had attended the party in question describe the incident. He smiled in memory of it and sat down at the table. He too wished they had a better idea of when they could expect the FS1 to be contacted. He wished he could have pushed the FS2 harder, but he had run into a steady headwind and had not made as good a time as he had hoped. He would rather have been waiting on Seaview, but suspected his impatience would not have been any different, though he might have been able to go along himself to the extraction point. He looked at Morton.

"Do you have the course laid out to take us to Norfolk? We'll want to make the best time we can. We'll also need to make port at night. The fewer prying eyes the better." He rose and started for the charting table. Morton shrugged and rose to follow. It was a way to pass the time.

Chapter 6

Captain John Tobin watched as Cruz disappeared into the ventilation shaft. He turned to face the man who stood on the other side of the shaft. He was dressed in his black fatigues and had blacked his hands and face so that he would be nearly invisible in the dark jungle. He would be outside the facility waiting in the jungle when the rest of them came out of the front door with Almondez. At least that was the plan as Crane had laid it out. In the last three days Crane and Tobin had refined the plan to the smallest detail and the Ranger captain was feeling optimistic as to the chances of their success. The advent of Almondez the previous evening and the chance to observe the man and his bodyguards had, if anything, made him more confident. Everything was as Crane had said, and Tobin found himself liking the Naval officer more and more.

It had been a slow two days for the unit. They had traded off watching the facility and standing guard over the site they had taken for their camp. Each man had gone with Crane to travel the path from the facility to the reservoir. Crane had insisted that the path be traveled at least twice by each man, once at a walk to familiarize him with the terrain and vegetation during the day, and then once at night, wearing night vision goggles and moving at a faster pace. Tobin had agreed and so Crane had been busy for one of the days escorting the Rangers on their trips. Each of the men had gone for their day hike and had come back speaking well of the man's familiarity with the area and his fitness level.

Le Bond had volunteered to be the first one to go. The two men had left the camp and had been gone about an hour when Crane walked into the camp alone. Tobin had been there with Schultz and Cruz, the other two members being on guard duty and observation. Schultz had been asleep, but Cruz had been cleaning his weapon and had looked around for Le Bond.

"What did you do with the Doc?" he asked. It wasn't so much the question that was out of line but the tone. Cruz's opinion of Crane had not improved though Tobin wasn't exactly sure of the cause. Could just be personalities. It had been known to happen, even among unit members. Cruz had been raised in a broken family and in a tough neighborhood and was slow to accept new people. In fact, it was just recently that he had started to really accord Le Bond, their newest member, the same loyalty and devotion that the man showed the rest of the unit. Tobin was sure that Cruz had his reasons, but he was not going to allow such blatant disregard for Crane's rank and the respect due an officer, whatever service he might be from. Before Crane could answer, Tobin was on his feet and standing in front of Cruz.

"Sergeant Cruz, on your feet!" he snapped. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Schultz roll over at the sound of his voice, no doubt wondering what was going on. Cruz had snapped to attention, and Tobin got in his face. "Do you have a sudden urge to be a private again, Sergeant?" he growled. He was aware that Crane had calmly gone to sit on the second fallen log that they were using as a chair, but he remained focused on Cruz.

"Sir! No, sir!" Cruz answered in the correct manner. Tobin could see by the look in his eye that Cruz knew he had gone too far. He had always encouraged a slightly less formal atmosphere among his men when they were on a mission, but if this was the result of that policy, he was going to have to rethink it.

"Then I am to understand that you know how to address a superior officer and will do so correctly in the future, is that correct, Sergeant?" Tobin asserted, still in Cruz's face.

"Sir! Yes, sir!" Cruz replied. Tobin was sure there would be no repeat of the insubordinate tone, but he wanted to be sure that Cruz understood that he would be working with Crane and that his attitude would not be tolerated, despite his continuing suspicion of the man.

"You will apologize to the commander immediately and then you will go and relieve Timmons. You will finish his time on observation and do your time as well. Perhaps you will consider your attitude while you are there and why it is not appropriate. That is all, Sergeant. You have your orders." Cruz snapped off a salute and went to pick up his gear. He quickly slipped into his flak jacket and picked up his comm gear. He then picked up his weapon and went to stand before Crane who had risen to his feet. The two men considered each other for a long moment, and Tobin was almost afraid he would have to say something when his faith in Cruz was fulfilled.

"Sir. I apologize for my tone. It will not happen again," the sergeant said. Tobin was glad to see that the officer did not seem to be angry or offended as he nodded quickly, accepting Cruz's apology wordlessly. The sergeant left the clearing without another word, passing Le Bond on his way out.

Le Bond was breathing hard and his fatigues were sweat soaked. He looked at Crane who was breathing easily and shook his head. "Damn, sir. Where the heck do you find room to train on a submarine?" he asked. He heard a snort from Schultz who had been propped up on his elbows on his blankets. With a smile at Le Bond, the big red head lay back down and rolled back onto his side. Le Bond knew he would be asleep in moments. He looked from Schultz to his own commanding officer. Tobin had a serious, thoughtful look on his face, and Cruz's had been equally serious when he passed him on the path. "Did I miss something?" he asked. He looked at Crane, who was also looking serious, but who simply shrugged and sat on the log.

"I believe that's one bottle of tequila you owe me, Lieutenant. I believe the Retroquesa brand is one of the best and it will do nicely. I have a friend who is very fond of margaritas. I'm sure she'll appreciate your donation when I get back home," Crane said with a smile. Le Bond looked from him to Tobin and realized that whatever had happened was over now, and it wasn't something that Tobin felt the need to explain at this time. He looked back at Crane and shook his head.

"They find out about this back at base and I'll never live it down. Don't suppose you'll take two bottles to keep it under your hat, sir?" he said jokingly. He felt very comfortable with this officer, not something he could really say about many superior officers with the exception of John Tobin. It wasn't that he hadn't met other good officers, but they didn't seem to have the same attitude as these two officers did.

Bob Le Bond liked the Army. It had gotten him out of the nine-to-five life that he had watched kill his father at the age of 45. He had learned to respect himself, his superiors, and the men that he commanded. He meant to stay in as long as they would have him; he was grateful for his current posting; he knew that there were few better examples of what a good officer and man should be than John Tobin. The captain commanded the unit with precision, intelligence, and consideration for each of the members and their abilities. He was always cognizant of the importance of the work that they did, but he was also concerned that, as was the credo of the Rangers, no man be left behind. He was fully capable of planning any mission on his own, but he preferred to allow the input of his team. All understood however that the final decision was his. He commanded the loyalty of each member of the team and Le Bond knew that any one of them, himself included, would walk through fire if the man said to. He wasn't sure what it was about Crane that told him that the commander was also made of such stuff. He didn't know what the man did on Seaview, but he was willing to bet that he did it well, and that the men he worked with were pleased to have him as a boss. The past hour he had spent with the man had been a perfect illustration, as had his experience at the Argentinean Army base.

It never ceased to amaze Le Bond how widespread prejudice was, and how senseless. As a black man, he had faced it many times in many different places. The Army was no different from civilian life; there was the usual percentage of bigots and of people who were willing to take you on your merits and not your skin color. His unit was made up of the latter, and he was thankful. It seemed that the Argentinean army had its share of bigots too. He had been going from the mess hall to the temporary quarters they had been assigned a little ahead of the rest of the unit. He had a radio check coming up with HQ and there was no reason that the rest of the squad had to hurry so he had gone alone. He had been almost back to the building where they were quartered when a man stepped out of another building directly into his path. He had been unable to stop in time, and they had collided.

He had apologized, in both English and Spanish, but he could see that the man was not satisfied. He could also see that the man was huge. He had to be as tall as Schultz, and as big in the shoulders as Cruz. There had followed several phrases from the man that, even though Le Bond's Spanish was rudimentary, he managed to follow. The phrases let him realize that the man was not fond of black people, and was not afraid to share those feelings. He was getting ready to simply walk away when a knife had appeared in the other man's hand. By the way he held it, he was familiar with knife fighting. A quick glance around had showed Le Bond that they were alone, and there was not likely to be any intervention.

Le Bond had of course had training in knife fighting methods in Ranger school, and Schultz had taught him several other moves, but training did not make up for lack of experience. Looking at the swarthy face and the angry eyes glaring at him, Le Bond had no doubt that the man in front of him was quite experienced. He reached down and unsheathed his own K Bar. He tried to remember all the things Schultz had taught him as the other man started to circle. The first thing that came to mind was that Schultz had told him that in a knife fight, reach was 8/10 of the fight. If you had reach, you didn't have to be good. Looking at his opponent's arms, Le Bond couldn't help but wonder how the man kept from dragging his knuckles when he walked. He had shaken his head on that grimly humorous and uncharitable thought and concentrated on what was about to happen. However, what he had thought to be inevitable, proved to be less so when a slim form was interposed between him and the other man. He had found himself looking at the Navy commander's back and listening as he spoke to the other man in rapid idiomatic Spanish.

The other man had answered in a low growl and with a gesture at Le Bond. Crane had nodded sagely and said something. With that he had turned to Le Bond. His face was calm, in no way showing that he had placed himself in danger by stepping into the middle of a knife fight.

"Sergeant, I believe that you have a radio check due. I suggest that you get that taken care of," he had said, his voice authoritative, and the look in his eyes brooking no refusal. Le Bond had glanced at the other man, seeing the barely contained, mindless hate that still shown in his brown eyes, and then back at Crane. The commander had smiled slightly and jerked his head toward their temporary quarters. Le Bond had obeyed the order, retreating toward the building. He had gotten to the small porch and turned to look back. Crane had moved to stand almost toe-to-toe with the taller man, and they were speaking in low tones. Le Bond could see the bigger man gesturing with his hands, and had been glad to see that the knife had disappeared. However, he did not seem to be any calmer, and Le Bond was about to return and offer what back up he could to the commander.

He was happy that he had not blinked in the next second, for in that time the bigger man was suddenly on the ground clutching his stomach and moaning. The commander had moved like lightning, and Le Bond had barely seen the strike that took the big man in the solar plexus, paralyzing his nerve center. As he had folded forward, a second blow to the face had split his lip. His instructor at Ranger training had told them that a blow to the solar plexus was incredibly painful and if the blow was done incorrectly, or with too much power, it could be fatal. Obviously from the results, the commander had known exactly what he was doing. Crane had leaned over the moaning man and said something that Le Bond could not hear. The injured man had nodded painfully, and Crane had walked away, joining Le Bond on the small porch of their quarters. He looked at his watch, ignoring the bruised and bleeding knuckles on his right hand from where he had struck the man in the face.

"I believe you are about to miss your radio check, Sergeant" he had said calmly and passed Le Bond on his way into the quarters. He had gone into the latrine and emerged with his hand cleaned and salved. Without another word, he had gone to lay on his bunk and went to sleep. Le Bond had mechanically gone through the radio check with HQ, glancing occasionally at Crane as he did so. Not long after that the rest of the unit had arrived and had also laid down to rest while they could, knowing they would be deploying that evening. Le Bond had not mentioned the incident until he and Schultz had been doing a final check on their supplies before they deployed. He had described the incident, the blow, the speed and precision of it, and Schultz had nodded.

"One of the martial arts disciplines. Could be judo or tae kwon do. I expect he used the second blow as a bit of a reminder. Once the big lug got over the solar plexus hit, he could fake not having been hurt, but the split lip gives it away. It was a warning," he had opinioned. Le Bond had not mentioned it again since the commander had obviously moved on. But he had been grateful for the rescue from a situation that he wasn't sure he could have walked away from injury free. He would have tried his best, fought to the best of his training, but that would not have helped his unit if he had been injured and unable to deploy on time. All in all, the entire incident had made him feel very well disposed to the Naval officer.

Le Bond took a seat on a handy log and continued to muse about his interactions with the commander. He flushed a little as he remembered how eager he had been to talk to Crane when it was his turn to take the hike but the commander had taken his enthusiasm in stride. They had begun the hike from the point that they would be emerging from the facility onto the path headed toward the pickup point. Crane had pointed out that what appeared to be a seldom used path had in fact been a pipeline used to bring water to the facility from the reservoir. Evidently they had been having a lot of leaks since the pipe was buried, and a powerful defoliant had been sprayed over most of the pipe's run to allow for easier location and access. It made for a nice easy path for almost two miles, though the jungle plants were beginning to encroach and there was the occasional woody vine that could trip the unwary. Crane pointed out to him an actual game path that led back toward the grotto where they were camped. It didn't lead directly there, but once a man was within 100 yards of the place he could easily find his way if he knew it was there. The last mile of the trek had been slightly harder as they had moved to an actual hunting path used by the natives that led them out along the side of the lake. Crane did not step out of the jungle into the clear area around the reservoir, and Le Bond followed his example. They could not chance being seen. Crane pointed out several landmarks that Le Bond marked on his small map of the area and memorized. As they stood there, Le Bond decided to see if he could find out a little more about the officer. He was very curious about anyone who worked for Nelson. He didn't want to appear nosey, or insubordinate for that matter, so he cast about for something to start the conversation. Remembering the comments that had been made back at the base about the commander's use of the track seemed a casual enough beginning; he was a runner himself.

"You seem to be in good shape, sir. Like you were still on active duty. I wouldn't think you would have a lot of time to work out on a submarine, or even the room though I know the Seaview is larger then Navy submarines," he finally observed. Crane smiled at him.

"I run whenever I can and I eat light. I'm….pretty active most of the time so I can stay fit. It's not as easy for the average submariner," Crane had replied. He looked at Le Bond with a practiced eye. "You look to be a runner yourself. Track team in college?" he asked. Le Bond grinned at him.

"Yes, sir. Cross-country. I wasn't a champion or anything, but I wasn't bad. Of course being a Ranger and all, I'm pretty good at it now. Can beat most of the kids running at my junior college even at my age," he said. "All that running at Ranger school. Best training in the world."

Crane nodded. He was amused at the young officer's gentle probing and enthusiasm. He knew the Rangers were curious about him. He would have probed in the same situation. He wished he could just tell them what he did for ONI and then maybe it would be easier for them. He certainly had no complaints about the professionalism of the unit. Everyone worked together well, and he knew that if Almondez showed up, they had a good chance of making this mission a success. His smile grew a little wider. Perhaps a little good-natured competition was in order.

"Perhaps you would like to uphold the pride of the Rangers, Sergeant," he asked.

"Sir?" Le Bond said, unsure of what he meant. There was a sparkle in the golden colored eyes, almost like a mischievous boy.

"I am purposing a contest, Sergeant. You saw the cut off that I showed you, leading back toward the grotto?" Le Bond nodded and Crane continued, "Do you feel that you know the path to that point?" Another nod. "Very well. Let's test your memory and your legs. I'll give you a five-minute head start. Whoever makes it back to the camp first wins."

"I don't know that I need a head start, sir," the Sergeant said with a smile, liking the idea. He was feeling slightly bored with the wait, and a chance to use some of his pent up energy would be good. The Naval officer might be in good shape, but he must be ten years older than Le Bond, and after all, he wasn't a Ranger.

"I'm familiar with the path, however, and that gives me an advantage. It needs to be a fair contest. You up for it?" Crane responded.

"Sure, sir. What's the prize?"

"The pride of your unit not enough, Sergeant?" Crane asked with a smile. Le Bond smiled back.

"Already got that, sir, and I don't got to run in the heat for it. But perhaps a little incentive?"

"What did you have in mind?"

'Well, you know Admiral Nelson, right? I mean, I know you work for him and all, but do you KNOW him?" Le Bond asked.

"We speak on the odd occasion," Crane replied. He had realized that no one knew he was captain of the Seaview. Not very good for the ego, but at least there were fewer explanations he couldn't make. He wondered where Le Bond was going.

"How about this, sir? I would really like to talk to the Admiral about some of the things he's done, some of his inventions. Do you think you could maybe get me in to see him for a few minutes?"

Crane had to hide his smile at the younger man's obvious hero worship. Having shared the same feeling himself for so many years, Crane could understand.

"I think I could arrange that. And if I should win?" he said.

"How about a bottle of wine, sir. I'm from California and I know some good vineyards."

"Make it Tequila and you're on," Crane replied with a smile. The deal was sealed with a handshake. Le Bond studied his map, setting the route in his head, and then put it away. He nodded to Crane and took off down the path at a run.

Crane smiled at the enthusiasm the youngster had shown for the impromptu race. It would do Le Bond good to burn off some energy. Lee, too, had felt restless. The waiting was not something he was used to. Usually his missions were in and out affairs, despite Chip's complaints that there were always holdups. The location wasn't the best either. The grotto where they were camped was less than a mile away from where the village had stood. In one of his recons of the area Crane had stopped there, in the same place he had stood that night, and had looked over the village. The huts had been burned to the ground, and the jungle had already started to reclaim the area. The ghosts were still there He looked at his watch. The five minutes were up. He started down the path at an easy lope.

For Le Bond it was one of the most humiliating experiences since Ranger School where a sergeant who had been twice his age and at least 50 lbs heavier had run the obstacle course at his side, hardly breaking a sweat, and barking orders the entire way. He had been making good time down the broken path when he heard the footfalls behind him. He ran harder, but the footfalls stayed with him, then they were right behind him, then the slim form passed him at a wide area on the path. He pushed as hard as he could and stayed on the other man's heels for a while, but he knew he could not sustain the pace. Finally he dropped back. Maybe the older man would tire himself out and he could catch up. As the slim form disappeared into the jungle, he felt his confidence go with it. This may not have been such a good bet. He had made it back to camp only to find the commander already there and looking none the worse for wear. He had evidently missed something else too. Now he was out a bottle of expensive tequila, and he didn't know what was going on. Perfect. He slowly caught his breath. Tobin came over and stood in front of them.

"Did I hear the word 'tequila'? I hope there's no unauthorized betting going on. I'd be forced to seize any ill gotten gains from such a practice." He raised an eyebrow at Le Bond, who glanced at Crane. The commander smiled and shrugged. Obviously it was up to him if he wanted to mention it or not. He looked back at Tobin with a shrug of his own.

"Well you know how it is, Cap. The pride of the Rangers was as stake. Things gotta be done."

"And your losing helped this how?" the captain said, willing to let the tenseness of the last few minutes go if Crane was.

"Well, that wasn't the plan, sir. But who knew an ol….submarine officer could move out like that?" Le Bond said, correcting himself half way through as he realized that Tobin himself was probably older than the Naval officer.

"Now you've done it, Sergeant. We'll have to do away with him now in order to keep this from making us the laughing stock of the base. Once this gets out, we won't be able to hold our heads up. To have a Ranger beat by a submariner, and one of such advanced years." He shook his head sadly then grinned at Le Bond. "Haven't we taught you anything? We told you that all the swab jockeys are hustlers and the bubbleheads are the worst of the lot." They all smiled at each other, then Tobin looked around at Schultz's sleeping form. He had come off guard duty only forty-five minutes ago, and deserved at least a few hours sleep. He looked back at Crane.

"How about you take me down the garden path next? We'll let him," he nodded toward Schultz, "sleep and then you can take Timmons when we get back."

"Works for me," Crane said and rose to his feet. They left the clearing.

Later that night all the member of the unit except Le Bond, who was now on guard duty outside the grotto, were sitting around a small fire. Crane was on observation at the facility. Cruz was lying on his blankets, ostensibly sleeping. The others were eating their MREs and talking quietly. Timmons had his boots off and was rubbing his left foot.

"So let me get this straight," he said. He pointed his boot at Tobin. "You owe the bubblehead commander a bottle of rum; Doc owes him a bottle of tequila; and you," he moved the boot toward Schultz, "owe him a bottle of vodka. I thought Navy submarines were dry. Is the commander making up for lost time or something?"

"I don't think it's really the booze, Timms. It was just an object lesson," Schultz said. He scraped the last of his turkey and stuffing out of the small packet and stowed it in the bag they were using for their garbage. Rangers didn't leave anything behind to show their presence, including garbage.

"An object lesson," Timmons said, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't know you knew what one of them was. You been reading them highbrow books again?"

Schultz tossed his fork at Timmons, burying it in the dirt between his feet with a precision that made the others grin, and shook his head. "You're just jealous. Anyway, I think that he was just trying to show us that he could do it. So that we wouldn't be wondering if he could keep up with us when the chips were down. Though he may not have expected all of us to try him out. I gotta imagine he knows that we're kinda wondering what he can do. He ain't stupid by a long shot. I think he just chose this way when the doc gave him the opportunity. Of course it woulda been nice if ONE of us coulda run him down." He looked at Timmons. "You didn't even try, did you?"

"Hey, I ain't running in this heat until I have to. Besides, if he beat Doc, there ain't no way I'm gonna take him short of shooting him in the leg. 'Sides, if I get a bottle of booze, I'm gonna be the one drinking it," Timmons said. The other men smiled at each other. Timmons looked over at the sleeping man and lowered his voice. "What about Cruz. He's the only one that hasn't done the trail. You want I should take him along? I got it down pretty well." The master sergeant had heard about the earlier problem from Cruz himself. The younger man had admitted that he had let his suspicion of Crane color his question, and that Tobin had been right to step in.

Tobin shook his head. "No. He's a member of this unit. If he can't get with the program, I need to know. He can have his opinions, but that can't change how he works with this unit or anyone assigned to work with us." Timmons nodded in understanding. He was getting ready to speak when his communicator came on, and he saw the others also were getting the message.

"Crane to Tobin. Helicopter approaching from the south. I estimate touchdown in about 1 minute. From what I can make out from the activity at the facility, they are expecting someone. The head of the facility is waiting at the door. Will advise." Timmons rose and went to kick Cruz's foot. The other man grunted and sat up.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Target might be coming in," Timmons advised. Schultz stomped out the small fire. The men were getting their gear together in a matter of moments. They went out of the grotto, leaving Le Bond on guard, and went toward the place they had chosen for observation. All of them were wearing their night vision glasses. Before they left the grotto, Crane came back on and let them know that the helicopter had landed and that Almondez was confirmed, along with a second larger helicopter. The target and his bodyguards were in front of the facility, talking with the facility manager. They all stopped when Crane ended his broadcast with a curse.

"What is it, Commander?" Tobin asked. There was no reply. At a gesture from Tobin, they all started forward again, moving at a jog this time. Tobin tried again. "Commander? Crane!?" he finally barked.

"I'm here. Sorry. I have the directional mic set up. Sounds like they are planning to be here until the day after tomorrow," Crane responded after a worrisome delay. His voice sounded choked and terse.

"We'll be at your position in one, Commander," Tobin said, not prepared to grill the man over the comm. The rest of the men picked up the pace as Tobin broke into a run. They stopped as they approached the compound, taking off their night vision glasses as the lights around the facility lit up the jungle making them useless. They crept through the last few feet of jungle and came up on Crane who was lying on his stomach with the directional mike pointed at the facility. The earphone was in the ear opposite the comm gear and he appeared to be listening as he glanced their way. Tobin couldn't really tell in the reflected light but it seemed that the commander was paler than usual and looked slightly ill. He motioned for the rest of the unit to fan out through the jungle around the observation area, and they disappeared into the jungle, taking up positions on either side. He picked up the other earphone leading from the mike and put it in his ear. He listened as the man that matched Almondez's description talked with the facility manager, speaking of day-to-day matters. As he watched they moved inside. He noted that only two of Almondez's bodyguards were in sight, and he wondered where the others were, Crane having said that the man went nowhere without them. The pilot of the helicopter followed the other men in, and soon the facility was back to the quiet regularity of the guards making their rounds. He did note that the men were making a show of carrying their weapons at the ready, and seemed to be more alert than usual, not talking and smoking as they usually were. Interesting.

He called Schultz to come and take over the observation post and ordered the rest back to the grotto. He noticed that Crane seemed to take a long look at the facility before he followed Tobin and the others. They made good time going back, and soon were seated around a small light that Timmons dug out of their supply pack. For its size it gave off a good amount of light. They could see each other clearly. If he had been pale at the facility, Crane had regained his usual complexion and seemed unmoved now. Tobin decided to get right to it.

"What the hell happened? You wouldn't answer my hail. That's not the way it works here, Commander," he said in his best command voice. The Naval officer's golden eyes met his evenly.

"I apologize, Captain. It won't happen again," he said, not answering the question.

"Un uh, Commander. None of those 'evasive maneuvers' you Navy boys are so fond of. You saw or heard something. What was it?" he demanded. He knew that Crane was under no obligation to respond to his demand, and knew that Crane knew it too, but hoped for the good of the mission that he would. They needed to work together. If there was something going on, they all needed to know about it. Crane seemed to be staring at the ground, considering. Finally he lifted his head and looked around, his eyes lingering on each of them and evaluating them in some way. He lingered longest on Cruz who felt his face flush under the cool gaze. Finally his eyes came back to Tobin, and he seemed to have made a decision.

"You weren't given complete information on Almondez, only enough to do the job. I imagine the powers that be didn't feel you needed to know any more." He stopped and looked down again. Tobin felt compelled to speak.

"That's SOP. We don't need the man's life story to do what we have to do as long as nothing affects the mission," he said. They were used to getting only what they needed and little more. Crane nodded in understanding.

"I know. That's the rules of the game. 'Need to know.' Well, I know a bit more about Almondez than you do. I read certain files, files that were compiled over several years." He stopped and they could see that his jaw was clenched and his hands had curled into fists. There was a spark of something in his eyes that Tobin recognized as anger and something else.

"Almondez has a little hobby," he finally said. "One that's been very nicely detailed over the years. Not that they ever did anything about it, just made notes." The last was said bitterly. He looked around again, seeing the puzzled looks on their faces. He grimaced and knew he would just have to come out and say it, as distasteful as he found even speaking of it. "He likes teenage girls. He picks them up off the streets of the big cities down here: runaways, prostitutes, sometimes schoolgirls who are in the wrong place at the wrong time. They don't usually survive the experience. When Almondez is done with them, he throws what's left of them to the bodyguards, and they kill and dump them somewhere. Half the time the bodies are never even identified."

The men exchanged looks, each one seeing the same anger and disgust that they felt in the eyes of the others. They were used to dealing with terrorists, killers, even war criminals who had slaughtered hundreds, but they were still able to feel disgust at what they had just learned. Tobin thought back to the first briefing where Crane had questioned the mission parameters as laid out by General Craig. This probably was part of why Crane had protested the changes.

"They're going to let this guy off with a slap on the wrist, aren't they, if he gives them his contacts?" Tobin asked. Crane shrugged.

"Maybe. They'll put him in some federal prison for the rest of his life under some other name. He could be running the place in a year and live as well as he does now and he won't have to watch his back. The perfect retirement plan, courtesy of the World Court and the US prison system," Crane said bitterly. He hung his head for a moment, not sure where the cynical turn had come from. It was probably the bitterness that the man would not really suffer for his crimes, not as his victims had suffered. Then he shook his head and looked at them all again. "He brought one with him. Two of the bodyguards dragged her out of the helicopter and took her inside before you got there."

Tobin considered what he had heard. His first instinct, perhaps because he was the father of a 13 year-old girl, was to go in right now and get the girl out. Unfortunately, he could not give in to his instincts. They were here on a mission. They had orders and they had to be carried out. The fact that collateral damage was not only possible but sometimes unavoidable did not make it any easier to swallow. He knew they had to ignore the fact that there was an innocent child being assaulted, and go on with the plan that Crane had laid out to them previously. More than one life hung on the success of their mission. Sometimes it sucked being a Ranger. He drew in a large lungful of air; he could feel the eyes of his men and Crane turn to him, waiting for his words. He blew out the air in a gust.

"We stay with the plan. We'll do the final recon on the facility at 0400 tomorrow morning. Everyone should be sleeping and we can avoid the guards easily. Commander, you and I will take care of that. If there are no other nasty little surprises, we'll move tomorrow at sundown. Should be around 1800. Too High'll take care of the distraction. I'm thinking he should take out the helicopter. That should get everyone's attention and it'll narrow the possibilities for any pursuit if the rest of the plan doesn't work out. You got that, Doc, Shultz?" he said into his comm. Le Bond, still on guard duty, should have been listening on his comm., as was Schultz back at the observation post.

"I'm got it, Cap," Le Bond replied. His voice was subdued.

"I hear you." Shultz's voice was as grim as Tobin had ever heard it.

"Doc, you'll be in with the rest of us. I'm afraid you're going to have to try to pass." He heard Le Bond's soft laughter over the comm. "We'll set up a rendezvous with Schultz outside the compound and one with Crane for along the path. We'll have to stash the night visions and the rest of our gear at the first rendezvous. We'll keep up with the rotation on guard and observation for now. We don't want any surprises in case someone decides to take a walk." Heads nodded, and the two men on the comm. acknowledged that they had heard. Tobin looked at his watch and then Crane.

"You still have three hours on your watch, Commander. Relieve Schultz and I'll relieve you at midnight." Crane nodded and quickly disappeared into the night. Tobin looked around at Timmons and Cruz. The master sergeant's face was grim. Cruz was sitting on the log staring at the ground, shaking his head a little as if he could not quite understand what they had learned.

Timmons stood and stretched. "I'm gonna hit the sack. Not that I'll be sleeping much after that little bit of info. Damn, but I hate this job sometimes," he said and stomped off to his blankets. Tobin smiled grimly at the man's bluntness and looked at Cruz.

"You okay?" he asked the man who was still sitting with his head down. Cruz raised his head to look at him and shrugged.

"How okay can you be when you have to deal with people like that? Have to keep them alive and well and take them back so that they can have a relatively good life living somewhere while their victims…" he shrugged again. Tobin nodded in understanding and rose to stretch.

"Yeah, it certainly doesn't make the job any easier knowing what kind of animal we are dealing with. Ignorance is bliss they say."

"The commander," Cruz started then stopped, seeming to consider his words. "He knew all along and came on the mission anyway, feeling like he does. What with him knowing that they killed the villagers and knowing what this guy is, he must be a stand up guy if he can put it aside and follow orders anyway. Maybe I been a little hard on him," he said. Tobin smiled and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"Good for you," he said simply, and went to mentally go over the plan looking for possible problems.

At 0400 the next morning, Tobin and Crane slipped into the vents again and made a quick tour of the facility while the others worked the outside. As expected, Almondez was in his suite with his bodyguards sprawled around the outer sitting area. Crane had gone to the grill that looked over Almondez's sleeping area, and Tobin had noted that he was looking pale and angry again as they exited the vent system. He would not say what he had seen, but he would not sleep when they returned to the grotto; instead, he disappeared into the jungle in the direction of the destroyed village. He did not return until it was his turn for guard duty. Tobin decided to say nothing as his actions did not compromise the mission in any way.

The next night the unit assembled as a whole in the grotto. They were dressed in their black fatigues. Schultz was armed with his rifle and had blackened his face. The others had side arms and knives. Timmons had a garrote rolled up in one pocket, and Cruz had a kioga stick in his thigh cargo pocket. Their pistols were all silenced, as was Schultz's rifle. They had gone over the plan, and had worked out a tentative time line. The stand by signal had been sent on the agreed upon frequency. Their peculiar mode of extraction should be in place. Crane assured them that the flying submarine was not only fast, but was flown by very reliable pilots. The small smile had appeared again for the first time since Almondez had arrived, and Tobin wondered at it.

They left the grotto for the last time and approached the facility. There had been little activity around the place on the outside. Then, around noon of the day following Almondez's arrival, things had started to get interesting. At that time, Schultz had radioed to the others that they seemed to be loading the cargo helicopter. Crane and Tobin had gone to the site and watched as barrel after barrel of something was loaded into the cargo helicopter. The chemical weapons. It was decided that Crane would place one of his special bombs on the helicopter before they proceeded with the rest of the plan. The timers he had were linked with a low frequency radio signal, and he could set them to all go at one time so there would be no problem setting off that explosive when the rest of the facility blew. While he suspected that the jet fuel in the tanks of the helicopter would burn hot enough to destroy the chemicals, he was not willing to take any chances. They left, moving quickly through the jungle. It was just after 1900 when they reached the facility.

Crane had prepared the explosive for the helicopter before leaving the grotto. He had shown Cruz what he was doing, though he could not explain all the chemistry behind what he had to do. He said that the two halves of the explosive, once put together, should stay stable for around three hours. With emphasis on the 'should.' After that, it was just a matter of time until the two became cataclysmically unstable. There would be no telling what might set it off. Something as small as a sneeze in its general vicinity might do it, while an earthquake could leave it untouched. He had also prepared the various charges he was planning to place in the facility. He knew where he was going to put them, and was ready.

He and Schultz split off from the rest of the unit at the side of the facility where Almondez's chopper was sitting across the compound from the cargo helicopter. The side away from the facility was in shadow. He would place a conventional remote explosive detonator there and some C4. Schultz would set it off when he got the word from Tobin. Crane made his way around the compound to the other chopper and placed his special charge there, using one of his radio detonators. He then went to where the vent entrance was and found the rest of the unit waiting. Crane would place his charges and then meet the rest of them on the path on the way to the extraction point.

The five men slipped into the vent shaft. Timmons and Cruz were awkward in the tight spaces, but they would not have to be there long. They moved down the shaft to a storage room and Crane removed the grill. He slid further down the vent shaft to clear the way for the Rangers who slid out onto the floor. Tobin stood and looked back up at Crane who peered down at them from the vent.

"Good luck, Commander. Remember, we don't leave anyone behind, so don't make us come looking for you," Tobin said lightly. Crane grinned at him and, after closing the vent, disappeared. The unit checked their weapons and Timmons went to the door. He opened it slowly to a small hairline crack and observed the hall. They had chosen this room because it was close to the vent shaft leading outside, and because it was at the end of one of the main halls. They could see down the hall almost to the other end. Timmons nodded and closed the door.

"We're clear now," he said. Tobin nodded. They were soon ready to move out. Timmons checked the hall again. Still empty. They moved out of the room in a line, Cruz leading as planned. Ethnically, he was the closest in coloring to the people working in the facility, and would cause the least suspicion if someone glimpsed him looking around a corner. The rest of the unit were also dark complexioned, though Le Bond joked he was a mite over qualified. It was this that had sparked part of the plan.

Either due to the hour, or the lack of lab personnel at the site, they ran into no one as they moved through the corridors. They checked the rooms that were unlocked as they went but found no one. Evidently outside of the facility manager and the security personnel, there were no other personnel on hand. Finally they were outside the suite of rooms where Almondez was lodged. They could hear music playing from inside. They flattened themselves against the walls on either side of the door. As Cruz and Timmons watched the corridors in either direction and Le Bond kept an eye on the door, Tobin spoke into his radio.

"We're in position," he said. There was a pause then they all heard Crane reply.

"Almondez is in his room with one of the bodyguards. The door is closed. The others are in the main room, all three near the bar. The music should be loud enough to cover your entrance. Wait for my mark and go in." Per the plan, the commander was waiting in the ventilation shaft for them to get in position. He would let them know where the bodyguards were and the best time to enter. Tobin gently reached out and tried the knob. It turned under his hand. Good, it was unlocked. They would not have to make noise kicking it in. Suddenly Crane's voice came over the radios again.

"Mark," he said, and the team sprung into action. Tobin pushed the door open and went in, bringing his gun up and moving around the door to face the bar area where the men were supposed to be. He knew the others would be coming in behind him, also bringing their guns to bear. As he cleared the door and could see the men, one of them started to turn. Tobin had only a second to see the man's eyes widen and his mouth start to open before squeezing the trigger. A hole appeared in the center of the man's forehead. Tobin heard the soft sound of two more shots almost at the same time, and the two other men fell, making only a slight noise.

Tobin had seen the reluctance with which Crane had put forward this part of the plan, and while he could sympathize with the officer's reluctance to kill, it being one he shared, he knew that this was required. They could not handle five prisoners, and leaving the men in the building would be signing their death warrants in any event. He used hand signs to signal Le Bond and Timmons to begin stripping the three men. He cast a glance at the vent, though he knew that Crane would be well on his way toward the area in which he would plant his first bomb. While he was not looking forward to his own part in this plan, he did not envy Crane his part either. From the description of the explosive, it was highly unstable even when handled correctly. That three-hour window of safety was obviously mainly a theory, and not necessarily set in stone. Crane seemed to have confidence, however, though it seemed more for the creator than the creation.

Tobin and Cruz were now on either side of the door leading into Almondez's bedroom where the remaining bodyguard and Almondez himself were. He got Timmons' attention and motioned for him to turn up the stereo that was near him. Timmons nodded and grasped the knob, waiting for the signal. Tobin looked at Cruz who nodded. Tobin had his knife, and Cruz was holding his Kioga stick. Because they didn't know who would come out first, or even if both would come, they had to be prepared to react with less than deadly force until identity was confirmed. Tobin looked at Timmons and nodded. The master sergeant cranked the stereo as loud as it would go. Tobin heard the roar of rage from inside the room and prepared himself. The door was wrenched open.

As the figure stepped through, Tobin moved first. He snaked an arm around the neck of the man and dragged him back and away from the doorway, leaving it clear for Cruz to act if necessary. His hand closed over the mouth of his victim, and the knife was forcefully pressed to the throat, leaving no doubt as to what would result in the event of struggle or noise. He was aware that no one had followed the first man out, and he motioned again for Timmons to turn the music back down. Timmons returned it to the previous level, leaving them with the cover of the sound still. Tobin caught Cruz's eye and nodded toward the other room. Cruz nodded once, and with his stick ready, he moved stealthily forward into the room. The thin black stick was compact, expanding out with a flick of the wrist. While light looking, the end was weighted, and as with most martial arts weapons, in the hands of an expert it could be deadly. It could also be used to subdue a prisoner quickly and quietly. There was a slight muffled exclamation from the room and then Cruz appeared in the doorway, forcing a man ahead of him, the Kioga stick held across his throat.

Le Bond appeared at Tobin's side with a picture held in his hand. He held it up to the side of Tobin's man and shook his head. He then did the same with the man that Cruz held and nodded. Tobin looked from the photo to the florid face of the man Cruz held and nodded his agreement. He sheathed his knife and with no warning and a practiced twist, he broke the neck of the man he held. He lowered the body to the floor and nodded to Le Bond who took a syringe out of the small fanny pack he wore and with no ceremony injected it into the arm of the man that they had confirmed to be Jorge Almondez. Despite the stick at his neck, he struggled briefly before becoming still, his eyes glazing. Le Bond watched him closely, finally reaching to take his pulse, respiration, and checking reflex reaction. Finally he nodded to Tobin, who motioned Cruz to step back. He did, and Almondez remained standing where he was, swaying gently, but staring at nothing. He would do only what they directed him to do for the next 30 minutes then the effects of the drug would begin to wane. They could not give him another dose for at least three hours or brain damage would result. They needed to get moving quickly.

They stripped the clothing from the bodyguards and pulled them on over their fatigues. Since all the bodyguards were large men, there was no problem doing so. Le Bond found a hat that he put on and pulled down around his ears to shade his face. In less than five minutes they were ready to go. They had their weapons in hand, and Timmons went to the door. Le Bond moved back to take Almondez's arm and guided the unresisting man forward. When they were ready, Timmons opened the door and looked out. He gave the all clear and led the group forward. Cruz brought up the rear. The plan was that if they ran into anyone who asked questions, the rest would keep going to get Almondez away while Cruz gave explanations or took steps to silence the questioner, which ever was necessary.

In several more minutes they were nearing what passed for the front door of the facility, leading into the courtyard where the helicopters were sitting. Cruz had fallen back once to head off a man who would have approached, but he quickly joined them again. Tobin spoke spoke into his radio, and they waited. In seconds there was a loud explosion from the yard, and they started forward. Security men were running all over. The night was bright with the flames, and a siren was going off somewhere. The four team members and their unresisting captive moved quickly through the confusion, ignoring shouted questions and waving away anyone who approached, and heading toward the jungle where they would meet with Shultz. Unexpectedly, another, smaller explosion went off, not far from where Almondez's helicopter had been sitting. Tobin realized it was the fuel tank for refueling the helicopters. He wasn't sure if a stray piece of hot metal had damaged the tank and then ignited the fuel, or Schultz had fired a silenced shot into it and let the nearby flames of the burning helicopter take their course. Whichever it was, the added confusion worked well for them. They moved around the side of the facility without anyone reacting to their presence and quickly melted into the jungle. Their packs and gear were there – laid out and ready. They stripped out of their borrowed layer of clothes and donned their night vision goggles. They then moved out, heading for the rendezvous point.

The path through the jungle was not easy, and Le Bond had to be careful with Almondez who made no effort to protect himself from dangling vines or branches. Soon they were at the rendezvous point where they all hunkered down and rested. The night sky was lit behind them with the fires still burning at the facility. It made for some eerie shadows with the night vision glasses. Within five minutes Schultz was there, giving them a warning on the radio as he approached. He sank down beside them with a glance at Almondez. They continued to wait, on alert in case anyone should follow them. Tobin glanced at his watch. Crane should have been there by now. He had been the one to set the timetable, and it was now quickly approaching the time when he would have to make a decision. One he didn't like to make. The minutes continued to click by with no sign of the Naval officer. Finally it was time.

"Doc. Gag and blindfold him. That drug will be wearing off and I don't want to have him making noise even if we aren't being followed. Put the cuffs on too. Timms can help you with him on the path. Schultz, you'll take point; I'll take drag." He looked at Cruz. "You take a quick pass back at the facility. You are not to enter it under any circumstances. If you see Crane, grab his ass and get to the extraction point. Remember, our bus leaves on time, with or without you, so BE there, one way or the other. If he's inside the facility when it goes, there won't be anything we can do for him anyway; just make sure he isn't between here and there. Got it?" he asked. Cruz nodded and headed immediately into the jungle, back in the direction they had come.

Le Bond had made quick work of securing the prisoner, and they moved out, heading up the path toward the lake and their ride out of here. Tobin glanced back in the direction that Cruz had disappeared. It was the Ranger credo that no man be left behind, and he had done all that he could to be sure that they upheld that credo. Crane might not be one of theirs, a Ranger, but he was a member of THIS mission, and he would either come back with them, or they would know that he would not be coming back at all. Usually even bodies were recovered if possible, but given the power and ferocity of the explosive that Crane was handling, that might not be possible. The captain hoped that would not be the case; he had never lost a man, and didn't plan to start now.

Chapter 7

Cruz made quick time back to the facility. It was much easier moving on his own and being able to pick his own path through the jungle. He came up on the facility from the east so he could overlook the open area. The confusion had died down since they had left. The security personnel were concentrating on trying to put out the fires with large hoses hooked into the main pumps. He could see the man he knew to be the facility manager standing near the door, watching the procedure, along with a few men who must have been the pilots of the helicopters. They seemed to be having a very serious conversation about something as one of the pilots was speaking with much arm waving and gestures.

Cruz worked his way around the open area toward the vent system. He had been ordered not to enter the facility, but since he knew that Crane was using that mode of entrance and exit, it was at least a place to start. If he was not there, Cruz would start toward the rendezvous site on a more direct path than the team had taken. Crane could have run into a problem on the way. It was not hard to trip over something in the jungle, or even run into one of the night predators that stalked the land. Jaguars were not shy or picky about what they might consider dinner.

He was almost to the vent shaft when he heard a sound that was not part of the jungle background noise and was not from the facility. He stopped and listened closely. The sound was repeated and he could now identify it as a moan of pain. He could also hear the slight murmur of a voice speaking in what seemed like Spanish, but was not. As he approached he was able to make out some of the words, they were familiar somehow, but he could not place them at once. Suddenly he realized what he was hearing. It wasn't Spanish; it was Portuguese and strangely, Latin, and what he was hearing now was the Last Rites, the Catholic words of absolution usually give by a priest on a person's deathbed.

He stepped into the small clearing around the vent, and pulled up sharply as he found himself looking down the barrel of Crane's silenced pistol. As soon as the Naval officer saw who it was he dropped his pistol and, without a word, turned back to the person that lay on the ground just outside the vent. He began the chant of Latin words again. Cruz moved closer and crouched down on the other side of the form on the ground. In the reflected light of the fires he could see that it was a female, looking to be no more than fifteen or sixteen at the most. She was wrapped in a blanket that did little to hide the horrendous bruises that seemed to cover every inch of her but that at least gave her a little bit of dignity. Her face had been damaged so badly that he could no longer tell what she might have looked like before the beating, and the waning light in her eyes told him that the end was near for her. Crane was holding on to one of her hands, and she seemed to be holding on to him with a firm grip as if he was the only thing holding her to this life.

Cruz reached under his fatigues and removed the Saint Christopher medal and the silver cross that hung around his neck. His mother had given them to him the last time he was home. He held them in front of the girl's eyes and saw recognition flare in the dying eyes. He then gently put the medal and crucifix into the girl's other hand and curled her fingers around it, keeping the curled hand in his own. He looked up and met Crane's eyes across the girl's body as the commander came to the end of the Rites. In the flickering light he could see the sadness and anger in the eyes that met his, but the anger disappeared as the man looked down at the girl and leaned close to whisper to her.

The girl nodded slightly, and her lips moved. Her last words were barely audible and in Portuguese, which Cruz assumed was her native language.

"Gracias, senhors. Eu não quis morrer sozinho." As she spoke the last words, her head fell to the side and the last breath rattled from her chest. Crane reached with his free hand and closed her eyes. He removed his other hand from hers and looked up at Cruz.

"I'm not leaving her here. She goes home too," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. Cruz nodded and took off his pack. He pulled out one of his blankets and helped Crane to wrap the body in it. The girl was so small that it did the job easily. Finally they were finished and Crane stooped and lifted the bundle in his arms. He glanced toward the vent, and Cruz saw the anger in his eyes again. The sergeant heard the girl's last words echoing in his head, "Thank you, sirs. I did not want to die alone" and understood.

Then Crane nodded toward the jungle, indicating that Cruz should lead out. Cruz stepped out and heard Crane moving behind him, still nearly silent despite his burden. They had found the overgrown path and were almost halfway to the extraction point when they heard it coming. A helicopter! Both men instantly moved into the heavier jungle, taking to the shadows where they would be almost invisible. They crouched down. Crane put the body down and took out his sidearm again. Cruz had his rifle out and they both were watching the sky, looking for the helicopter that from the sound was approaching their position.

"Think they got infrared?" Cruz whispered to Crane. If the helicopter was equipped with infrared equipment, they would not be able to hide even in the thick jungle growth. Their heat signatures would give them away.

"The local government has been buying surplus US equipment. What do you think the chances are that infrared equipment was included? I don't think we'll gain anything by waiting to find out," Crane replied. He didn't wait for an answer, but instead picked up the body and started forward again. Cruz understood. If they were sighted then so be it; they couldn't do anything about it, so they might as well make progress toward the extraction point. The sound of the advancing helicopter followed them.

Chapter 8

COB Francis Sharkey almost dropped the manual he had been reading when the radio signal shrilled through the flying sub. He heard Kowalski snicker, and glared at the rating who looked away with a smirk. Sharkey put the manual aside and brought the systems off standby. The signal meant it was time to go get the skipper and the army men that were helping him. Sharkey hadn't quite figured out why the skipper couldn't just use crewmen from the boat, since he had done so before, but it seemed like the brass hadn't given him much of a choice. That was the trouble with brass. Sometimes they didn't know what was the best way to get something done. Also, they didn't understand that the skipper needed someone to watch his back.

He brought the little submarine off the bottom of the lake and slowly brought it to a depth where they could run up the periscope and survey the edge of the lake. He checked the clock. There was supposed to be a light signal exactly three minutes after the radio signal. He watched the screen, and saw the three flashes. With that he surfaced the small vessel and headed it in to the shore. He had Kowalski keep an eye on the monitors and when the rating gave a grunt he looked his way. The rating was frowning.

"What is it, Ski?" the chief asked.

"There's not enough of them, Chief. I only count five bodies out there, live ones that is," Kowalski said and pointed at the infrared screen. A quick glance showed Sharkey what the rating meant. Only five heat signatures could be seen. There should have been seven. Damn. The chief shook off the sinking feeling in his stomach and brought the craft to the shore. He was out of the pilot seat almost instantly, heading toward the hatch. They were only supposed to be there just as long as it took to take the people aboard. If someone was missing…

He swung open the hatch and looked out to find himself nearly face to face with a very tall man in black fatigues wearing blackout paint. He looked him up and down. "I expect you're Tom Thumb?" he asked sarcastically, using the code phrase he had been given. Like there were going to be several parties waiting for pick up out here in the middle of nowhere. The brass again, he thought.

A white smile split the blackened face and the man nodded. "You must be the Blue Bird of Happiness," he replied with the correct phrase. Sharkey frowned and glanced around; he could not see any other people except the five they had spotted before.

"Not noticeably," he replied sourly. "Where is the sk….Commander Crane?" he asked. The man looked over his shoulder to another man, this one also in black fatigues but with no paint. He stepped forward.

"The commander didn't meet us at the rendezvous as planned. One of my men went back for him. They are both aware of your time constraint. They should be here anytime now. We should get the prisoner on board and secured. He hasn't been very cooperative." Sharkey nodded and moved out of the way, allowing the men access to the hatch. Two more men dressed in fatigues practically had to drag a third man, dressed in casual clothes, to the hatch and then into the small craft. The tall black-faced man followed them in. Sharkey looked at the prisoner with contempt.

"That this Almondez creep? The one that the skip….the commander saw order all those people killed?" he asked. The man whom he took to be the commander of the Ranger unit nodded. Sharkey snorted. "Gonna have to have the sub decontaminated after this." He looked inside at the men. "Kowalski, show them the aft equipment davit. That should hold him in place just fine," he ordered the rating who nodded. The prisoner was swiftly placed against the rear bulkhead, his handcuffs run through a tie down davit that was there. It wasn't a comfortable position, but no one really cared. Now only Sharkey and the one Ranger remained lakeside. The Ranger, who appeared to be in charge, turned and scanned the trees, but seeing nothing, he turned to Sharkey.

"What exactly are your orders about waiting?" he asked. Sharkey grimaced. Mr. Morton had been as concise as usual regarding exactly what Sharkey was and was not to do.

"I was told to wait for your signal and surface once we got the three flashes. We were to take you aboard and then return to the Seaview immediately," he said. Tobin shook his head.

"I'm not leaving my man or the commander here. So what are our options, uh….." he was looking to see if there was any insignia on Sharkey's flight jacket, but seemed stymied.

"Sharkey. I'm the Chief of the Boat, Senior Chief Petty Officer that is," he replied, and put up a hand to rub the back of his head. He was in something of a pickle here. Mr. Morton had said nothing about waiting around, and in fact had said that they were to get their sixes back to the Seaview ASAP. But Sharkey knew that if he came back without the skipper there would be hell to pay, especially if the admiral was back. Not that Mr. Morton would be too happy about it either.

"We can't leave him out there, Chief. We gotta wait," Kowalski said from the hatch where he had been listening. He, at least, was not prepared to leave the skipper out in the jungle, especially THIS jungle, after the stories he had heard. Rumors had circulated around the boat after the young captain had come back after the last mission there, sick in both body and spirit. Kowalski wasn't about to leave the man he had come to genuinely like and honor behind. Sharkey turned and scowled at the rating. They were not a Navy boat, so discipline wasn't strictly enforced; ratings could, and often did, give their unsolicited opinions to superiors, but he didn't think that they needed to be making that point in front of some strange Army officer.

"Get back in there and listen for the radio," he growled. He looked out over the dark mass of vegetation. There wasn't anything they could do about going in after the skipper. He would have to come to them. The question was, when that would be? He looked at Tobin. "When is your man supposed to be here, sir?" he asked. Tobin undid the black strap over his watch and looked at the time in the red light from the hatch. He scowled.

"Five minutes," he said. " I gave him time to get there, find Crane, and get back. Of course that assumes that both are mobile and there was no trouble getting away from the facility."

Sharkey sighed. "That doesn't always work with the commander," he said finally, adding to himself mentally, "If there's trouble, he'll be in it up to his eyebrows." He wasn't about to say such a thing out loud to a stranger, however. He considered for another moment. There was a good argument for at least waiting the additional five minutes, and then they would see. The exec did say as soon 'as possible' after all. He opened his mouth to tell the officer his decision when the formerly quiet night was shattered by the sound of machine gunfire in the distance. Both men instinctively ducked down Even though the sound had to be more than a mile off.

Schultz had popped his head out the hatch at the sound. "Damn!" he said. "That's a Manlicher 50. They're helicopter mounted. Wasn't supposed to be any gun ships here, were there, Cap?" he asked. Tobin, crouched down and scanning the sky, shook his head.

"No, but the local government is firmly in Almondez's pocket. If someone from the facility called them they might have sent a chopper to check it out, maybe more than one. We're too exposed here," he said to Sharkey who was crouched beside him, "and this isn't exactly an unidentifiable boat you've got here." The chief nodded and with a last reluctant look at the jungle, headed toward the hatch.

"We can go out and wait at periscope depth. The helicopter won't see us; and if we see your man or the commander , we can surface and they can swim out and come up through the dive hatch," Sharkey suggested, not really wanting to leave, but knowing they were a sitting duck there on the shore. It was the best solution he could come up with. Of course, with only five minutes to go and the ominous sound of gunfire, he wasn't sure that they would be seeing anyone. The Army officer nodded, and got in. With one last look around Sharkey followed and pulled the hatch closed. In moments the small vessel had retreated into the lake and was again out of sight.

Chapter 9

Cruz cursed in Spanish as he felt a bullet plow into his thigh. He went tumbling, scraping his chin on a root. He heard the bullets continuing to hit around him, and he growled in frustration. He heard the heavy breathing of Crane not far from him. They had been running hard for the last five minutes, and he had almost hoped that the helicopter would miss them in its pass but couldn't be that lucky. Crane was having the worst of it, carrying the body of the girl, but the Navy officer had refused to leave her. He had her now over his shoulder, in a modified fireman's carry, and Cruz had to admit it had not slowed the man down and he'd let it go. Now, though, they were going to have an issue.

Cruz tried to move his leg. Agony shot through his whole body. It hadn't hit the bone, but then it didn't have to hit bone to cause enough damage to be crippling. He cursed again, and jerked in surprise as Crane came up beside him. He had put down the girl, and he took in the wound with one glance. He already had a field dressing in his hand and he quickly placed the pad on the wound and wrapped it with bandages. It wasn't a pretty job, but it was efficient and fast. He looked up, searching for the helicopter that had evidently gone around in a wide sweeping turn, not expecting them to have stopped. Once they came around again there would be more bullets. They could not stay here. Cruz saw Crane glance at the blanket wrapped body of the girl and give a little shake of the head. Without a word, the Naval officer grabbed Cruz's arm and started to drag him into an upright position. They both could hear the helicopter coming around again. They started up the path, moving as quickly as three good legs could go.

Cruz gritted his teeth to keep the moan of pain that he felt building from coming out. They had survived the next pass from the helicopter, but he had a suspicion that once they got to the lake they were going to be out of luck anyway. It wasn't like their transport was going to wait around while a gunship shot them full of holes. That is, if they had even waited to begin with. Cruz had lost track of the time, and as far as he knew they were past the pickup time and had been abandoned to their fate. He knew that his team would come back for him when they had completed their primary mission, if and when they were allowed to do so by the brass, it was the Ranger way, but it wouldn't do him much good if he was dead when they got here.

The helicopter noise was becoming louder and louder, and Cruz knew that the machine was bearing down on them again. Suddenly the firing picked up again, and he could hear the bullets heading in their direction as they kicked up dirt and debris. The gunner was playing with them, damn him. All of a sudden, the awkward three-legged creature that they were was falling forward, and Cruz was barley able to break his own fall. He thought he heard Crane grunt, but in the noise of the machine gun he couldn't be sure. The quick move had saved them from that pass, and Crane was back on his feet again immediately, though he seemed to sway a little as he stood over Cruz. He seemed to be trying to spot the helicopter and also place them in relation to the lake.

He reached down with his left hand and Cruz grabbed it and pulled himself up, surprised again at the strength in the slim body. They started moving again as they had another slight reprieve. The men in the helicopter knew they had nowhere to run and were continuing to attack at their leisure. Maybe they planned to pin them at the lake and take them prisoner, maybe they were just sadistic bastards, Cruz thought, it really didn't matter. Their progress was slower now, and looking at Crane, Cruz could see the sweat streaming down the other man's face and his breath was coming hard and fast. Evidently the commander was getting near the end of his strength. The sergeant had to hand it to him though. The man didn't stop or say a word. He was focused on the path ahead of them. Looking in the same direction, Cruz saw moonlight glinting on water. They were at the lake.

Crane brought the two of them to a halt at the edge of the jungle, and they could clearly see the helicopter making a lazy turn out over the water. Cruz grimaced to himself. There didn't seem to be too many options. They could stand there and get shot, or they could surrender, if that was even offered. They might….. He broke off as the night was suddenly turned to almost daylight by a flash from the direction from which they had come. Seconds later the sound rolled across them, followed closely by the blast wave, recognizable even at this distance. Cruz almost smiled as he watched the helicopter shudder and swing wildly for a moment. No doubt the flash in their night vision goggles blinded the pilots. The surprise of the explosion probably threw them for a loop, too. Beside him Cruz heard Crane sigh. It sounded satisfied. He looked at the commander.

"Looks like you got your part done, sir" he said. Crane simply nodded, and watched the helicopter as the pilots sorted themselves out and started back across the lake toward them.

"I don't think it's going to do us much good," Crane observed wryly, "I think they might be pissed off." The gunner had started firing already and a tracing of bullets was coming toward them across the water. The bullets kicked up a showering path of silver. There wasn't really any reason to run; they couldn't hide, and running would only slow down the process.

Cruz swore as another flash cut through the night; this one was almost directly in front of them. A blade of red light seemed to shoot out of the water and hit the helicopter. For a moment the machine seemed to become encased in the red light. A millisecond later the helicopter dissolved into a ball of fire, and the red light was gone. Cruz could only gape at the space where the helicopter had been. Beside him he felt Crane sigh again, though this time it had the sound of relief. He looked at the commander.

"What the hell…" he started only to break off as Crane smiled at him, a great big grin as a matter of fact. The commander lowered him to the ground slowly, grunting with the effort. He stood looking out over the water as if he expected something to be there. He seemed to Cruz to be swaying slightly. He patted Cruz's shoulder.

"Looks like we're gonna get that ride home after all," he said. Suddenly he took a step to the side, as if catching himself from falling. Cruz reached out for him, grabbing at his arm from where he sat. The extra help seemed to keep the other man on his feet, though now the swaying was more evident.

"Commander, are you all right?" he asked. Crane just nodded his head and kept looking out over the water. Cruz looked in the same direction and saw what it was that had the commander's attention. A strangely shaped craft was rising up out of the water and coming toward the shore. As they watched, it nudged against the shoreline, and a hatch opened in the side. A man dressed in what looked like a jumpsuit and leather jacket jumped out and started for them. Cruz recognized the second figure out as Schultz. No one else was that tall, skinny, and likely to be wearing black fatigues in this area. In seconds Schultz was bending over Cruz, gently teasing him and helping him up.

As he got to his feet with Schultz's help, Cruz noticed that the other man had gone to Crane and was standing at his side, talking to him in a low voice. Crane was shaking his head at something the man was saying. The other man said something else and Crane shrugged. The simple act seemed to upset his balance and he staggered slightly. The other man reached out and took the commander's arm. Crane seemed to argue quietly for a moment, but then he accepted the other man's help to the small vessel. Another strange man was poking his head out the hatch, and he broke into a wide grin when he saw Crane.

"Good to see you, sir. We were afraid there for a minute. Good thing that helicopter blew up like that. Must not been doing the maintenance on it or something," he said cheerily, only to become serious when he saw how much Crane was leaning on Kowalski. He moved back out of the hatch, allowing the four men to get aboard. He closed up the hatch and hurried to help Kowalski lower the commander into one of the chairs. The commander was trying to wave off the two men, and finally had to order the man he called Sharkey to get underway, Cruz noted.

In a surprisingly smooth manner, the small craft accelerated quickly on the top of the water and finally launched itself into the sky. All of the Rangers found themselves staring out the large windows. A boat that flew. What would they think of next? Le Bond, who had been concentrating on stopping the bleeding from Cruz's leg wound, was expounding on the other things that Admiral Nelson had created besides the flying submarine that they were in, and the Seaview where they were going.

Tobin, after making sure that Cruz was in good hands with Le Bond, and after checking on Timmons who was seated on the deck next to their still bound, blindfolded and gagged prisoner wandered over to where Crane was sitting. Kowalski was crouched beside the chair talking to Crane in a low voice, but he stopped when Tobin approached. Crane glanced over at Tobin and then leant forward to push a series of buttons. A small pair of what looked like binoculars on a swing arm that had been hanging down near the bulkhead swung up and into a compartment that sealed behind it. Crane shot a glance at Sharkey who was piloting.

"Need to keep the equipment properly stowed, Chief. You know the regulations about that kind of thing. You could get into big trouble should something happen. By rights, you should log that the unit was not properly stowed after your maintenance check but I expect we can let that go this once." he said. Sharkey shot him a grin and nodded.

"Thank you, sir," the chief said cheerfully. Tobin, knowing what had happened when Sharkey had looked through those 'binoculars' earlier, and surmising that certain regulations might have been, if not broken, at least badly bent, decided to ignore their words. He noticed that Crane moved stiffly, not moving his right shoulder at all. In the lights of the cabin, he could see that there was a field dressing being held in place against Crane's right shoulder by the strap of his pack. As he watched, Kowalski helped Crane take off the pack, allowing the commander to sit all the way back in the chair with a sigh. He then leaned forward slightly as Kowalski bound the dressing in place with bandages.

"Sergeant Le Bond can take a look at that for you, Commander. He's a fully qualified field medic," he offered, starting to turn to call Le Bond. He saw the second man, the one Sharkey had referred to as Kowalski, bristle with indignation, but a quick gesture from Crane stopped whatever the man was going to say.

"Kowalski is a field medic too, Captain. He's qualified to take care of most things, but it's nothing that won't wait until we meet up with the Seaview." He looked at Kowalski who was scowling at the deck. "We're only ten minutes out," Crane said in an almost persuasive tone. "You wouldn't hardly even get me out of my gear, and then I'd still have to go to sick bay." Kowalski looked back at him with patent disapproval, but he held his tongue in front of the Army captain. He cast a nasty look at the Rangers as if he blamed them for Crane returning wounded.

Tobin shrugged. He couldn't blame Crane for not wanting to strip out of his gear and fatigues in the rather crowded space of the small craft. Even Cruz was getting his leg taken care of with the minimum requirements pending their reaching the submarine and a real doctor. He also couldn't force the man; in fact, as he watched Kowalski settle himself against the bulkhead and saw the manner in which Sharkey kept glancing at the commander and then the Rangers, he was beginning to wonder if they would even let him near the man. There was an undercurrent here that he could not quite grasp. He retreated to the rear of the vessel and sat down on the deck near Cruz and Le Bond. The medic looked over at him.

"Looks like a clean wound, Cap. The doctor on board the Seaview should be able to remove the bullet, clean the wound, and give him the necessary antibiotics. I have given him a little painkiller to take the edge off. Do I need to look at the commander too? He's looking a little pale, and he's moving funny." Leave it to the Doc to notice even when he was busy with Cruz. Tobin shook his head.

"He says he'll wait until he's aboard." He looked at Cruz who was lying on the small bunk with his eyes closed. "You feel up to telling me a little of what went on?" he asked. There would be official and not so official debriefs later, but he wanted to know what had happened before that. Cruz rolled his head to the side and looked at Tobin, then across the vessel at Crane. He nodded and started to give a quick synopsis of what he had found when he went back to the facility.

Less than fifteen minutes later they were all sitting still while Sharkey maneuvered the small vessel into its berth. Le Bond was describing to them in a low voice how the smaller submarine was carried in the nose of the larger Seaview. There were a few clunks and a shudder and Sharkey began flipping off switches. Kowalski bolted up off the deck near Crane and pulled down the ladder leading to the hatch on the overhead. The handle on the hatch was spinning before he could start up the ladder. None of the other occupants moved since they had been informed via radio when they contacted the submarine for docking clearance that they would be quarantined pending a brief examination by the CMO. As soon as the hatch was opened a voice could be heard.

"Doc's coming down, clear the companionway." Kowalski instantly jumped down, and a thin balding man came down the ladder holding a doctor's bag. Two more men came behind him with a folding stretcher. He seemed to be focused on Crane, but the commander waved him off toward the bunk.

"He took a bullet in the leg, Jamie. Sergeant Le Bond got the bleeding stopped, but I think you're going to have some work to do there. None of us were exposed to any biological or chemical products, so I don't think that quarantine will be necessary." The doctor threw him a disgusted look and headed for Cruz. He was just leaning over to take a look when he saw Crane get up and start toward the ladder.

"And where are you going?" the doctor asked in a chastising voice. Hearing the tone, Tobin and the others looked at each other. Tobin noticed that Kowalski and Sharkey had moved back out of the doctor's way and were looking from one man to the other with something that could be called anticipation.

"I have to report to the admiral," Crane replied, stopping at the base of the ladder. It would have taken a blind man to not see the pale skin and the slight sway that only stopped when he reached out a seemingly casual hand and put it on the rail of the ladder. Only someone who was looking would have seen how much of his weight the ladder was supporting.

"The admiral is waiting for a report, yes." The doctor started, only to raise a hand when Crane started again up the stairs. "He's waiting for MY all clear before anyone disembarks, and that includes a full medical evaluation of ALL members of the team. That includes a certain captain. Admiral's orders," the doctor almost purred the last words, and Tobin decided that they gave him a lot of satisfaction for some reason. He was wondering about the captain reference – he didn't know of any reason why a Navy admiral would particularly care about the welfare of an Army captain – as Crane grimaced and returned to the chair he had been sitting in. He muttered something under his breath and the doctor, who had been bending over Cruz, looked over his shoulder. "I heard that."

The doctor introduced himself as Will Jamieson as he removed one of the field dressings from Cruz's leg. He did some prodding at the wound, listening to Le Bond detail what he had done. He

nodded and bound the wound back up with his own supplies. He looked at the two men who had followed him down.

"Okay, John, Frank, get him loaded and take him to sickbay. Get him prepped for surgery and start a drip with the tetracycline. Go ahead and take a blood sample for testing. Since we have an open wound, I don't want to take any chances with any stray biologics. I'll be along as soon as I clear the rest and take a look at the skipper."

One of the men looked over his shoulder at the commander who was sitting in the chair, studiously ignoring what was going on behind him. "Uh, do you want us to send another stretcher party, Doc?" he asked in a low voice. There was a snort from the area of the chair. Jamieson scowled in that direction.

"No, I have a feeling that won't be necessary," he said grumpily. "WHOEVER else might have to go to sickbay will get there under their own steam." He supervised the loading of the wounded Ranger onto the stretcher. Le Bond asked if he could accompany Cruz to sick bay and maybe help with the cleaning of the wound. Jamieson grilled him about any possible exposure to any type of contaminant and cleared him to follow the stretcher team to sickbay. They had opened the second hatch, and the stretcher went through easily. He quickly cleared Schultz, Timmons, and Tobin, and looked askance at the prisoner. "What about him? I'm assuming he had more opportunity to come in contact with the products."

Tobin shrugged. "No way to tell, but he didn't strike me as being too 'hands on.' I got the feeling everything was already packed and ready to go. I'm not sure of the legalities of you taking a blood sample, in any event, without his okay. He will be in isolation, so will that be enough?

Jamieson frowned for a minute and nodded. "I'll keep an eye on him; if it's a weapon we're dealing with, then it should be genetically engineered to be a fast acting direct infection and not for person to person communicability. Will your men be caring for him or will it be our security?"

Sharkey stepped forward. "We'll be splitting the work, Doc, if it's okay with the captain here. Mr. Morton figured to have his guys trade watch and watch with our men."

Jamieson nodded. "All right. Since he won't be coming into contact with the crew in general and he will be isolated and available for observation, I'll forgo the blood test for now. You can take him out."

As it turned out the Master-at-Arms, Ned Jackson, was waiting at the lower hatch. Sharkey introduced him to Tobin and told him that they were ready to move the prisoner.

"Do you want to keep him in the dark and we drag him, or do you want to let him do it on his own?" Jackson inquired. He, Tobin, and Timmons had a quick consultation about the pros and cons of leaving Almondez blindfolded and gagged. In the end it was decided that while such constraints could be considered justified under the circumstances as they were leaving the facility, to continue to use them now would not be advisable or humane. The handcuffs would however remain. Timmons stepped over and took the blindfold off, then the gag.

Almondez looked around at them, staring at each as if to memorize their faces. Finally he spoke in Spanish. All of the Rangers knew enough to understand him his immediate complaint. "Who is in charge here? I demand to speak to the man in charge!" Tobin started to step forward when a calm voice, speaking in Spanish, answered.

"I am in charge here," Crane said and stood. He was pale and still dirty from being in the jungle, but all of the Rangers noticed that he seemed to be different, held himself differently. He even spoke with more authority.

"Very well. Then I demand to know why I have been treated in such a manner. I am a citizen of Peru, and I have been assaulted, kidnapped, and these men have murdered my bodyguards. I demand an explanation and to be released immediately." Crane shook his head.

"Are you Jorge Taliaferro Almondez?" he asked.

"Yes. And I have friends in your government, very powerful friends. This humiliation will not go unpunished!" the man threatened. Crane ignored him, and continued in a calm voice.

"Then under the authority of the World Court you are under arrest for the crimes of mass murder, the manufacturing and selling of illegal arms, and numerous violations of international sanctions and embargos. You can read the warrants later if you want details of your indictments. You will be handed over to authorities of the World Court as soon as possible. At which time you are free to contact a lawyer. Until that time you will be treated as a dangerous prisoner. You will be housed in the brig until such time as we dock in Norfolk, VA. These men," he indicated Schultz, Timmons, Jackson and an armed crewman who had come in with the master-at-arms, "will be escorting you there. They are armed and have my permission to shoot you should you attempt to escape."

"I do not recognize the authority of the World Court and neither does my country. We are not answerable to them, or to you. I will…" Crane cut him off. He walked over and crouched down so that he was on eye level with the older man. He spoke quietly, but with the same authority as before.

"YOU will do nothing except what you are told to do. If I had my way I would fire you out one of my torpedo tubes and that would be the end of it. I suggest you keep your mouth shut." He stood back up and motioned to Jamieson. "This man is a doctor. He will be observing you to make sure that you are not being affected by any of the poisons or viruses that you sell. If you have any reason to believe that you were exposed to anything then I would suggest you let us know now." There was no answer beyond a glare. He turned away and moved back to the chair where he sat down again, the energy seeming to drain out of him.

"Get him out of my sight, Jackson," he said and looked away. The handcuffs were released from the davit and reattached to Almondez's wrist. Jackson and Timmons each grabbed an elbow, and ignoring the man's continued cursing and threats, partly led and partly dragged the man out of the small craft. The armed crewman followed, as did Schultz after a nod from Tobin. Sharkey went up the steps and disappeared. Tobin assumed he was reporting to the admiral. Finally there was only Tobin, Jamieson, Kowalski, and Crane left in the small craft. Jamieson looked at Tobin and waved a hand up the ladder.

"You should go ahead up, Captain Tobin. I am sure that the Admiral is waiting impatiently for a report, and I don't think the captain here is going to be up to giving it for a while." Tobin looked at Crane.

"Captain?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "I'm sure that the general said 'commander'." Crane gave a one-shoulder shrug and a small smile.

"Navy tradition. It doesn't matter what your actual rank is when you are in command of the boat. That makes you the captain. It didn't really seem….pertinent to mention it. Would knowing that I was the captain of a submarine have made you any happier about my inclusion into your unit, or made your men less suspicious?" he asked. Jamieson, who had come to stand at Crane's side, started cutting the sleeve off the fatigues. Crane frowned at him. The doctor frowned back, but continued working.

Tobin considered the question. No, it would not have particularly set anyone's mind at ease knowing that Crane was the captain of the Seaview. In fact they would have probably been even more distrustful of his skills. He shook his head. "No, I guess it wasn't pertinent, though you might have said something when Doc was going on about Nelson and all his inventions. You must know him pretty well." Jamieson snorted without looking up from where he had now cut the cloth away from the shoulder to reveal a painfully ragged looking hole in the back of the shoulder. Tobin glanced at the wound and at the hand clenched so tightly around the arm of the chair. He sensed that Crane would not appreciate any comments about the wound so he simply exchanged a glance with the doctor.

"You could say that I know him pretty well," Crane agreed with a small smile that became a grimace as Jamieson probed the wound.

"Bullet's still in there, just under the skin," Jamieson observed. "Looks like it must have been a ricochet. It's not very deep, but it tore up the muscle. It hasn't bled much. You used the strap of your pack to keep pressure on it, I'd guess?" he asked. Crane nodded. Jamieson put on a field dressing and taped it down. "All right then. Let's get you down to sickbay and I'll take it out after I deal with Sergeant Cruz's leg. You'll need a course of antibiotic too. There are too many nasty little things in the air around there for comfort when open wounds are involved. I don't imagine that I could persuade you to take the easy route," he asked with a nod at the lower hatch. Crane shook his head. Jamieson rolled his eyes

"Fine," Jamieson said with exasperation. "You have ten minutes to report to Sickbay. After that I send out the stretcher crew with restraint straps and orders to use them. Is that clear?" Crane nodded. Jamieson turned and started toward the lower hatch. Tobin noticed he seemed to cast a significant glance at Kowalski who was still waiting at the base of the ladder. The man cast a quick glance at Crane, who didn't seem to notice the byplay, and nodded to the doctor. Jamieson disappeared out the rear hatch.

Crane got to his feet and started for the stairs. He motioned for Tobin to precede him up the ladder, which the Ranger captain did. Tobin climbed up, not sure exactly what he was going to see. He had seen the Seaview from the outside, a huge silver shape with lights streaming from the seemingly impossible windows. Now he was interested to see the inside. He came out of the hatch facing the windows, and could see the water lit by outside lights. Fish swam by, seemingly unconcerned by the presence of this great intruder in their area. It was like being on the outside of a very large aquarium. He dragged his eyes away from the windows and turned to survey the control room. At least that was familiar to him from previous visits aboard submarines, but it was larger than those he had been in. It gave him a feeling for just how large this boat was compared to the Navy vessels he was used to.

Men worked at stations along the sides of the compartment and a square table was situated at the front of the room. A blond man wearing a khaki uniform was leaning over the table writing something on a clipboard. At the sound of Tobin coming up the ladder, the man looked around. He spoke to another man in khaki and then put down his pencil and started forward. Tobin noticed that while the light blue eyes raked him in from head to toe, they quickly left him and focused on the hatch, waiting. As Crane came slowly up the ladder, the Ranger saw relief flash in those eyes. The look was gone in an instant, and the blond man turned back towards the control room.

"Captain on the bridge," he announced, and Tobin noted that several heads turned their way. The heads quickly turned back to their work, but Tobin saw the relieved smiles before they did. The blond man turned back and came forward, offering a hand to Tobin. "Chip Morton, executive officer of the Seaview. You must be Captain Tobin?" he asked. Tobin nodded, but saw that Morton's eyes had left him and were now locked on the man straightening up behind him. He saw concern fill the blue eyes as he took in Crane's condition.

"Damn it, Lee. Just once…" He heard Morton whisper as the eyes became expressionless and the face calm. The officer cast a quick glance at Tobin, as if suddenly aware that the Ranger captain might have heard, but Tobin gave him a bland look to equal his own. Morton stepped forward and reached for Crane's arm, giving him support toward a table that was situated before the large windows. Tobin noticed he whispered something to Crane who threw him a look and muttered something in return that made the blond man smile and laugh. Crane waved a hand at Tobin indicating that he should join them. Before he could take a seat, both of the navy officers turned and looked toward the strange spiral staircase that evidently led to the upper deck. Crane struggled back to his feet, with Morton giving him a boost. Tobin looked as well, and watched as a short, solidly built man with red hair and bright blue eyes came down the stairs. He didn't need the flash of stars on the man's collar to know that this was Admiral Harriman Nelson.

There was forcefulness about him, a sense of power that totally belied his stature. He appeared to be in his early to middle sixties, but he moved like a much younger man, evidently still vital despite his retirement from the Navy. Tobin had, of course, heard of the man, as he had heard of the Seaview, but his focus had been on other things in the last few years and he knew only the few things that he had read or heard on the news. To meet the man in person would be interesting to say the least. He came to attention and saluting, noting that Crane and Morton also shifted stance. The admiral returned his salute but did not halt his progression to Crane's side.

"At ease," he said. "Sit down, Lee. You look like hell; how did you convince Jaime to let you go?" He stood looking down at the much younger man, and Tobin could see concern in the admiral's eyes. He laid a hand on Crane's uninjured shoulder. Crane looked up at the older man and smiled. There was an apology in his eyes, and he shrugged a little. The two seemed to exchange thoughts wordlessly. Finally the admiral spoke.

"It's good to have you back, lad," the admiral said softly, and Tobin could hear the happiness in the deep voice. There was evidently more to the relationship between these two than employer and employee. Of course, that made it all the more puzzling as to why the admiral allowed his captain to take on assignments like the one they had just completed. It didn't make much sense to Tobin. His mind was drawn back to his surroundings as he heard Nelson speak again.

"I'm glad to see you, but shouldn't you be in sickbay? I would have thought Jamie would have insisted on it." Crane frowned and looked at the clock mounted on the bulkhead.

"I have another five minutes then he'll send a stretcher team out for me with restraints. I think he just wanted to get a head start on Sergeant Cruz's leg before he had to deal with me," the captain said with a sigh. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying a little when he made it. Nelson grabbed his good arm and held on until the younger man found his balance.

"You'd better get on the way then. I don't feel that seeing their captain hauled off in restraints would be good for crew morale," Nelson kidded gently. Crane nodded and started aft only to stop and give Tobin a small smile.

"I've been negligent in my duties, Captain. Welcome aboard the Seaview. Admiral Harriman Nelson, Lt Commander Chip Morton, may I present Captain Tobin. He's in charge of the Ranger Unit. Captain, Chief Sharkey will get you and your men settled in the guest quarters and work out a rotation on the guard duty. Mr. Morton, our XO, can give you a timetable for when we'll be in Norfolk. If you have any questions just ask him or Sharkey." He started aft again, pausing to speak with several of the men on duty as he passed through the room. Tobin heard Morton give an exasperated sigh.

"Lee!" he said, just loudly enough to be heard by the commander, who smiled and started for the aft hatch again.

"Kowalski," the executive officer said to the seaman who had been hovering nearby, "see that the captain makes it down to sickbay on time and in one piece." The man nodded and went after the captain, arriving at his side just in time to take his arm as he swayed again. There was a brief exchange of words between the two, and Crane threw a nasty look back at Morton who smiled at him and waved. The two men passed out of sight, and the three remaining officers settled around the table. Nelson sat back in his chair and lit a cigarette. He blew out a cloud of smoke and looked at Tobin.

"Well, Captain, would I be correct in assuming that your mission was a complete success since you have returned with Mr. Almondez as a prisoner?" he asked, pinning Tobin with sharp eyes. Tobin could almost hear the challenge in the question. Something told him that Crane hadn't been the only one surprised at the orders they had been given.

"If you mean was the facility destroyed and will they believe that Almondez was in it? Yes to the first part, and we believe so for the second. Until we get some intel out of the area we won't know who, if anyone, survived the blast. If there were no survivors we're gold; if someone survived, they may mention seeing Almondez moving around with his bodyguards, but once no one shows up there shouldn't be a problem. We were not compromised until the end when the local army helicopter showed up. They only saw Crane and Cruz from a distance and with night vision glasses, even if they radioed back to their base before they were destroyed, there was no chance of any identification."

"Yes, about that, Captain. Chief Sharkey mentioned an apparent 'accident'. Do you have any idea what might have caused the helicopter to explode at such a fortuitous time?" Nelson asked.

Tobin kept his face straight and shook his head. "I really couldn't say, sir. We were already aboard the FS1. Chief Sharkey was keeping us at depth and out sight. I questioned my man Cruz, but he didn't know what caused the helicopter to explode. I understand that it happened right after the blast; maybe the pilot was blinded by the flash and lost control. The tail rotor could have struck some tree or something," he offered. He saw Morton shoot him an amused gaze, and Nelson gave a slow nod of his head.

"Hmmm," he said and exchanged looks with Morton , who shrugged. "Very well. We'll mark it down as 'destroyed due to an unknown cause'. There are certainly more important things to worry about. Sharkey reported that the explosion was massive. I was just on the radio to ONI; their satellites report a very nice crater where the facility used to be. We've alerted agents in the towns in the area and they will be taking air samples over the next week to be sure that there is no fallout. Given the intensity of the explosion, there should be nothing to report. But it pays to be cautious." Nelson took another drag on his cigarette.

"We're currently en route to Norfolk, as you know. We'll be there in just under twenty hours, which will be convenient since they want us to dock under the cover of night. The transfer will take place immediately, and you and your men will be returned to your base from there. Seaview will be gone by morning. As the captain said, Chief Sharkey has arranged for your men to stand alternate shifts at guard on the prisoner; that is, if you agree. You are certainly not obligated to do so."

"On the contrary, Admiral. I consider Almondez our responsibility until he is handed over to the people in Norfolk. Until that time, I would appreciate the opportunity to stay involved, even if it is only guard duty."

Nelson nodded his understanding. "Very well. Sharkey will let you know the rotation. I'll have him show you to your cabin, and you can clean up. If you want, there is always coffee and tea in the mess, and usually some sort of snack food though if you or your unit would like a meal that can also be arranged. Boat rules are posted in each cabin. We will, of course, expect you and your men to comply with those rules. There are areas that are off limits. They are clearly marked as such. If you have any questions, anyone on board will help you or will direct you to someone who can."

Tobin nodded. "Thank you, sir. We will follow all of your rules, of course. My men are familiar with submarine protocols to some degree though we have, of course, not been on anything like your boat. I think right now all we'd like is a shower and a soft place to lie down. If your men can handle the first couple of shifts at guard, that would great."

Morton nodded. "I'll talk to Sharkey. We usually run four-hour shifts on guard duty. If you want, we can simply let your men take the last three shifts." Tobin nodded in agreement.

Nelson sat forward in his chair. "If you feel up to it, Captain, before you retire I would like a report on your mission. Do you feel up to giving me a brief rundown of what went on?"

"I'd be happy to, sir. From the looks of that wound, I don't imagine Commander Crane will be able to give you much of a report tonight, and I know you must have questions," Tobin replied. He was puzzled by the amused look that passed between the admiral and Morton. Morton laughed a little.

"You didn't get to know him very well, did you, Captain?" he said, and then he sobered for a moment. "And by the way, it's Captain Crane while you are on the boat." He emphasized the rank.

"Chip," Nelson said in a gently chiding tone. "The captain can not be expected to be aware of Navy command protocol. We, as well as the crew, can make allowances and not stand on formalities. Lee's dignity can take it I'm sure." He smiled at Tobin. "As to not being able to get a report from Captain Crane, I would say that I should have one within the next few hours at the latest. The captain tends to be….difficult when it comes to sickbay stays. At the very least he will insist on giving me his report before he goes to sleep." It was said with a quiet, familiar exasperation. Then he returned to his regular tone. "I simply would like to hear your report as well. Different perspectives of the same events can give one a better view of what went on. I don't need all the details, just enough to keep the various agencies satisfied until your written reports can be submitted."

"I understand, sir," Tobin said, secretly amused at the dynamics he was just now beginning to see on this unusual submarine. "If you wouldn't mind, I would like to get my unit settled and check in on my man in sickbay before I do that. It shouldn't take long."

"By all means. Sharkey has probably already showed your men to the guest cabins. I'll be going to sickbay myself, and I'll escort you there. Which cabin have you assigned to the captain, Chip?" he asked.

"The captain and one of his men are in guest cabin C. His two other men will be in cabin B. I expect your fifth man will be in sickbay until we dock so that should work out," Morton replied, getting to his feet. He looked at Nelson. "Uh, sir….." he started hesitantly

"Come along with us, Chip. I know you are off duty and want to see about Lee," the admiral said preemptively. The three men went through the boat to the sickbay, with both Morton and the admiral pointing out various areas as they passed.

Tobin was amazed at the size of the corridors and the compartments he could see. Compared to even the largest nuclear sub he had been on, this boat was huge. The lights of the submarine were dimmed in simulated night, but there were still quite a few men, dressed in the same type of jumpsuit as Kowalski had worn, moving about. They all looked with curiosity at the Ranger captain in his black fatigues, but they moved on quickly once they caught Morton's eye. Obviously, while the boat wasn't Navy, there was a degree of discipline.

They soon reached their goal, and almost as soon as they approached the closed door they could hear two loud voices, one of which Tobin recognized as Crane's. Nelson and Morton exchanged another amused look. Nelson opened the door, and they stepped into what appeared to be the examination and recovery room of the Sickbay. Crane was sitting on an examination table wearing only his fatigue pants and Jamieson was behind him, dressed in surgical scrubs, and scowling at the young man. Both ignored the men who had just entered and continued their conversation.

"You said it was a shallow wound. Just use a local to take out the bullet and give me a shot of the antibiotics. John or Frank could do it while you're working on Cruz," Crane said, looking back over his shoulder at the doctor. Jamieson shook his head emphatically.

"You don't react well to locals. In fact, you don't react well to anesthetics period. But at least with a general I can control the circumstances a little better. Now, I have surgery to perform on Sergeant Cruz, and I don't feel like wondering if you're going to be doing a tour of your boat while I'm at it. I want you to remain here and I'll have John clean the wound and give you a shot of antibiotics. It shouldn't take more than half an hour for the sergeant and then I can take care of you. And yes, before you ask, you WILL be in Sickbay for the rest of the night," the doctor said firmly. Tobin glanced at Nelson and Morton, who had taken up positions along the wall as if content to wait for the conversation to end.

"It's a minor operation Jamie, you said so yourself. You just have to split the skin and remove the bullet. Surely you have something you can use to just deaden the area. That way you wouldn't need observation afterward, and I could return to my cabin. I have a report to write," Crane argued back.

"Not tonight you don't," Jamieson growled. Crane gave him a disgusted look, and Jamieson looked at Nelson. Obviously, he had noticed their entrance despite his focus on the argument.

"Admiral, is there any reason that you can think of that Captain Crane's report cannot be done in the morning?" he asked.

Nelson leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. He appeared to consider the question deeply for a moment and then shook his head. "I don't believe that there is any reason that the report could not be done in the morning. In fact, I insist on it. You, Captain, are to do what Jamie says." He raised a hand as Crane started to protest. "That is an order, Captain," he added firmly.

Crane frowned, and appeared to be ready to protest until he looked at Tobin, evidently he decided against it as he said, "Fine," and shifted around to lay face down on the exam table. He put his head on his arms and glared at the three men standing against the wall. "I'll remember this, sir," he threatened finally.

Tobin saw a grin break out on Nelson's face and a similar one on Morton's. Evidently this was not an uncommon occurrence here. Argument evidently settled, Morton stepped forward and patted Crane's good arm, smiling at the corpsman who came toward the table with a tray. Morton dragged over a chair and sat down so that he and Crane were almost eye-to-eye and they started talking in low voices. Tobin thought he heard something about 'ship's status', but nothing more.

Jamieson, evidently satisfied with his victory, nodded and stepped away from the table to come stand near Nelson and Tobin. He looked at Tobin. "I expect you want an update on your man?" he asked. Tobin nodded. "He was lucky. The bullet missed the major artery and the bone. In fact the X-ray shows that the bullet is lodged just about an inch inside the back of his thigh. We'll go in from that side to remove it and then check the wound for any contaminants. I don't foresee any complications, and he should be back on his feet in a week, though he won't be ready for the field for at least a month."

Tobin nodded, and gave a sigh of relief. "Well, we've been due some leave, so I guess we're finally going to get it. I would rather have done it some other way though. Thanks for the rundown, Doctor Jamieson. Could you let me know when he's out of surgery, and can have visitors? I'd like to sit with him for a bit, if that's okay with you?" he asked. Jamieson snorted and threw a look over his shoulder to where Crane and Morton were still talking. The corpsman had started cleaning the wound, but Crane was ignoring him and concentrating on his executive officer.

Jamieson snorted again and Nelson smiled and shook his head. "I'm afraid the good doctor is used to having a crowd in his sickbay at any given hour."

Jamieson nodded and looked over at the door to his surgery where a corpsman was hovering. He looked back at Tobin. "I'll let you know when you can come down. It will be at least six hours. It will take him a while to come out from under the anesthesia and then I want him to rest. I wouldn't really count on it until morning. We're ready now for the surgery. Your man Le Bond is going to assist me. He'll be able to give you an update after the surgery itself." With that he went into the surgery. After the door closed, Tobin turned his attention back to Nelson who was watching his two junior officers. Morton had risen to his feet and he leaned over and spoke almost in Crane's ear. Crane, not bothering to raise his head off his arms, nodded. Morton gave a gentle pat to Crane's shoulder, and with a nod to Nelson and Tobin, went out the door. From where he stood , Tobin could see that the captain was looking very tired, and the pain from the cleaning of his wound had made him pale. As he watched, the corpsman who had removed his tray came back to the side of the table.

"Do you want a painkiller, Skipper?" he asked, though not as if he expected a positive answer. "Doc said you could have some if you wanted it."

Crane shook his head. "No thanks John. I'm still trying to talk Doc into a local and I don't want to mess with the system. Thanks anyway. " He lowered his head back onto his arms then popped it back up, looking at the corpsman. "I thought you were supposed to be on leave. Something about your great aunt, wasn't it?" he asked.

John flashed him a big smile. "It's her 100th birthday tomorrow. We were all going to get together and throw her a surprise party."

"And you missed it for this? I spoke with Mr. Morton about it personally. I know you were off the duty roster. Sharkey was supposed to arrange for Ski to fill in. It was going to serve as his annual medical training," Crane protested. He sounded genuinely distressed that the crewman had missed it.

John shook his head. "Oh, I ain't missing it, Skipper. She found out about it and told everybody that Tuesday was her bingo day at the home where she stays and she wasn't going to miss the chance to win the big pot because of some party. She checked her calendar and decided that she would be available next Saturday, so that's when the party is. Since we're going into Norfolk, Mr. Morton said that I could take my leave from there and I'll only have to rent a car to get home instead of flying. I'll just take my two weeks starting from then instead." Crane nodded and lowered his head back onto his arms.

Nelson looked at Tobin. "Why don't I have John show you to your cabin, Captain? You can freshen up a little and then meet me in the Officers' Wardroom for a cup of coffee while you give me your report. I'm sure you'd like to get some sleep yourself so it won't take long. Say half an hour? John will show you the wardroom on your way to the cabin."

"That'll work for me, sir. I would like a word with Comm…" he broke off with a smile, "Captain Crane, if you don't mind." Nelson motioned him toward Crane. Tobin took the few steps forward and came around the table to where Crane could see him without having to move his head. He crouched down, disdaining the chair. He still hadn't quite gotten used to the modern conveniences of such things as yet. When you immersed yourself for a mission, it took a while to get your mind back around the 'normal' things. Crane blinked at him through sleepy looking eyes.

"I didn't get a chance to say thank you, Captain," at the man's puzzled look he clarified, "for getting Cruz back to the extraction point. He said he wouldn't have made it if you hadn't been there."

Crane shook his head. "He wouldn't have been there except for me. You sent him back for me, and he wouldn't have gotten shot if I hadn't delayed." He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head again. "It was stupid. There was nothing I could do to help her. I knew that when I found her. But I couldn't leave her there…." He trailed off. Tobin could see that he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. He suddenly seemed much younger then he had appeared in the field, and Tobin found himself wondering just what kind of man it took to become the captain of such a large boat and proficient at so many covert arts at such a young age. Either one of the two would have been enough for most men, was enough for him. But this man seemed to excel at both if his performance in the field and the response of his crew and superior were any indication. Tobin rested a hand on one of the younger man's crossed arms, and Crane blinked at him.

"All part of the service, Captain. Rangers don't leave men behind. That's our way. Since you were making sure that no one was left behind yourself, then I figure that makes you an honorary Ranger. You can hit the field with us anytime," he said. He saw gratitude in the golden colored eyes, and knew that the Naval officer had taken the gesture in the spirit in which it was offered. Tobin rose to his feet and looked at Nelson, who was smiling gently even though there was a puzzled look in his eyes.

Tobin reminded himself that no one knew what had happened there at the facility with the exception of Crane, and to some degree, Cruz. He himself had only heard Cruz's side of the story. He thought he knew what had happened, knew what HE would have done in the same situation, and did not blame Crane for his actions. The trick would be making sure that the brass didn't take the man to task for it. He would have to think about it. He would also have to feel out Nelson some more. See if he was really as fond of Crane as it appeared. If that were the case, it might be a whole lot easier to make sure that the right spin was put on everything. He looked at the corpsman.

"I'm ready to go when you are," he said. John cast a glance at Crane who was now breathing evenly and looked to be asleep. He looked back at Nelson, a question in his eyes.

Nelson nodded. "I'll stay with him, John. Be sure to show the captain how to find the wardroom as well. I'll call you if there is any change in the captain's condition," he assured the man. John led the way out of the room, and Tobin started to follow only to find his progress stopped by Nelson's hand on his arm. He looked at the senior officer in puzzlement. "Thank you, Captain, you and your men, for bringing him back," he said with a nod at Crane. Tobin could not doubt the sincerity of the thanks. He smiled and nodded, and continued out of the room. Looking back, Tobin saw Nelson sitting down in the chair at Crane's side. As the door started to close, he saw the admiral place his hand on Crane's arm and leave it there, as if to let him know that he was not alone even as he slept. He thoughtfully followed the corpsman down the corridor. Definitely not your normal submarine.

Chapter 10

Nelson watched as the Army officer followed John out of the room. He moved over to sit down in the chair that Chip had moved next to the exam table. He could tell by the even breathing that Crane had finally succumbed to sleep. He was glad to see it, and knew that Jamieson would be as well. A sleeping Crane was a much better patient than a bored and restless Crane who might decide he didn't need to wait any longer. He reached out and gently put his hand on the arm nearest him, leaving it there. Morton had told him about the disturbed sleep that had haunted the young captain after his last mission in this area. Just in case the same demons tried to visit again, he wanted Crane's subconscious at least to know he wasn't alone.

As he sat and listened to the quiet breathing, he pondered what he had heard. He knew that Crane and one of the Rangers had been late getting to the extraction point. He also knew that Morton was planning on speaking to Sharkey regarding certain unambiguous orders that he had been given regarding the pick-up. Of course, given the choice between having Sharkey follow orders and leaving Crane behind, Nelson knew he would have done the same, at the very least, and so would Chip. The question that now came to his mind was why were Crane and the Ranger late? It seemed inefficient to split the team in such a way, and Tobin had not struck him as inefficient, either in reading his file, or in person.

From what had been said here minutes ago, the Ranger had actually gone BACK to the facility to find Crane, who had evidently not been where he was supposed to be. Knowing Crane as he did, and knowing his Modus Operandi when in the field, especially when working with others, Nelson found it hard to believe that Crane would not have been wherever he was supposed to be, unless there had been something that he had not expected. That was where the rest of what had been said must come into play. Crane had said 'There was nothing I could do to help her. I knew that when I found her. But I couldn't leave her there…' Nelson knew there were no women assigned to Ranger units, and none of the ONI reports had indicated that there were any women working at the weapons production facility. That left one possibility, one he really didn't want to contemplate.

Nelson had read the files that ONI had on Almondez, along with a few from the other agencies that had been keeping an eye on the man. In each case they had made mention of Almondez's predilection for underage girls, and how more often than not they tended to not survive. The fact that the various agencies had allowed such a man to continue to prey on children had made Nelson almost physically ill, and had added to his growing ire and his determination to bring an end to the man's freedom. If there had indeed been a woman, or perhaps more correctly, a girl, at the facility, then there was a very good possibility it had been one of the poor souls that Almondez had kidnapped and ….. Nelson stopped, not wanting to contemplate the fate of any such girl.

If Lee had come upon one of Almondez's victims in the facility, even in the circumstances in which he had been operating, with unstable explosives and a time limit, he would not have been able to leave her there. It was an integral part of his makeup. He couldn't leave an innocent behind to save himself. 'There was nothing I could do to help her,' he had said. He must have found her there, abandoned to die alone, and must have taken the time to bring her out of the facility. Nelson was sure that was the reason that he had not met the Rangers at whatever place they had planned. That was the reason that one of the Rangers had gone back. Whatever had happened from there had resulted in the injuries to both men.

Nelson let his eyes rest on Crane's sleeping face. In sleep, his captain looked even younger than when awake. He had always felt that it was Lee's eyes which gave him the authority, the power, that everyone seemed to recognize, his eyes and that mysterious something that seemed to radiate from him like a radio wave from an antenna. As young as his face might be, his eyes were old. They held secrets and knowledge that no man should have at his age, perhaps at any age. Nelson had seen it the very first time he had met Lee Crane, and the knowledge there had only grown in the years since. He, better than most, knew exactly what it was that Crane had seen over the years as an agent of ONI, the depths to which a human could fall. While he might have wished to protect the younger man from those things, he knew that he couldn't, his oath and the captain's both prevented that; it was one of the few things in his life he regretted bitterly.

This mission would add another layer to that age, another wound to a spirit that seemed too strong to break, but which held the hurt inside and was forced to live with it, which Nelson felt was worse in some ways. Nelson knew he needed to get the full story of what had happened at the facility. The only way he could help Lee to deal with what had happened, to help heal the wounds inside as Jamieson would heal those outside, would be to know what he was dealing with. The problem would be getting the full story. He had little doubt that the Rangers could fill him in on what had happened from their end, the issue would be finding out what had happened to Crane inside that facility, and outside after he had gotten out. Perhaps the Ranger that had gone after him would have some insight, it was something that Nelson was going to have to wait to find out. The only men who could talk were currently either unconscious or asleep. He knew that Washington would only be concerned with the results of the mission, the fact that Almondez had been captured and the weapons destroyed. It would be left to him to deal with any possible fall out that the mission might have on Crane, but then, it always seemed to be that way.

Nelson's train of thought was interrupted as the door to the surgery opened. Jamieson came out, removing the mask from his face. He had a satisfied look in his eyes and Nelson assumed that the surgery had gone well. A quick glance at the clock showed Nelson that his thoughts had taken up most of thirty minutes. He would have to go meet Tobin soon. The doctor came to stand on the other side of the exam table and looked down at Crane.

"He fell asleep?" he asked Nelson quietly.

Nelson nodded and stood, removing his hand from Crane's arm. "Since not long after you went into surgery."

The doctor nodded. "He might not acknowledge the pain, but it takes a lot out of him. His body just seized the opportunity. I'll let him sleep a while longer before I take care of the wound. It'll be better for him."

"Is it possible to use a local? He really doesn't want to stay here tonight. I think if you can it would be better for him if he could be alone in his cabin. There were…..problems on the mission."

Jamieson cast him a sardonic look. "When are there not problems on a mission for him?" He sighed and nodded reluctantly. "I'll just have to monitor his pain levels carefully. If I could count on him not just gritting his teeth and bearing it if the local wore off it would be a lot easier. Count on him to have a strange metabolism which doesn't deal with painkillers the same as everyone else," he groused. He cast a look at Nelson who was looking at Crane again. "Anything I should know, Admiral?" he asked. He considered the mental health of the officers and crew of this boat just as much his responsibility as their physical health. The fact that his main object of concern in that area, as well as in the other, was the captain of the boat was almost a given. Lee Crane was a complicated man. He was, as he had heard Chip Morton call him on at least one occasion, high maintenance. Of course, for those that knew him, it was worth the effort, and Jamieson was proud to number himself among those that knew him well.

Nelson smiled at him knowingly, and shook his head. "All I have is supposition right now, Jamie. I'll let you know if there is anything you need to know," he promised, well aware of the doctor's dedication to the mental and physical well being of the crew and this man in particular. He glanced at the clock again. "I have a meeting in the Wardroom that should give me some answers." He looked down at Crane again. "If there's any change.."

"I'll let you know," Jamieson finished for him. He knew that Nelson would be back as soon as possible, no matter what the hour. He watched as the admiral left the room, and went to his office. John was seated at the desk, writing in the sickbay log. He looked up when the doctor came in.

"We're going to use a local on the captain, John. Why don't you set up a tray and get me a suture kit. I'll wake him up and we'll take care of the wound," Jamieson said.

John nodded and rose to his feet. "That mean the skipper won't be staying overnight?" he asked. He was not surprised at the change. As much as the doctor liked to complain about the skipper always trying to get out of sickbay when he shouldn't, he knew that Doc was always most concerned about what was best for his patient. With the skipper, that sometimes meant letting him go even though anyone else would need to stay. With the skipper around it was never boring in sickbay.

"No, as long as there are no complications I'll let him go back to his cabin. If nothing else it will make for a quiet night for our other guest. Frank and Sergeant Le Bond are getting him settled in a bunk now," Jamieson said. John nodded and went to put together the things necessary to clean and close the wound on the captain's back.

Jamieson went back into the main room and found Le Bond and Frank finishing up putting the still unconscious Cruz into a bunk. Frank was checking the IV. Le Bond looked from Jamieson to Crane.

"Are you going to operate on the commander next?" he asked. He was tired; it had been a long and very busy day, but he felt he should help out if he could. After all, the commander might not be a regular member of the team, but he was a member if only for this mission.

Jamieson shook his head. "Plans have changed, Sergeant. We'll be doing a local and suturing the wound here. Thanks for your help with Sergeant Cruz. You have a very steady hand with a suture; I can see that your team is in good hands. Frank is about to go off duty. He'll show you to your cabin." Le Bond nodded and with a final look at Cruz followed Frank out of the room.

Jamieson went to crouch down near the head of the exam table and put a hand on Crane's arm. He had learned in the past that waking Lee Crane could sometimes be a dangerous process. The man had hair trigger nerves, and if his mind were still set in mission mode, he would wake up immediately and ready to fight. Jamieson gently shook the arm he touched. "Skipper. It's time to take care of your back. Can you wake up for me?" he said in a low calm voice. He felt a shudder pass through the young captain as sleep let loose of him and the golden eyes opened to blink at him in confusion for a moment. After another couple of blinks the normal intensity was back. Jamieson smiled at him.

"Well, your plan worked, you somehow got the admiral to plead your case and we're going to do the local. IF everything goes well," he said, emphasizing the first word, "you can go back to your cabin tonight with an oral pain killer. You WILL NOT be on duty tomorrow, and I don't even want to hear about it. If you play nicely, and the wound heals well, I'll put you on light duty the day after. Is that understood?" He watched as emotions flared one after the other in those golden eyes, first relief at being able to go back to his cabin, then anger at being put on sick leave, and then an acceptance at the promise of a quick end to he what saw as the forced separation from his duty.

"I understand, Jamie," he said and then looked past the doctor to where Cruz slept in one of the bunks. "How is Sergeant Cruz?" he asked.

"He'll be fine. The operation went as planned. He'll be back on his feet in a week or so," Jamieson replied then stood as John rolled a tray up beside the table. The doctor moved around to stand beside the table and picked up the hypodermic with the local anesthetic. "All right, Captain, if you're ready, let's get you taken care of." He waited for the nod of the dark head and then began.

Chapter 11

Tobin put down the cup of coffee he held as Nelson came into the wardroom. He jumped to his feet and saluted, which Nelson returned with a smile. The admiral came and sat across from him at the table. There was no one else in the room, it being quite late. Tobin was tired, it had been a long day, and he was ready to have it over. But when an admiral wanted to hear your report, you didn't say no. He waited for Nelson to speak.

"I know that you are tired, Captain. We'll keep this as brief as possible. I'm mainly interested in the events of tonight so we'll forego any report on the previous days unless there is something pertinent that you feel should be added. Obviously, Almondez had arrived and was getting ready to take the weapons. I assume that was the main reason you chose to move at this time?" he asked.

Tobin nodded and began giving a step-by-step report of their actions that night. It took almost fifteen minutes for him to reach the point that the unit had arrived at the reservoir and the FS1 had risen to take them aboard. Nelson listened through the whole thing without interruption, nodding occasionally in evident agreement with the planning. When Tobin was finished, Nelson was looking at the table thoughtfully. He looked up and met Tobin's eyes.

"Very concise, Captain, thank you. I believe that you have covered it nicely. I have just a few questions for clarification, if you don't mind."

"Of course not, sir. Go ahead."

"When Almondez arrived, yesterday," the admiral started and then looked at the clock, "I guess it is the day before yesterday now, was he alone?"

"No, sir, his body guards were with him, and the pilot….and…" Tobin wasn't sure if he should mention the girl or not. She was dead now, and there was nothing to be done about that. But he had been asked a direct question, and it was not in him to lie to a superior officer.

"And what, Captain?" the admiral asked, his keen blue eyes locked on Tobin.

"There was a girl. I didn't see her, but the commander - the captain- did. He reported it when Almondez landed, as he was on observation duty," Tobin admitted. Nelson nodded and seemed to consider the next question.

"Did Captain Crane tell you WHY Almondez might have a young woman with him?" he finally said.

"Yes, sir," Tobin said, and pushed his coffee cup away, suddenly not able to stomach any more as he remembered the details Crane had given them. Nelson saw the reaction and nodded to himself.

"When you sent your man back to find Captain Crane, you told him not to enter the facility. Did you believe that Captain Crane had run into some difficulty on the path between the facility and your rendezvous point?" he asked.

"I wasn't sure what to think, sir. The captain told us about the instability of the explosives, and we knew that the security personnel were bound to be on edge due to the explosion of the helicopter. If he had run into some problem inside the facility there was little chance that my man would be able to help him by himself without compromising the mission. If he had simply twisted an ankle on the way to the rendezvous point that was another matter. I wasn't going to leave a man behind if I could help it. I definitely wasn't going to leave two."

Another nod. "After you were picked up by the FS1 and you went back to pick up Captain Crane and Sergeant Cruz, did you have an opportunity to speak with either one, to find out what caused the delay?" Nelson asked. He could see the reluctance to answer in Tobin's eyes, but the man was a soldier through and through, so discipline exerted itself.

"Sergeant Cruz said he found Captain Crane outside the facility, near the vent system that we used for access," Tobin started. He stopped as he saw Nelson suddenly smile and give a quick shake of his head. "Sir? Is there a problem?" he asked.

"No, Captain, just an inside joke, if you will. Please continue. Your man found Captain Crane outside the facility. Was he alone?" Nelson replied.

"No, sir. The girl was there, and she was dying. My man said there was nothing that could have been done for her. She was….." He stopped and took a deep breath, he hadn't liked it when he heard it from Cruz, and he liked it less now. "She was around 15 and to all intents and purpose she had been beaten to death. Cruz said there wasn't a part he could see that wasn't bruised. She spoke in a Portuguese dialect so she was probably Brazilian. Crane was giving her the last rites when Cruz got there. Cruz said he gave her his Saint Christopher medal and his crucifix and it seemed to comfort her in the end." He stopped and took a deep breath. Nelson's eyes were hard, and Tobin realized that the man had known about Almondez's predilection, probably from the same source as Crane. It hadn't been a shock to him, but he could see that he was just as angry as the commander had been.

"The captain refused to leave her body there. He told Cruz that she should go home too. He was carrying her when the helicopter attacked them. They ran for it, but the helicopter kept firing on them. The bastards were playing with them, Cruz said, making a run at them, then coming around at their leisure to take another. Cruz and Crane took as much advantage of it as possible and kept running. Cruz took the hit to his leg about a mile away from the extraction point. Crane left the body there and started helping Cruz. They were almost to the reservoir when Cruz thinks Crane took the hit in his shoulder."

"He doesn't know for sure?" Nelson asked, puzzled.

Tobin shook his head. "He never said anything. He just got Cruz back up on his feet and kept going." He gave a little snort. "Quite the Ranger thing to do, Admiral. I don't think my guys would have any problem working with the commander again. They were impressed with him. He's got the right stuff."

Nelson smiled. "Yes, Captain Crane is a man of many talents. He's in something of demand from several places. But I think we'll keep him here for a while, if you don't mind." He looked thoughtfully at Tobin. "Is your man pretty sure about the location where he was shot? You said it was about a mile. Were they on a path?"

"Yes, sir, Cruz was pretty sure about the distance; there's nothing like being chased to set things in your mind. The commander had made sure we were all familiar with the path. Why, sir?" the Ranger captain asked.

Nelson shook his head. "It's not important, Captain, at least not to you. I'm sure that you are ready for your bunk. I thank you for filling in some of the blanks for me. You'll be writing your full report in the morning?"

"Yes, sir. Looks like there is everything I need to write it up in the cabin. I'll print out a copy for you before I send it in to headquarters," Tobin said.

"That will be fine. Our communications officer will see that it is encrypted and sent when you are finished. You're dismissed, Captain."

Tobin rose and saluted. After pausing to orient himself outside the mess hall, he went toward the cabin he had been assigned. When he arrived, he entered to find Le Bond sitting on one of the bunks removing his boots. The Sergeant gave him a grin and waved a hand at the cabin.

"Pretty plush digs huh, Cap?" he said. "I been in smaller rooms in a hotel. And that one didn't have its own latrine."

Tobin smiled and sat down on the other bunk. It was soft, and would definitely be an improvement on the ground. "Yeah. It's pretty nice. Have you seen Timmons and Schultz?" he asked.

Le Bond dropped his second boot and swung his legs up on the bunk, laying back and giving an exaggerated sigh. He nodded. "Yeah, I checked in before I came here. I'm surprised you can't hear the snoring from here; it speaks well of the insulation in the walls.

"Bulkheads," Tobin corrected absently and began removing his own boots. He wanted to take a shower before he bedded down. Even with the time restrictions that were clearly spelled out in a small listing of regulations near the door to the head, any clean water for any length of time would be welcome. And if it was hot, all the better. Le Bond grunted in response and snuggled down in the bed, not bothering to remove any more clothes. Tobin threw a sock at him, accurately landing it on his upturned face. The younger man sat up and grabbed the offending object and held it arms length.

"And they said Almondez was growing some dangerous stuff. You got a mighty fine crop of your own going there, sir. Might I suggest burning this?"

Tobin scowled at him and went to retrieve the sock. "How are Cruz, and Crane?" Even though the Navy officer was no longer attached to the unit, he still felt somewhat responsible for the man.

Le Bond lay back down on the bunk. "Cruz came through the surgery just fine. Doc Jamieson did a real fine job getting the bullet out and closing the entry wound. He let me close the incision in the back of the thigh. He said I had a steady hand with the sutures." Tobin could hear the pride in his voice. Le Bond was a competent medic, and Tobin sometimes forgot that he was so young and that praise from an older man could mean so much.

"He hadn't started on Commander Crane when I left. He had decided to do a local and let him go tonight I guess. Not quite sure why he changed his mind."

"I think a certain admiral had something to do with that," Tobin said, remembering the hand he had seen on Crane's arm. "I don't think we're exactly in Kansas here, Toto. They aren't like a Navy boat; in fact, they aren't quite like any boat I have ever been on."

Le Bond nodded his agreement. "I kinda got the idea from listening to the doctor and Frank, his corpsman, talking during the operation. I guess the commander is in sickbay a lot. It was almost a joke, but serious, if you know what I mean. And did you get that he's captain of the boat? That's just weird. I mean I can kinda see a security officer doing this kind of thing, you know, meeting his reserve requirements and all, but the captain?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I get the feeling that Captain Crane is not your average submarine captain, just like this boat isn't your average boat." He started stripping off his uniform. "I'm gonna hit the shower and then the sack. Morning is going to come quick." He heard a faint acknowledgement from Le Bond as he stepped into the head, and suspected the younger man would be asleep before he emerged. He let the hot water beat on him for a moment and then started scrubbing away the last several days worth of dirt. That bunk was definitely going to feel good.

Chapter 12

Lee Crane felt himself floating up from the black depths of sleep, and for a moment did not know where he was. He knew he was on his boat, the throb of her engines was as familiar to him as the beat of his own heart, but he was not in his cabin. Then the events of the day flooded back into his consciousness. He was lying on the exam table in sickbay, still on his stomach. Jamieson had been working on his back with a local and he had nodded off in the process. The not unpleasant lassitude slowly faded as he lifted his head and looked around. The formerly bright lights had been dimmed, giving the compartment a shadowy look. A faint light came through the doorway leading to Jamieson's office. In that light Crane looked around the room and saw Cruz, awake in one of the bunks, looking back at him.

A quick glance at the clock on the far bulkhead showed it was after 0200; obviously he had slept through the whole process of suturing and bandaging the wound. Jamieson certainly wasn't going to wake him up to send him to his cabin. In fact he would probably be just as happy if Crane was still there in the morning. Of course, that wasn't going to happen. Crane wanted to sleep in his own bunk, in his own cabin. He suspected that now that the exhaustion was gone, his sleep would not be quite so peaceful, and he was NOT going to have another nightmare in sickbay where Cruz and whichever corpsman was on duty could see it. With practiced ease he quietly lowered the side rail that had been engaged. He then slowly swung his legs around and sat up, wincing to himself as the sutures in his shoulder pulled. The local must be wearing off. He was still wearing his fatigue pants, though someone had removed his boots. He wondered how he had slept through that. He sat for a moment on the edge of the table and let his body acclimatize itself to the upright position again. Finally, he opened his eyes and slid off the table. It felt good to stand up after being in the same position for so long, and he stretched a little, careful not to use his right arm.

Cruz had been awake for the last fifteen minutes, lying in his bunk simply enjoying the feeling of being in a soft, clean bed. His leg was a numb weight, due no doubt to the drugs that were making his world just a little on the fuzzy side. He had a vague memory of the submarine's doctor leaning over him and telling him that the surgery had gone well and he would be back on his feet in a couple of weeks. Seemed like they were going to get that leave time. He had been considering allowing the painkiller to draw him back into the warm, comfortable sleep when he had heard the commander waking up on the exam table.

Cruz wasn't quite sure why the commander was there instead of in a bunk, but he had been sleeping quietly when Cruz had come around, and until just a moment ago had been silent. He had heard a low rustling sound and had turned his head to find Crane looking in his direction. The commander had evidently decided to get up. Cruz watched as he got off the table and stretched. He seemed to be moving okay, though he wasn't moving his right arm much. Crane looked around and bent to get his boots. He looked around for a place to sit, and spotted the chair that had been set next to the bulkhead near the head of Cruz's bunk. Crane walked over and sat down. He gave Cruz a small smile.

"How are you feeling, Sergeant?" he asked, pulling socks from out of the boot. He scowled at their condition and then started to put them on.

Cruz shrugged. "I'm feeling pretty fuzzy. Can't feel my leg much at all. Your doctor has got some mighty fine stuff when it comes to the painkillers." He frowned for a moment. "I seem to remember him telling me it would be okay in a week or two, though."

Crane nodded. "He told me the same. Said the operation went well. Guess you'll be getting your leave now," he observed while pulling on the first boot. He leaned over to pull on the second and Cruz heard a grunt of pain. Looked like the commander hadn't gotten the good stuff like he did.

"You sure you're supposed to be doing that, sir?" he asked with a glance at the doorway. Crane finished tying on his boot and straightened slowly to smile at Cruz.

"Probably not, but since I'll be back in my cabin and stripped down to my skivvies before he shows up it won't matter, will it?" he said. Even in the dim light Cruz could see the mischievous twinkle in the commander's eyes. Crane got back to his feet and started to turn toward the door, but then stopped and turned back to face Cruz. He moved closer and crouched down so that he and Cruz were on eye-to-eye level.

"I didn't get a chance to thank you, for coming back for me. I really appreciate it. I know that my working with you has been problematic, and I'm sorry for that, but I sincerely am grateful for your being there."

Cruz shrugged again. "The Cap sent me back. It's him you should be thanking. I was just following orders," he said, not realizing how it sounded until a small smile grew on Crane's face. He played back what he had just said and realized how ungracious he had sounded given the thanks that the officer had just given him. He was glad that the dim light hid the flush he felt in his own face.

"I didn't mean that like it sounded, sir. I mean you were a member of our unit for this mission, and we don't leave anyone behind. I would have done the same for anyone…" he stopped, realizing that his explanation was not improving on the last statement. Crane's smile had grown to a full out grin.

"I understand what you mean, Sergeant," he said, letting Cruz off the hook. "But a man just following orders wouldn't have done what you did for Lucia. Accept my thanks for that if not for the other. I appreciate it, and I know she did as well. It meant a lot to her." He lowered his head for a moment, and Cruz knew he was remembering the last moments of the girl's life, and no doubt regretting that he had been unable to bring her body back for her family to bury.

"Her family will feel better just knowing she had last rites, sir. Even if they don't have a body, at least they will know what happened to her, and they can retrieve the body later after the furor dies down," Cruz said. He understood how the commander felt, and wanted him to know that Cruz respected what he had done. "I like to think I would have taken the time to do the same thing, sir, was it me that found her. Sometimes we forget exactly who we are doing this kind of thing for."

Crane looked back up at him and gave a small smile of thanks. "Thanks again, Sergeant, I owe you one."

"I figure we're even, what with you hauling my ass out of there, sir. I couldn't have made it alone, " Cruz said sincerely.

Crane shook his head. "Like you said, Sergeant. 'No one left behind'." He looked toward the open door. "I better get out of here before someone calls Jamie and I end up in a bunk. Good night, Sergeant."

"Night, sir," Cruz said. He watched as Crane walked soundlessly across the sickbay and went out the door after looking both ways. It was kind of funny seeing the officer sneaking around to get out of sickbay, almost like a kid not wanting to go to the doctor or something. He settled back against his pillows, shifting around until he found the most comfortable spot. He was just drifting off when he saw the corpsman come into the room. He saw the man look at he empty exam table and at the door and shake his head. He muttered something that Cruz could not make out, and after a quick look in Cruz's direction, went back in the office. Cruz let himself go then, falling back into the comforting drugged darkness of sleep.

Chapter 13-

Tobin and his unit were on the deck of the Seaview getting ready to disembark. A van was waiting dockside to take them to the airstrip where they would catch a plane back to their home base. Moments earlier another car, this one a limousine with dark windows, had left carrying Almondez and seven federal officers. That had been cause for some humor among the unit, after all, it had only taken six of them to get the man out of Peru, but evidently it required one more to get the man to a Washington, DC jail cell.

The unit members had spent the time since boarding Seaview looking around the non-classified sections of the boat, playing poker in the crews' quarters, and taking turns spending time with Cruz in the sickbay when they were not on guard duty outside the brig. Almondez had been a model prisoner, having little choice being locked in the nearly bare room and seeing no one but the guard who brought his meals. The door was never opened without two armed guards being present. Obviously the Master-at-arms was taking no chances, and Tobin could not fault him for his caution.

Their time on board had given Tobin a chance to observe the command structure of the boat in action. While the discipline was something less than what you would find in the Navy, the boat ran efficiently. The crew seemed to work together well, and it quickly became clear that they were devoted to their superior officers, especially Crane. During their time in the crews' quarters and mess, Schultz, Le Bond. and Timmons had managed to get quite a bit of information on their erstwhile companion. It seemed that it wasn't unusual for the captain of the boat to be off on some mission or the other. No details were forthcoming, but the sergeants got the definite impression that the captain was regularly enmeshed in covert activity. They had reported their findings to Tobin and Cruz when they were sharing dinner in the sickbay with the doctor's permission. None of them had been able to come up with a logical reason that a reserve submarine captain should be doing covert work, though there were several interestingly bizarre suggestions. The doctor, who had come in during their dinner, had stood listening for a moment before they realized he was there. Tobin had risen to his feet and started to apologize. It was never a good idea to appear to be discussing a superior officer, especially one who appeared to be involved in highly secretive missions. Jamieson had waved it away and smiled at them all.

"No offense taken, gentlemen. I assure you that you are not the first and will not be the last to speculate on the senior officers of this boat. Sometimes those of us who know them well ask the same question. I assure you, we sometimes receive no more acceptable an answer." He had continued through the sickbay toward his office. "If you'll excuse me, I need to finish my logs." He closed the door behind himself, leaving the unit to exchange looks. It seemed they were not to know what motivated the boat's captain to do what he did.

They had reached the area off Norfolk that afternoon and had stayed offshore until darkness had fallen. The radio had been very active with requests for information and timetables. Including one particularly memorable exchange that Tobin happened to be present for. It had been between Admiral Nelson and another admiral by the name of Yackman. It had escalated from cool politeness in the beginning to a point where both admirals were practically yelling, and had resulted in Nelson cutting Yackman off in the middle of a word. Nelson had spent the rest of the day in the nose of his magnificent submarine, staring through the bow windows and occasionally muttering to himself. Finally, with the setting of the sun, the boat had moved into the harbor and to a dimly lit docking area.

The large limo had been waiting, and federal agents had been lined up on the dock ready to board as soon as the boat had been tied up. It hadn't quite worked out that way. Crane, who had been maneuvering the boat from the tall sail, had sent the Master-at-Arms and several of his men to the side of the sub and when the gangplank was swung out, they had crossed to the dock and formed a line blocking access. Crane and Tobin, who had been watching the maneuvering, had watched as the Federal agents had attempted to force the issue. Jackson had almost casually grabbed one exceptionally pushy agent by the hand and with a twist had the man on the dock, stifling a scream. By that time Crane, with Tobin in tow, had crossed the gangplank.

"Crane! Call off your gorillas!" The one who appeared to be in charge demanded, "We're here per orders to take your prisoner."

Crane had shaken his head. "No, you say you are here to take custody of our prisoner. If you are indeed here to do so, then you have the necessary paperwork, and you will wait here while Captain Tobin's men bring the prisoner to you. He is in their custody until such time as you take responsibility."

The agent's face had colored in the dim light. He was a large man, taller than Crane, and built like Cruz. He was obviously trying to intimidate Crane. "Now look here, my name's Helman, and I am here on the orders of Admiral Yackman personally. He told us to get the prisoner off the boat immediately, and get him to the holding facility by 9:00. We're ready to take him and we don't have time to wait while you swabjockies tie your knots or shiver your timbers or whatever it is you do." He pulled a packet of papers out of his pocket and shoved them at Crane. "Here are my papers; now where is the prisoner?" He started forward again, only to have the Master-at-Arms take a step forward, placing himself in front of the gangplank, and surely incidentally, partially in front of Crane.

The slim captain had shaken his head again, and casually pushed past Jackson who, Tobin noted, allowed a small frown of frustration to cross his face. He suspected that Crane was not an officer who took to being protected, making the Master-at-Arms' job hard at times. "Rear Admiral Yackman does not have the authority to give orders to anyone aboard this vessel or to authorize anyone to board her. Admiral Nelson, that's FOUR STAR Admiral Nelson by the way, who happens to own this boat, has ordered Captain Tobin to examine your paperwork closely, and to hand the prisoner off to you only after you have executed the proper signatures releasing both the Seaview and the Rangers from any further responsibility." He handed the papers to Tobin and spoke to the agent. "You will remain here while Captain Tobin examines the papers." He turned and started back up the gangplank. There was a brief scuffle as the agents tried to follow. Crane reached the deck and turned to look back at the two opposing lines of personnel.

"Just so you know, Agent….Helman wasn't it? My men are under standing orders to use any force necessary to prevent the unauthorized boarding of this vessel by anyone, that includes you. You are, of course, free to do as you wish, but you have been warned." With that he had turned and gone back into the submarine, ignoring the cursing from the agents. Tobin had tossed a look at the standoff on the dock and followed him. He had gone over the paperwork carefully, noting that everything was in order. He had signed off on the necessary pages and sent Timmons and Schultz to get the prisoner. He had gone up on deck and then to the deck. The stand off hadn't changed. He handed the signed pages to Helman, and offered the ones that needed the agent's signature in a separate bundle.

"I've signed off on my side. You sign off now and the prisoner is all yours." He looked behind him to see Timmons and Schultz leading the handcuffed prisoner out of the lower hatch. One of Jackson's security men was with them. They paused before crossing the gangplank, waiting for Tobin's signal. Tobin for his part was still standing there with the paperwork held out to Helman. The agent was frowning at the paper work, but finally he took the papers from Tobin, and with a low growl, went to the limo and used the hood to sign his name several times. He finally stomped back and handed the papers to Tobin with ill grace. Tobin looked through to make sure everything was signed and gave a nod to Timmons. The two Rangers brought the prisoner onto the dock. Timmons handed the handcuff keys to one of the agents, and without another word, the man was hustled into the limo. With a last glare at Tobin, Jackson, and the slim figure that now stood with the admiral in the sail, Helman had gotten in the front of the limo. It had driven off into the night, and Tobin was glad to have the mission officially over. He went back onboard, the two Rangers following him, and the security personnel coming aboard last. Two men had remained stationed at the gangplank. Tobin had climbed up to the sail as his two men had gone down below to get their gear and help move Cruz up. The doctor had refused to let the sergeant use crutches to move himself, so the rest of the unit had volunteered to carry his stretcher to the car that would be taking them to the airfield.

Tobin came to attention in front of Admiral Nelson. "I'm happy to report that we have completed our mission as ordered, sir. With your permission we will disembark," he said.

Nelson returned the salute and nodded. "Permission granted, Captain. Good job all the way around. I have sent commendations for you and your men to your General Craig. It has been a pleasure meeting you and your men." He offered his hand. Tobin shook it.

"Same here, sir. We really enjoyed seeing the Seaview, and I know Sergeant Le Bond is particularly grateful for the time you spent talking with him this morning. I know you are a busy man and I appreciate you taking the time."

"I enjoyed it, Captain. When Captain Crane asked me to see him, I was afraid there was little I could say to interest a young man such as your young sergeant. It is always refreshing to see the enthusiasm of youth. Sometimes we forget the joy of discovery in the day to day routine. I found it quite encouraging." He looked at his watch. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have some business to take care of with a certain admiral." With that he went down the hatch. Tobin turned to Crane, who was leaning back against the low edge of the sail, watching him quietly.

Tobin offered his hand. "It has been interesting, Captain. Thank you again for helping Cruz and for the hospitality of your boat. She's a beauty." Crane shook his hand and smiled at the Ranger captain.

"You're welcome, Captain, though as I said before, it's I who should be grateful. Your team is professional and it was an honor working with you. I wish I could always have people like you in the field with me."

Tobin looked around. There was no one else on the sail, and the crew on the deck were too far away to overhear anything that was said. He looked back at Crane. "Would you answer a personal question, Captain?" he asked.

Crane shrugged. "Depends on what it is."

"You have all this. Your crew obviously likes and respects you. Your employer and senior officer treats you like…well, more like a friend than an employee. You very obviously love what you do here, yet you risk your life by going on missions like we just completed. Why?"

Crane smiled at him. "Why do you do what you do, Captain? There are other jobs in the Army. You have enough seniority to pick and choose," he asked in return.

Tobin blinked in surprise, not really expecting the question in return. "I…uh…well, it's what I do best. It's how I can best serve my country. That makes it my duty," he said, and watched the smile grow on Crane's face.

"We weekend warriors know our duty too, Captain," he said simply.

Tobin stared at him for a moment, almost taken aback by the simplicity of the answer. That hadn't been one of the suggestions during dinner. But now he could see that it was the truth. The captain did what he did, whatever it was, because he felt it was his duty to do what he did best. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his unit making their way on deck, and he went down to join them, with Crane following.

Tobin looked around at their gear and at Cruz lying on the stretcher on the deck. The doctor had followed them up and was now giving Le Bond some last minute instructions and a bag of what Tobin suspected was medications for the flight back to their base. Timmons and Schultz were saying goodbye to several members of the crew. He looked at his watch. They needed to get going if they were going to make their flight, and he knew that the submarine needed to get underway. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled. His unit instantly looked his way.

"All right, let's get this show on the road. Timmons, Schultz, why don't you help Cruz get to the van. Captain, if you don't mind, maybe some of your men could help us with our gear?" he asked Crane who nodded and motioned several crewmen forward.

The crew went first with the gear and the unit came slowly behind with Cruz being all but carried by his teammates. They were quickly loaded and Crane had shaken hands with all the team. He slid the side door closed and turned to find Tobin behind him. The Ranger captain offered his hand again, which Crane took. Tobin met the younger man's eyes and spoke in all sincerity.

"You ever need back up, Captain, you know who to call," he said with a smile. Crane returned the smile, and closed the front door after Tobin climbed in. He stood there watching as the van drove away. He jumped when a voice spoke his name at his side and he turned to find Chip Morton standing there watching the van's light's disappear into the night.

"Now that you've sent your little play pals off to their house, are we ready to leave? We have clearance," he asked when he looked back at Crane.

"Only you could designate a Ranger unit as 'play pals'," Crane noted and started back toward the boat. "Maybe next time I'll invite my ONI friends over. They have less manners and don't play well with others," Crane threatened.

"I've noticed that about you," Chip said and dodged the blow that Crane swung at his head. They boarded the boat and moved over near the sail. They stood on the deck just looking out over the harbor, comfortable in each other's company and with the silence. Chip turned and looked at Crane. He was looking a lot less pale and he was moving easily, though he was not using his right arm unless necessary. He had been very thoughtful during the cruise to Norfolk, spending a good portion of the previous day sleeping and writing his reports. Today he had spent catching up on the logs and boat business. They had not had an opportunity to talk.

"Lee, are you all right? I know this was hard for you to begin with, and the admiral said that there was something else that went on." Actually Nelson had gone well past just mentioning it. He had told Chip what Tobin had reported, and Morton had felt his stomach twist in sympathy for his friend. It seemed he could never catch a break.

Crane didn't move or take his eyes off the harbor for a moment then he looked over at Chip. His eyes were sad. "It sometimes just doesn't seem worth it, Chip. No matter how much I…we try, it just doesn't seem to get any better. We allow animals like Almondez to continue killing innocent people in the name of catching other animals. It's all politics, face saving, and chest pounding. It makes me sick sometimes. It makes me think about quitting the whole thing." He stopped and looked back out over the harbor again. Morton waited, knowing there was more. Normally he would have applauded anything that would keep Crane from taking on the dangerous jobs he felt duty bound to do, but he would not want his friend to stop for this reason, that would be as damaging to Crane's soul as the missions were to his body.

"Then Sergeant Cruz said something to me that made me think. He gave his crucifix and Saint Christopher medal to the girl, so that she could hold them while she was..…dying, and he told me that it wasn't anything special because being there with her made him remember just who we were doing this for. It made me think." He stopped and blinked several times, hard, finally turning to look at Chip. "So to answer your question, no, I'm not all right, but I'm getting there." He looked around at the men on deck and motioned toward the ladder leading up to the sail.

"Why don't you show me that you can take her out without scraping the paint like you did last time," he said. Morton snorted and started up the ladder.

"I didn't hit that tender, Lee. He hit us, and it wasn't my fault that…" the argument continued as the two men climbed onto the bridge.

Standing just inside the lower hatch, Admiral Harriman Nelson lit the cigarette he had been holding. His call to the Yackman had been short and to the point, and he had felt the need for some nicotine to calm his adrenaline rush. He had come to the hatch in time to hear Morton's question and had indulged in some eavesdropping. He had intentionally not lit his cigarette, knowing it would give away his presence. He had wanted to ask that question himself, and was very interested in the answer.

When Crane had said he had considered stopping his work for ONI, Nelson had been assaulted by a series of conflicting emotions. He longed for Crane to stop the missions, but had always allowed the young man to choose his own path regarding them. Crane was well aware of his feeling regarding his continued work for ONI, but they worked around it. Short of Crane being physically unable to carry out the missions, Nelson had not considered there could be ANY cause that would be distasteful if it meant no more involvement. It seemed Nelson had not considered everything. If Lee quit because of loss of faith, it would be almost as bad as a physical wound, maybe worse; Jamieson could heal the latter. The former might never heal. He listened as Crane finally replied to the question, and found himself relieved that the young captain had found his faith again, at least in part. Another reason to thank the Rangers.

Leaning against the hatch and listening to the voices from above as Morton began the process of taking them back out to sea, Nelson remembered how Tobin had described the initial doubt that he and his team had felt when they heard that their guide was a reserve Naval officer, little knowing what they were getting in Crane. The captain had stressed to Nelson that while he and his team knew that reserve troops were well trained and were an important part of the military structure, there was a certain…standing to being a reserve. Tobin had admitted that he and his team had definitely revised their opinions. Nelson looked at his watch and realized for the first time that it was Sunday evening. He tended to lose track of the days when he was at sea. He laughed gently to himself as he stubbed out his cigarette and prepared to go below. Weekend warrior indeed.

The End.

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