NOIR

Chapter Three

Blind Trusts

By Steve Edward

Wednesday, September 5th 1600 hours, Langley, Virginia

Ned Smith sat across from Tabitha Alexander in a private meeting. Ned had reviewed the intelligence and briefly puzzled replied, "With all due respect, should not the FBI be involved?" Tabitha had expected that question, "No. All of this currently is outside the United States. Hence our bailiwick, though the FBI is working on the matter as well we have interests in getting this type of organized smuggling and kidnapping stopped."

Tabitha tapped the keyboard and displayed the graphical data on the large display screen, "Mr. Baldwin's part will be to assist in tracking the financial transactions and matching the data to other information as it is obtained. The data that you see represents the routes utilized by the smuggling operations. A majority of it takes place by sea and therefore harder to track and detect. We will have operatives working on the ground covertly and they will be sending the data to you and Randy. It will be up to you and him to make the decisions. There can be no second guessing on this Ned, so go with your gut feelings. There is White House backing on this."

Ned Smith examining the data replied, "Ok. I'll bite. So where is Randy? I thought he would be here." Tabitha glanced at the array of digital clocks on the wall, "Mr. Baldwin should be touching down about now in Atlanta. Draw what equipment you think you will need and have it shipped out to Diego Garcia, then catch the evening flight to Atlanta. Randy will join up with you at Dobbins Air Reserve Base in Marietta, tomorrow morning. You and Randy will fly from Atlanta to Diego Garcia on an Air Force C-17, non-stop I might add so get some sleep while you can and when you see Randy tell him the same. Both of you are going to need it. Good luck Ned."

Wednesday, September 5th 1800 hours, Baldwin Farm, Hall County, Georgia

Randy had left the computer cases in the Suburban which was securely locked in the garage. The kids all jet lagged had retired to their rooms to take naps. Gina Baldwin sat across from her husband as he repacked his suit case, his imminent departure in the morning no comfort, "Could you not do all of it from here? I know Mireille and Kirika are going to be on the ground, but do you have to be so damn close as well?"

Randy had given it much thought on the flight back, considering all the options but had decided he would have to be close to the action, "The time differential is our enemy. When the data comes in real time, I will not have the option of bidding my time nor theirs. Mireille and Kirika are headed into what passes for the lion den, if shit hits the fan I want to be close enough to marshal local assets."

Randy had requested to Tabitha Alexander that she make arrangements to have military forces ready for immediate use. Already present in the region of interest was a United States Marine Quick Response Amphibious Group along with a United States Navy Carrier Battlegroup consisting ironically of the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower, a Nimitz class carrier and in another area of interest, a battlegroup built around the USS Abraham Lincoln, another Nimitz class carrier in the Mediterranean. If things were to happen, those who attempted to interfere would feel the wraith of the Navy and the Marines.

Randy closed the suite case and placed it near the door to the hallway, "Gina, too many have been affected by what has happened. If there is someway to bring an end to the human misery that is being inflicted and punish those responsible it will send a clear message to others that the abuses inflicted will not be tolerated nor condoned. We owe it to the children, both past, present and future."

Thursday, September 6th 1100 hours, Air France Flight 2735, three hours till landing

Mireille Bouquet and Kirika Yumura lay lightly sleeping in First Class as the Airbus A380 the massive twin deck passenger aircraft cruised at altitude. Their destination was Cape Town, South Africa, where 43 years earlier another Noir pair had traveled. It was there that one did not come back. Mireille had briefly spoken with Randy Baldwin using the satellite phone from the comfort of her seat. She could hear in the background the sound of jet engines as they started. He would be taking a more circuitous route, one that would have him and a man named Ned Smith in the air for the next 18 hours. They next communication would not be until Friday evening. Mireille hoped silently that Randy Baldwin would stand good on his promise if the need arose. The alternative would be unthinkable.

Thursday, September 6th 1600 hours, Mid-Pacific, US Air Force C-17

The crewman descended the stairs from the flight deck and approached the sleeping men. Carefully tapping the man he knew as Randy Baldwin on the shoulder he waited as the man yawned and stretched. Handing Baldwin the communication printout, the crewman was given a visual thank you as he was dismissed.

Clearing the cobwebs, Randy read the printout then tapped Ned Smith on the shoulder to awaken him. Ned regaining his senses as well, began reading the printout then joined Randy as they served themselves a cup of coffee, "Well they have agreed to make it joint exercises for now. I wonder how many will go along when the time comes?" as Ned woofing down a still fresh Krispy Kreme donut finished it with a swish of coffee.

Randy had mused over the military exercises as well; since the activities would appear nothing more than that, the above normal over flights would be covered during the intelligence gathering of the scattered islands off the coast of Africa. Noir would be going deeply covert. What they gathered would be critical. Could he use that information to persuade others less well informed without revealing the dark secrets of Noir, the Soldats and even darker history? Randy prayed he could.

Thursday, September 6th 2200 hours local, The Radisson Hotel, Cape Town, South Africa

Mireille Bouquet stood on the veranda overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, the crashing of the waves below the hotel on the breakwater served to mute the sounds of the nearby city. Their contact, a local Soldat a mid-level business man had provided information regarding supply runs involving costal freighters. Mireille looked out to the sea, in the distance the lights of several ships reflected upon the waters as they were either passing or sitting at anchor.

Kirika Yumura was somewhere out there now alone. Signing on as a crewperson serving as ships cook Kirika would be facing any encounter alone. Both Mireille and Randy had reservations, but agreed that the costal freighters were the most likely to be involved in supply runs to the scattered islands that dotted the African coastlines both in the Atlantic and in the Indian Oceans. The smuggling trail from the Ukraine had been traced back to Cape Town, but where the children came from was another matter, everything pointed to Cape Town itself a long and dark storied history of slave trading there was little doubt that modern day slavery was still thriving, but who ultimately controlled it was even more unknown. Randy had one name, Jess Garr and from all indications until very recently a minor player in the puzzle.

Friday, September 7th 0100 hour's local, M/V Charmed, Atlantic Ocean

Kirika Yumura gazed at the distant lights of Cape Town as they faded into nothingness. Bracing against the deckhouse of the freighter that was among the many workhorses that plied the smaller and more confined routes of the Africa coastal trades, she had taken the place of the former ships cook who laid in a hospital the apparent victim to his own cooking. Food poisoning had removed him from the ship, and it was through luck and help of a Soldat, that she was onboard. The Master of the Charmed had accepted her immediately and without question, though he had demanded a sample of her culinary abilities before sailing four hours before.

The Charmed, turning headed in a west and northern heading following the distant coastline, the ungainly rolling the result of steel beams lashed to the forward deck, which would be used in building construction on an island off the coast. Kirika retraced her steppes on the dimly lit deck to her cabin, to get some much needed sleep. In four hours she would rise to cook her first meal at sea.

Friday, September 7th 0400 hours, Diego Garcia, Indian Ocean

Randy Baldwin and Ned Smith eyed the cargo lashed to the rear of the COD as it sped down the runway. No less than 60 minutes on the ground, barely enough time to stretch and they were sitting backwards facing the cargo and equipment that they were going to need. Randy being a pilot, had the awkward feeling of not being in control as he was flying literally backwards. He and Ned Smith were not alone. Onboard the aircraft were Navy and Marine personnel on their way to their new duty stations or rejoining their old ones. Their cover was military contractor's enroute to handle a technical problem on a Navy Amphibious Ship; the amount of equipment they were bringing explained it enough. Had anyone opened the cases, there would have been some raised eyebrows. Only Randy and Ned had the keys to the class 1 security locks and god forbid they loose the keys as the only way to break the locks would result in the use of military grade plastic explosives.

Two hours and 30 minutes later, the COD slammed down onto the deck of the "Ike" as she was called in a controlled crash. The USS Dwight D. Eisenhower an Nimitz class carrier sailed across the Indian Ocean, the flight deck busy with recovery and take offs.

Randy Baldwin and Ned Smith were escorted from the flight deck, the VIP's escorted by an aide to the admiral, who was in his flag cabin when the two men entered.

Rear Admiral Alex Reese rose and walked around his desk and holding out his hand shook both Randy and Ned's outstretched hands warmly then looking closely at Randy Baldwin, Alex cracked a smile "Well Mr. Baldwin welcome aboard the "Ike"; long time no see."

Randy Baldwin paused and then blinked looking hard at the Rear Admiral when the recognition occurred, "Commanding Officer, USS Nimitz, six years ago?" Alex chuckled and nodded, "The one and the same. Six years ago this month as I recall, how about some breakfast?" Randy and Ned agreed and followed the admiral to the flag dinning room.

Finally sitting at the table and having breakfast, Randy briefly looked at his watch and calculated how long both he and Ned had spent in the air. Roughly 20 hours all told. Admiral Reese chimed in, "About 20 hours my guess Mr. Baldwin, that is if you and Mr. Smith flew from Atlanta. How much sleep have you had roughly?" Randy rather sheepishly replied, "I guess all told maybe six hours, if that."

Admiral Reese seemed to nod and looked in the direction of an aide hovering nearby, "Clair? Ensure that these two men get flag quarter staterooms immediately." The young female lieutenant acknowledged the request and departed.

The admiral then dismissed all personnel present and directed his remaining aide to leave and post a Marine at the door. Satisfied that non-cleared personal were no longer in the area, Admiral Reese nodded to Randy Baldwin, "Ok let's keep things simple Randy. Call me Alex, the same for you Ned. What the hell is going on, Anti-Terrorist Operations?"

Randy Baldwin setting his fork down, "Alex, are you familiar with slavery?" Alex, an African-American whose family had been enslaved centuries before frowned, "Yes I am, Randy. You of course remember the war between the states."

Randy touched a nerve and knew it, "Alex, this is modern day slavery and not just what could be described if seen in person. We are talking about sexual slavery."

Alex leaned back looking at Ned Smith then back to Randy Baldwin, "Ok. Don't tell me I am going to do a raid on some brothel. You could get local authorities to do that." Randy smiled, "I wish it was just that simple, but it goes far beyond a simple brothel and consenting adults who are engaged in such practices."

Randy continued, "Alex, nearly two years ago an earthquake struck in the Indian Ocean. The results catastrophic, which affected 14 nations directly and many indirectly; and resulted in a wave of kidnapping and enforced slavery the likes never seen since the 1700 and 1800's. Slave Traders, Alex, kidnapped untold numbers of young boys and girls for use as sexual slaves. Besides the local populaces, many children of European decent were kidnapped after loosing their parents as were several American children. It was a sordid mess as you know, but recent intelligence points to individuals operating out of Cape Town, South Africa and using outlying islands as base of operations and to initiate them into the world of sex."

Alex with numerous grandchildren of his own shifted in his chair, "So you want to take the Slave Traders on and bring the surviving children back?" Randy nodded, "Yes. I do."

Ned Smith stirred his coffee briefly, "Alex, at this time there are two operatives engaged in gathering very close intelligence to find the location of the slavery operations. We know it is not on the main African continent, so it is off shore on one of the many outlying islands. We need the military might that your task group has as well as the fire power of the amphibious group when time for the raid comes. The raid will have to be fast, furious and no holds barred. It will help having over flights of the islands. Your intelligence specialists will be looking for a lot of children both fair skinned and dark and the associated buildings."

Alex visibly shaken at what had be said, "Gentlemen per the orders the task group is at your disposal and you have weapons release authority short of nuclear. Anything else goes, and my boys and girls will be happy to deliver. We have eight hours sailing time before we are in helicopter range of the amphibious group, get some rest till then. The next 96 hours is going to be rather rough. That is if we can locate and stop the next ship in time."

Friday, September 7th 1300 hours local, Cape Town, South Africa

Mireille Bouquet followed the man with little difficulty. She noted he seemed to be constantly on his cell phone, both initiating and receiving telephone calls. At one point, he had two phones going at once, putting on the appearance of a busy businessman engaged in a hectic daily life. His name, Jess Garr, formerly of the United States, his name had appeared numerous times on the CD Data disks recovered from Ukraine.

Garr had a background in the unsavory life that he had once led in the United States. When local authorities in California began closing in, Garr had fled the United States eventually finding his way to Cape Town, South Africa by way of Johannesburg which the FBI in the United States considered to be one of the highest concentrations of wanted fugitives anywhere in the world.

Jess still using his real name had never been bothered by local authorities since his arrival in Cape Town three years before. Jess, unmarried dealt in the wants of human lusts, the unspeakable and the perverse that involved children and young teens. Mireille followed as far as she could, until Jess boarded a large motor yacht and headed out into the Atlantic. Snapping a high resolution photograph of the yacht, Mireille wrote the name of the yacht on a notepad then began walking back to her hotel. The yacht's name, Blind Trusts. The vessel once clearing the harbor headed west and north following the coast line.

Friday, September 7th 1600 hours local, M/V Charmed

Kirika had observed the various cargo transfers noting that many of the supplies and goods off-loaded were headed to small villages that dotted the coastline. It was the anchoring and unloading at the island that garnered her attention. The bulky steel beams had been found to be too heavy for the initial cargo lighter so the delay of unloading had occurred as the master argued with the men. Finally deciding to break down the number of beams to a much lighter load, it was taking additional trips to move the substantial cargo that the vessel had to deliver.

Taking the smuggled satellite phone and waiting for the scheduled call, Kirika sitting unobserved at the rear of the deckhouse saw the large motor yacht as it passed the Charmed. The soft chirp alerted her to the incoming call from Mireille, "Kirika."

Mireille spoke, "I followed our interests. He boarded a motor yacht named "Blind Trusts" and it headed in a west and north direction. It may be headed you way." Kirika glanced back at the yacht and read the name, "Mireille it is here." Tapping the locater button, Kirika sent a signal to Mireille then quickly closed the connection.

Mireille looking at the display frowned as Kirika closed the connection. Tapping out another set of numbers, Mireille placed a local call and spoke briefly then abruptly disconnected.

Kirika still unobserved returned to her small, sparse cabin and began to prepare for her own departure. She had to time it so as to be onboard the cargo lighter when the last load was off the ship. Hurrying to the galley to prepare the last meal she would cook on the Charmed, Kirika glanced at the clock, it read 1645 hours.

Friday, September 7th 1800 hours, USS Essex LHD-2

"She fucking did what!" as Randy Baldwin standing in the CIC of the amphibious assault ship turned heads of salty sailors and Marines alike unaccustomed to such communications behavior. Ned Smith listening in on another headset winced, "Jeez, Randy take it easy."

Randy sorely wanted to toss something, but could not listened to Mireille Bouquet as she spoke, "She left the vessel after the last cargo was unloaded about an hour ago. The interest arrived as the cargo was unloading so she stowed away on the lighter."

Randy still angry but calming down replied, "Ok. So much for that decision, did she indicate in anyway that the cargo vessel was involved in smuggling or was just doing a routine delivery?"

Mireille standing on the veranda of the hotel replied, "She said nothing more so I can assume the freighter she was on is not involved, so what do you want to do now, Randy?"

Randy paused and turned to the Executive Officer of the Essex, "How close do you need to be to the coast to make a pickup?" The Executive Officer consulted with the CIC watch officer, "We can be in range in two hours if we push it and if this is a covert pickup it has to be away from Cape Town proper."

Randy returned his attention to the phone, "Mireille, get packed and head west from Cape Town and find a nice secluded spot on the beach for a pickup. Be ready for pickup in three hours. When you find a nice spot big enough for a Navy Huey to land, mark the position with your locater unit. Mark the landing area with three green chemical lights. I'll see you in three hours, good luck. Essex out."

Mireille Bouquet expecting such action had already packed, and picking up the small suite case, she gathered Kirika's as well and turned off the lights to the room for the last time and headed for the lobby.

Ned Smith turned to his companion, "You are going in personally huh?" Randy turning to leave stopped, "Yes, Ned I am. Better she see a familiar face considering the circumstances." Then Randy Baldwin turned and addressed the men and women at their watch stations, "Sorry for the outburst earlier folks. One of my people pulled a fast one."

Watching Randy leave, Ned Smith turned to the Executive Officer, "Sir with all due respect. What ever passes as a gas pedal on this ship, let's put the pedal to the metal, time is short. Let's get a move on."

Admiral Reese on his Flag Bridge read the brief message from the USS Essex and wrote a short reply then sat back musing. So Baldwin and Smith were starting their operation. Picking up the printout, Alex crossed off the Charmed from the list and returned it to his aide, "Alert the Intel boys and girls we now have a good location on the island and to concentrate their searches of that area for any inbound or outbound vessels. All nationalities are suspect is that clear?" The young female lieutenant acknowledged the order and departed.

Friday, September 7th 2100 hours, Island Slave Compound

Kirika Yumura had nearly been discovered on the lighter, but had managed to slip overboard as the surplus barge fitted with an oversized outboard motor circa 1970's chugged into the small cove. Treading water and the water proof bag behind her, Kirika made landfall on the eastern end of the island.

The vegetation though plentiful in appearance had been cleared in such a way to allow full observation from the watch towers that surrounded the compound. Even if one had managed to escape the confines there was no way off the island except by seaplane, helicopter or ship. What she observed sickened even her. Teenaged children followed by younger children nearly naked had been marched around the compound from building to building. From what light remained, Kirika noted the netting that nearly covered the compound and the wires strung as well. An aerial assault was out and there was little room for landing elsewhere, so Randy Baldwin had assumed correctly.

Kirika Yumura retreated from her observation post to the eastern end of the island. As Kirika made her way, she could hear the occasional laughter and strains of rock music coming from the motor yacht named Blind Trusts. Kirika vowed to herself, that Jess Garr would be punished.

Finding a well secluded spot, Kirika Yumura dialed the memorized number and waited for it to be picked up. When it did answer it was neither a voice she recognized nor the name either, "Hello Mr. Essex speaking can I help you?" The male sailor spoke again, "Hello? Anyone there? This is Mr. Essex can I help you?" About to disconnect, the sailor looked at the name on the paper and taking a chance he replied again calling out to her "Kirika? Is that you?"

Friday, September 7th 2115 hours, Navy UH-1

Randy Baldwin felt the tap on his shoulder and turned to the cockpit where the co-pilot was making a hand signal for him to read the data terminal display which he read, "Small Fry on Island/Made Contact/Arial Out/Direct Feasible/Interest Present/Many Many/Horrid Conditions/Come Soonest/Kirika. EOM.

Randy Baldwin tapped out a simply reply and sent the message then turned back to the cabin which was occupied by a gunner and a Marine Staff Sergeant. Keying the headset Randy looked at the Marine, "Well Sergeant, you think your boys will be ready to go tomorrow?" The white smile said it all, "Uhrah!"

The pilot approached the designated coordinates and through his night goggles observed the three lights set out. The co-pilot confirming that they were green returned his attention to the gauges as the Huey thundered in. Mireille Bouquet shielding her eyes from the blasting sand, broke into a run lugging the small cases and encountered the Marine Staff Sergeant then Randy Baldwin who was dressed as the Marine but in black.

The Marine helped Mireille aboard and climbing in after her, tapped the back of the co-pilot's helmet and the Huey lifted then rotated 180 degrees on its axis and sped out to sea, as Randy helped Mireille don the communications headset.

Randy keyed the headset, "Kirika just made contact about 15 minutes ago. I don't know the full details yet, but an all out aerial assault is out. The person of interest is there and so are a lot of children. Kirika apparently stressed horrid conditions, so we are going to go in as soon as we can once we get good enough details about the layout. What did you find out about the freighters cargo?"

Mireille grabbed the flashlight equipped with a blue lens from Randy's shoulder and turned it on pointing the beam to a small note pad then keyed her headset, "It was making four stops before returning to Cape Town, the majority of the cargo was going off at its last stop. Steel construction beams, all told weighing 25 tons was being delivered along with associated building material like drywall and disassembled bunk beds. The rest was food stuffs, a lot of it could be considered junk food favored by children. Sodas, chocolate bars and other items. But there was something else that my contact was able to glean from the manifest. Condoms." Mireille stabbed the notepad in anger.

Randy Baldwin looked away and outward into the darkness. Somewhere to the west lay an island that had become a torture chamber of sorts. Turning his gaze back towards Mireille Bouquet, he briefly locked eyes with the Marine Staff Sergeant who looked back. The Marine had overhead the conversation as well as everyone else onboard and he keyed his headset, "Sir with all due respect, give me 30 seconds alone with the bastards. That is all I want." Randy Baldwin keyed back, "Someone else has first dibs on a certain individual, but if you happen to come across any adults carrying big guns, frankly I don't give a shit what happens to them. I want the children out safe."

Randy knew that within an hour or less after landing that grape vine would have the details of what was about to transpire. Randy had already ordered all e-mail traffic secured. The last thing he wanted was a news organization getting wind of the operation and blathering about it at the wrong time. An embedded reporter and camera man with CNN was onboard the Essex and had been briefed. Veterans of reporting from the Iraq War, both men knew the consequences of blathering things at the wrong time. What they would soon be reporting, would send shockwaves around the world.

Saturday, September 8th 0100 hours, Island Slave Compound

Kirika Yumura turned the satellite phone on at the scheduled time and dialed the familiar number once again. This expecting the answering name she requested to speak with Randy Baldwin.

The sailor handed a headset to Randy and he keyed up, "I'm here Kirika." This time the gathering was larger, men and women listened intently, "Randy, They have a larger number than first thought. I estimate 700 captives, all nationalities and ages from 7 or 8 to about 17 or 18. As I briefly stated previously direct aerial assault is out. They have large cables strung across the compound supporting camouflage material that shields buildings and people from direct view. There are four watch towers, camouflaged as well. From distance they look like trees."

Randy interrupted, "Kirika. How far above ground are those towers?" Kirika replied, "Approximately 10 meters." An officer held up a notepad with several words, and Randy nodded. "Kirika, which part of the island would be suitable for a beach landing by hovercraft? And can the ground support a Light Armored Infantry Vehicle, they have all wheel drive?" Kirika replied, "I am on the eastern end, the ground appears firm once the hovercraft clear the beach. The cover area appears suitable as well, but is wide open and I can presume weapon emplacements are in the towers so it would be covered in a large firing arch."

Randy paused looking back at the gathering, no one else had any questions, "Kirika, stay where you are at. Do you have anything you might be able to signal with to mark your position? I am bringing a lot of friends with me who do not know you so I want someway to link up without trying to shoot each other."

Kirika replied, "I borrowed a flare gun. It has several red flares that I can shoot." Mireille spoke, "Kirika, I will be with Randy. Fire the red flares when you see the hovercraft. The pilots will try to come ashore at your position. We will see you in a few short hours."

Kirika replied, "I will look forward to seeing you and Randy. Until then goodbye," as Randy about to reply listened to the crackle of static as Kirika severed the connection.

Turning briefly to look at Ned Smith who was smiling and giving a thumbs up, Randy looked up at a display screen, the small flashing red dot marking the position of Kirika Yumura.

Removing the headset, Randy Baldwin returned it to the crewman "Ok. We have a rough idea of what we are facing. Everybody who can get it hit the sack for three hours. Planning team do your magic. Final briefing is at 0500 and we go in hot at 0530."

Saturday, September 8th 0500 hours, USS Essex LHD-2, T-minus 30 minutes

Ned Smith turned to Randy Baldwin, "You know you should not be doing this. The Marines know what to look for. Who the hell is going to decipher the information if you get taken out?" Randy Baldwin in combat dress turned, "I briefed the Intel guys last night after picking up Mireille. They have all the codes, besides my friend is expecting me."

The USS Essex supported by the Eisenhower battlegroup began operations, and the first thing on the To-Do list was to begin active jamming. The island compound with a simple commercial radar system lost its eyes at 0500 hours and its communications shortly after that. Anyone who tried to listen to any kind of radio was treated to a garish sound of electronic noise.

Randy Baldwin turned to the selected Marines. Out of the 1,800 marines onboard, Randy Baldwin was bringing 800, "Ok. Take a hard look at me and the woman standing next to me. Please do not shoot us, we are friendlies." That elicited a number of laughs and broke the ice, "I have one more friendlily on the ground, similarly attired. She is of Asian decent, her name is Kirika. Please do not shoot her either. If you do, I can not guarantee your safety as my friend would take a dim view of her partner getting shot." More laughs.

Randy eyed the men before him, all of them combat veterans "Your Sergeants have already briefed you on rules of engagement. I must stress that there are children present within the compound all of them there against their wills. Adults on the other hand are fair game. If you get an asshole with a rifle or pistol in their hands, they are fair game if they are firing at you. Nothing else needs to be said about that. Take them out. If any surrender, then respect their wishes and accept it. But do remember the Geneva Conventions do not apply in this case; they are to be treated as criminals, but treated humanely rightly so."

The CNN reporter listened intently, the briefing not being recorded for security reasons he jotted notes down watching Baldwin continue, "Keep your eyes peeled for red flares, the LCAC pilots at least those assigned to the eastern landing area; guys if you see them that is where my asset is. If anyone sees any hostile headed that direction unless it is a child, you have my permission to terminate. We will link up with the asset and go from there. Ok any questions?" Hearing none, Randy turned to United States Marine Colonel Chuck Robles and nodded. The Marine Colonel issued the orders to board the LCAC's.