their objectives.'
'Any thoughts how we get the guys in there?'
'The final part of the insert will definitely be by submarine and inflatables. And we do have an L.A.-class boat on the way down there. But we need to move fast. And I know you'll want a few days' training for the SEAL teams. We can't really afford another two-week journey after that — you think we could make a drop landing at sea?'
'The Brits did it last time off South Georgia,' replied Admiral Bergstrom. 'Which means we could do it. Just don't want to get too near the Falklands coast and wind up on the goddamned Argentine radar.'
'No. We definitely don't want to do that,' said Arnold. 'But we do have a time problem. The longer we leave this, the better organized the Argentinian defenses will be. So we'll leave it to you to move quickly.'
'Oh, Arnie. One thing more. To conduct an operation like this we're going to need kit, especially bombs, sticky bombs and C-4, that is. We'll need enough gear and food to let them live off the land, but they can't carry it all — not with a parachute drop into the ocean.'
'No. I was talking to the President about that. I think we'll go for HALO and drop some stuff in, soon as they pick a safe landing area.'
'Okay. That'll work.'
'One other thing, John. Who's gonna lead this thing? We need a very special guy, an experienced veteran commander who won't make mistakes.'
'My guys don't make mistakes, Arnie.'
'I know they don't. But this operation is very sensitive. It's got to be carried out by ghosts. By a Ghost Force. Ghosts with hammers in their hands.'
Admiral Bergstrom turned to the President. 'I think I mentioned, sir, we're being briefed by a poet.'
'Yes, I'd noticed,' chuckled Paul Bedford. 'But I'm loving this conversation, so keep going, get me off the hook with the biggest oil company in the country.'
'Well, do you have any thoughts about a Team Leader?' asked Arnie.
'I've got one thought, okay? I know who I'd like. But I can't get him. He retired a while ago. But we got a couple of pretty good instructors who've been on missions. I'll probably recall one of them.'
'Okay, we'll leave it to you…but can you tell me the name of your first choice?'
'I don't think so. He left the Navy in rather controversial circumstances.'
'Oh, did he now?' asked Arnold Morgan, slyly. 'Wouldn't be running a racehorse farm, would he? Not the great Commander Rick Hunter?'
'I wish,' said Admiral Bergstrom.
Rick and Diana were checking the stallion covering lists. There was a busy night ahead for three of the youngest sires, and big horse vans were already lining up in the lower driveway, bringing in wildly expensive blue- blooded mares from local farms.
At the same time there were six mares who had been in residence for several weeks expected to foal tonight. Rick and Diana usually had dinner at around eight o'clock, and then pulled on their jackets to tour what Rick called the Springtime Battleground, where the fortunes of the farm for another year were more or less decided.
The major yearling and foal sales later in the year were, of course, the principal source of income, but the mares had to go in foal first, and reputations of young stallions were on the line long before any of their progeny made it to the racecourse.
Rick, who was once described as the fittest man who ever wore sea boots, had just completed two hours in the gym he had built in the basement of the house. He worked there four evenings a week, and also ran a hard five miles on the other three days. When he left the Navy three and a half years ago, he had vowed to remain at the peak of his fitness for as long as possible. Thus far he had never faltered.
He and Diana often rode out around the farm together, and they were both used to long walks through the paddocks, looking at various yearlings and mares. But today had been trying. Diana was still extremely upset about Douglas, and had not wanted to venture out despite the invention of mobile phones. Her husband had been restraining her from calling Hereford again.
'Leave it,' he had told her. 'The SAS CO will most certainly call when he hears something. And Admiral Bergstrom will definitely be speaking to them. He promised.'
But Diana could not be comforted. Her only thought was of her lovely Douglas somehow dead on some frozen landscape in the South Atlantic, soldier unknown.
And when the phone rang at 1941, she almost jumped out of the chair. The call identifier showed California, and it was indeed Admiral Bergstrom for Rick Hunter.
'Good evening, Admiral,' said the ex — SEAL Commander. 'Any news?'
'Yes, I've spoken to Mike Weston in Hereford, and he says they are sure that Douglas and his team are still alive. Otherwise the Argentinians would have included them on the lists of the dead. Hereford HQ believes they have declined to surrender, because they apparently did complete a highly destructive part of their mission — according to Colonel Weston, it was the only big hit the Args took on the Falkland mainland.'
'Jesus. You mean they really are on the run, through those mountains, trying to get out?'
'I do. And Mike Weston did remind me the Argentinians might very well be after them in a determined way.'
'That's less good news,' replied Rick.
'It is, but Weston said it would be a helluva good soldier who managed to kill one of that group. Apparently Doug Jarvis has seven trained killers with him. Hereford say they're not worried and expect to hear something positive any day.'
'Well, that's a relief, Admiral. I guess the only problem is the sheer weight of numbers the Argentinians can throw into a hunt, right?'
'That, Ricky, is the problem. They are the SAS, and they are reputed to be indestructible. Trouble is, there's not many of them, and they may be against a determined enemy.'
'I guess right now there's no plans to go in and try to save them?'
'Well, certainly not from the defeated and battered Brits. But I think we may have to do something to help… the Argentinians after all have stolen all that ExxonMobil oil and gas…by the way, you wouldn't consider giving us a hand, would you?'
'Who, me? What do you mean?'
'Well, Rick, I won't pretend we've ever really replaced you, because we haven't. And everyone was real sorry when you resigned your commission, although we understood. I just wondered if you'd consider helping us save your brother-in-law.'
'Jeez. That's one hell of a question.'
'Wanna talk about it?'
'Well, I can't see the harm in talking about it. But I can't come out there, not in the foaling season.'
'How about I come visit you?'
'Sure, any time.'
'How about tomorrow?'
'Okay. What time?
'Guess I could leave around six a.m. Get in there around four hours later, 1300 for you.'
'Fine. I'll meet you. Blue Grass Field, Lexington. U.S. Navy jet, right?'
'I'm gonna be there, Rick. See you tomorrow.'
Diana, who had been waiting on the other side of the room, said, 'Who's coming?'
'Admiral Bergstrom. You'll like him. He's head of the U.S. Navy's Special Forces.'
'But he hasn't found Douglas?'
'No, but he's on the trail. The SAS are certain he's not dead. And John Bergstrom is working on a plan to get them all out. The Brits, who've surrendered, can't do much.'
'Why does he need to come here?'
'Wants to talk to me about it. He and I worked on several missions together.'
'But you've retired from the Navy and all that stuff.'
