Just before the object was directly beneath them, they heard another series of tones on Rescue One. The copilot flew past the spot, but Collins continued to track the warm spot and hit a button on the AN/AYK-14 mission computer, which would store the latitude and longitude of the spot they flew over.
“Bullet, this is Able Zero-Seven, authenticate Victor-Kilo. Victor-Kilo.” No response. “Bullet, this is Able, I say again, authenticate Victor-Kilo. Over.”
“We’re coming up on bingo fuel,” the copilot said, “and the Chinese are bound to bring reinforcements. We can’t stay…”
“Once more, then we’re outta here,” Collins said. On Rescue One, he said, “Bullet, I say again…”
“Bullet…. authenticates.… Poppa Zero… Poppa-Zero…”
“He didn’t give the whole response,” the copilot said.
“Close enough for me,” Collins said.
“But you don’t know…”
“I’m taking the chance. I’ve got the aircraft.” Collins took the controls, gave them a shake to verify transfer of control, then banked sharply to the left and lined up on the object he was tracking on the FLIR. When he was pointing at it, he moved a switch on the power quadrant, which rotated the twin rotor nacelles on the wingtips of the MV-22 vertically and transformed the Sea Hammer aircraft from an airplane to a helicopter. He maneuvered the big cargo-plane-tumed- helicopter into a hover, then translated slightly sideways until he found a clearing beneath the airplane. On interphone, he said, “PJs, our boy’s off the nose, about thirty yards. No complete ID, but I don’t see a weapon and he’s alone. Out.”
Using their rappelling gear, the PJs edged off the Sea Hammer and slid to the ground. Unslinging their rifles, they took a bearing from the MV-22 and proceeded toward the subject. A few cautious minutes later, they found Bowman.
“Able, this is PJ One, I got him. Looks like one of our boys.” The rescue technician quickly searched Bowman for hidden explosives or booby traps as the second PJ stood a safe distance away, guarding the area. “Move in position.” Collins edged the Sea Hammer aircraft forward, and the crewmen in the cargo hold lowered a rescue hoist with a forest-penetrator device down to the men on the ground. He unfolded the petal-like seats on the forest penetrator, lifted Bowman up, and secured him into the seat. Bowman had enough strength to wrap his arms around the rescue device and do as he was told.
“Samar… Samar. Don’t forget Samar…” Bowman told the PJ. It was hard to hear over the roar of the MV-22 overhead, but the first PJ caught a snippet of Bowman’s words.
“He seems to be saying Sammy something,” the PJ said on a helmet radio to Collins. “There might be someone else nearby.”
“We don’t have time to search for anybody else,” Collins’ copilot said. “We’re past bingo already.”
Collins was using the FLIR scanner to search the area around the rescue site. Suddenly he stopped. “I got someone else,” he said. “Thirty yards to the right. He’s not moving. Check it out. Hoist Robby on board.” The first PJ on the ground climbed onto another seat on the forest penetrator, strapped himself on, then pushed Bowman’s head down and wrapped his arms around him as the cargo hold crew hoisted them up through the foliage. The second PJ began moving toward the second object, taking directions from Collins, using the gradually brightening morning skies to find cover until he was close enough.
The crew in the cargo hold of the MV-22 dragged Bowman inside and wrapped him in a blanket. One PJ shined a flashlight in his face, then compared the face to a sheet of ID-card photographs of downed crewmen from the
Collins let out a sigh of relief. “Dammit, I don’t believe it. We got one. The other guy might be his RIO.”
The second PJ on the ground reached the body. “He looks like a Filipino… wait. He’s wearing general’s stars. No name tag, but he’s got two stars on his collar.”
Collins maneuvered closer to his ground crewman. “General’s stars… a general? Named Sammy? Sammy…
The Philippine national anthem played in the background. The television transmission showed a sign written in English, Tagalog, and Chinese, telling the viewer to stand by for an important message from the Philippine government. After two minutes, the scene dissolved, to be replaced by the grim face of Second Vice President General Jose Trujiilo Samar. Most of his hair was burned off, and one eye was swollen shut — he had refused to wear any bandages, however, because he was afraid his countrymen might not recognize him, and because he wanted all the world to see what the Chinese military had done to him. He was wearing his uniform, freshly cleaned and starched, which hid a tightly wrapped separated shoulder and bums across most of his upper torso.
