Tropical Terror sts-12

by Keith Douglass

  They kept the Humvees in low gear with the lights off, and moved up the dirt road only by the light of the waning moon.

  They had gone little over a half mile when Tran came out of the darkness and waved them down.

  “Commander, we’ve found it. The beer truck is up ahead in a small clearing. Trouble is, there’s at least fifty or sixty men around it in a perimeter defense. Lam says they’re Chinese with weapons and dug in with good firing positions. He said no sign of any white men up there.”

  Murdock and DeWitt talked it over with Senior Chief Dobler.

  “Twenties,” DeWitt said.

  “Damn right, but what’s that going to do to the beer truck?” Murdock asked.

  “Kill it probably,” Dobler said. “Course we can always roll it down the hill. We’re up here a ways on the slope.”

  “Going to blow all the tires if we do a job with the twenties,” DeWitt said. “But if they’re dug in, that’s about the only way we can beat them.”

  “The EAR?” Murdock suggested.

  “Won’t be that effective in the open. We could nail about a third of them, but that leaves a lot of firepower up there.”

  “Will the twenties hurt the bomb?” Dobler asked.

  “Not so you could notice,” DeWitt said. “First the shrapnel has to get through the sides of the truck, then hit the wooden crate. Going to stop most of it.”

  “It must have an antenna on it somewhere if they plan to set it off by radio signal,” Murdock said.

  “Yeah, or maybe the keepers attach the antenna when they get the word to do so,” Dobler said.

  “Attach it and say hello to their ancestors.” Murdock snorted.

  He scratched his chin. “We leave the rigs here and move up on foot. We’ll set up an arc and use the twenties. Then when we have them beat down, we’ll fire six shots from the EAR and move in.”

  “Hoping the rest of the battalion doesn’t rush down here and get in our way,” DeWitt said.

  “We worry about moving the rig after we get it,” Dobler said. “We can always tow it with one of the Humvees.”

  Murdock called the men around and explained the situation and what they would do. There were no questions. The six men who usually used the Bull Pup twenties loaded up with ammo, and the rest checked their usual weapons.

  Tran took them up to where Lam waited. He had pulled back to three hundred yards.

  “Twenties?” he asked Murdock. The commander nodded. “How about I put two red flares in there for you to get your lasers on?”

  Murdock said to do it when the troops were ready. He spread them out ten yards apart in a gentle arc around the near side of the target. He could make out part of the truck now with his NVGs. He spotted a few of the mounds of dirt.

  “Go on the flares,” Murdock said softly into his lip mike. Two reports came as the rifle flares were fired at the beer truck. One hit just behind it, and one twenty yards to the side. Both gave the Bull Pup’s range finders and video cameras targets to laser on.

  The men with the twenties began to fire only seconds after the flares hit. There was an immediate outcry and confusion in the line of Chinese troops around the truck. The SEALs could hear orders being shouted. Then more rounds exploded in deadly airbursts, and Murdock saw some of the dug-in men stumbling around with wounds. Others picked up and ran for the rear, away from the deadly shrapnel from the sky.

  “Two more flares, white-parachute ones,” Murdock ordered. The flares went up and burst over the scene, giving the other shooters targets in the sudden glare.

  The firing sequence lasted only for three minutes. Murdock called a cease-fire. He could see no shots coming from the positions. One section right behind the beer truck could have suffered fewer casualties than the rest of the circle, but all had taken a deadly total.

  “Two EAR rounds in the area,” Murdock said. “One on the right side of the truck, the other on the left.”

  After a hurried radio talk, the two EAR shooters coordinated and fired.

  When the whooshing turned into an ear-pounding roar, Murdock hit the lip mike.

  “Let’s move up in a line. No firing unless we get some shots from survivors. Moving out.”

  The SEALs swept forward. No shots came from the defenders. The SEALs used flashlights to check the bodies. Three shots were fired, dispatching wounded. There was no sign of the white men. Ching inspected the vehicle and told Murdock the bad news.

  “The rig got hit hard. No way we can get the engine running. All the plug wires are shot to hell and half the other wiring. We’ve got four flat tires. The JG’s suggestion about towing could work. We’ve got some chain in the Humvee.”

  “Go get the Hummer,” Murdock said. “We’ll stand guard in case some close-by friends of the family drop in. Make it fast. Some of them bugged out and will report down some line of vocal communication if no other way. I wonder how many of these troopers the Marines missed up here.” Ching ran down the road.

  Five minutes later Ching drove the Humvee into the small clearing and backed up to the nose of the beer truck. Murdock had checked the bomb in the wooden crate. First order was to take the lead-blanket shield out of the Humvee and drape it over the top and sides of the bomb. It was almost big enough.

  By that time Ching had the tow cable fixed, and the men gathered around as he gunned the Humvee’s l50-hp V8 diesel engine with the automatic transmission and eased up on the tow chain.

  The chain strained. Then the beer truck inched forward. Lam sat in the driver’s seat with one foot ready on the truck’s brakes so it didn’t slam into the Humvee. The men gave a whispered cheer as the Humvee moved down the road towing the beer truck behind it. The flat tires flapped and shuddered, but they weren’t moving fast enough to throw the tires off the rims. It made easier going.

  Soon the pair of rigs was up to nearly five miles an hour, and the straining Humvee diesel kept it moving in low gear. Murdock and Ronson took up a position as rear guard. DeWitt and Fernandez had the point.

  It was too quiet. Murdock didn’t like that. He left Ronson on the rear guard and jogged to the front of the column. The Humvee was straining over the more level ground, but still moving the bomb. They had to get it out where they could call in a chopper pickup. A pickup for the bomb. They stopped at the spot where the other Humvee sat. Quickly, the second lead blanket was added to the first one over the bomb crate and the parade continued.

  They had traveled what Murdock figured was another mile, and he could almost smell the salt air, when DeWitt came boiling back from the front.

  “Boss, we’ve got big troubles. I could hear them a mile away. Didn’t think they could be for real. When they came close enough, I made them with my NVGs. Must be a whole damn battalion out there in front of us in a blocking position right across the road. No way we can go cross-country with this beer truck.”

  “A battalion? How could they get in front of us? Where were they hiding when the Marines were here? Show me.”

  Five minutes later, Murdock was satisfied. The Chinese force straddled the road ahead and fanned out on both sides for at least a half mile. The troops were singing, shouting. He saw some cooking fires, even though it was not yet 0400. Murdock surveyed the landscape in the moonlight.

  They were in what was left of the coastal plain. It couldn’t be more than four or five miles to the ocean. The area was laced with networks of dirt tracks and roads.

  “We set up the MGs and sniper rifles, and get out our Bull Pups and make a blast at their troops on the road and on each side.” Murdock was instructing his men through the Motorola.

  “We use the twenties and the EAR and everything we have. Hopefully, we can punch a hole through and blast out of here with the three rigs.”

  “At five miles an hour?” Lam asked on the net.

  “Probably not, but it’s worth a try. Let’s get in a thick line across the road and take a shot at it.”

  Parachute flares walked down to the Chinese. They were five hundre
d yards ahead. The lasers targeted the Chinese in the light, and the deadly firepower of a full SEAL platoon lashed out at the enemy.

  At once the SEALs took return fire, and dove into ditches and behind trees for protection. The lead Humvee took a dozen rounds, but the supplemental armor shed the lead and left little damage.

  Murdock lifted up from the shallow ditch on the right-hand side and surveyed the situation. The Chinese had taken serious casualties from the twenties, but they still had enough men to throw out deadly counter-battery fire.

  No chance to get through. Murdock scowled in the dark. He hated leaving the bomb, but it was all he could do under the circumstances. They couldn’t get the bomb through the Chinese force, that was clear. Now all he had to figure out was just what the hell they did next.

  13

  Windward Side

  Oahu, Hawaii

  “Unhook the beer truck from the lead Hummer,” Murdock barked. “We’re bugging out into the fields to the north. We can outrun them in the rig and live to fight another day.”

  “What about the bomb?” DeWitt asked.

  “We leave it here, for now. We’ll be back. We’ll contact CINCPAC for their suggestions. Maybe drop in two hundred Marines to secure the area and lift it out with a chopper. Let’s choggie, ladies. Time we got the hell out of Dodge.”

  They dropped the tow chain and gave covering fire against the roadblock ahead as the two Humvees charged down a dirt track to the north and away from the Chinese.

  Murdock went out a mile, then stopped, and Holt set up the SATCOM.

  CINCPAC was excited.

  “You found the bomb. You have it under control?”

  Murdock explained the problem.

  “We’ll advise you. Get into a safe position and hold.”

  “Roger that,” Murdock said, and started to turn off the mike. “Better leave it on receive,” he said to Holt. “It might take them some time to figure out what to do.”

  “Right now the fucking Chinese have moved up the road and taken control of the beer truck and the bomb,” DeWitt said, using his binoculars and his NVGs.

  “Casualties?” Murdock asked over the Motorola.

  “I’m not feeling what I’d call great.”

  Murdock recognized Ronson’s voice. “Ronson, you hit?”

  “Picked up a lead messenger in my chest. Not feeling at all chipper, Skipper.”

  Mahanani bailed out of the other Humvee and slid into Murdock’s. He found Ronson sitting against the side of the rig. He laid the SEAL down and opened his vest and his shirt. His flashlight showed a round purple hole in Ronson’s chest six inches below his left shoulder. When the corpsman felt around Ronson’s back, his hand came out smeared with blood.

  Mahanani put a bandage over the front entry wound, then eased Ronson over and checked his back under his shirt. An inch-wide gaping hole showed. He held the mini-flashlight in his mouth and put a gauze pad over the wound to stop bleeding, then treated it as best he could and bandaged it tightly.

  “Ronson, buddy, you just lay there quiet. We’re going to get you some help.” He ran around the side to Murdock.

  “Chest shot, Commander. He needs help right now. My suggestion we move easy-like a couple of miles away and get an evac chopper in here. Could be a lung or some big artery up in there. He could be bleeding internally. I don’t like it. He’s critical right now.”

  “Take a SATCOM and a driver and move this Humvee out near the highway. Stop and call CINCPAC. Tell them the problem and demand a chopper out here within thirty minutes. There’s a Marine Corps Air Station not over ten miles away. They must have a hospital or clinic there. Go. Now. Go.”

  Franklin went along to keep Ronson from moving around. Mahanani drove. The rest of the squad bailed out of the Humvee. The rig moved toward the highway where Mahanani could see headlights. It was just after 0450. He stopped a mile from the road and used the SATCOM. He’d been told how to set up the antenna. CINCPAC came through on the first try.

  “That’s the story, CINCPAC. Could the Marines out here come get Ronson? He’s critical right now with that chest shot.”

  “That’s a Roger, SEALs. They will have an evacuation bird and medics in the air in five minutes. They say put out a flare, any color, for an LZ. You copy?”

  “Copy, CINCPAC. No enemy fire this area. The patient is ready.”

  Mahanani drove closer to the highway, found a wide-open space, and parked. He took out three red flares from his vest and walked fifty yards away from the Humvee.

  He looked toward the coast, and at once could hear a chopper. It was coming in fast and low. He pulled out the flares and held them ready. When he figured the bird was two hundred yards off, he popped the first flare, then a second one. The chopper came in fast, slowed, then settled to the ground between the flares. Mahanani ran to the helicopter.

  Five minutes later Mahanani and Franklin watched the big chopper lift off. A doctor and a nurse on board were working on Ronson even before the liftoff. He was in good hands.

  “Let’s see if we can find the cap and check out where the action is,” Mahanani said. They used the Motorola, and Murdock reported they were about a half mile north of where they had been before, watching the Chinese.

  Murdock stared through his night-vision goggles and then his binoculars. He wasn’t sure what went on in front of him. The Chinese had moved up and taken over the beer truck. They had no way to move it. Would they keep it there until daylight and then get one of their half-tracks back here? He had no idea where the rest of the Chinese troops were. He still thought the SEALs and Marines had captured all of them before.

  Ten minutes after the radio call from Mahanani, the other Humvee steered into the area beside Murdock.

  “The doc on the chopper said Ronson should make it. They’ll stabilize him and keep him alive until they get him to the hospital. He said in fifteen minutes Ronson would be in an operating room.”

  “Good. Now what the hell are these fucking assholes going to do with their favorite nuclear bomb?” Murdock asked.

  The SEALs quietly moved the Humvees into a slight depression where they would be out of sight of the Chinese troops. Some of the men caught quick naps. Murdock paced around the vehicle trying to come up with an answer. Why hadn’t they found all the invading Chinese troops? Where had they hid? What would they do now? They had no way to transport the ton of crate and bomb.

  It was a cool morning breeze that brought Murdock out of his nap where he leaned against the Humvee. The breeze was enhanced by a buzzing and then a whupping, and he scanned the sky looking for the chopper. Maybe the Marines were coming in with a thousand men to capture the bomb.

  No, just one bird. It was low, so low that Murdock caught only quick looks at it as it came in from the sea. It circled and dropped down out of sight. Murdock swore. That was the spot where they had left the beer truck and the bomb. Almost any military chopper with a sling could carry a ton of goods. The helicopter could have come off any of the Chinese destroyers, which routinely carried one.

  The rest of the platoon stirred and came alert. Lam sauntered up.

  “What they doing with a chopper?” he asked.

  “Moving the bomb, what else? Get Holt and the radio,” Murdock snapped.

  The radioman came up quickly, already setting up the dials and the antenna. The all-ready beep came, and Murdock took the handset.

  “CINCPAC. This is Murdock. The Chinese have control of the bomb again. Now they have brought in a chopper. Don’t know what they’re up to. How close are the local Marines or maybe an F-l4 from the Jefferson?”

  “Carrier planes are all restricted. Marines can put an armed chopper up. Near the same area they picked up the wounded man.”

  “That’s a Roger. Tell them to rush it or the bird and bomb might not still be here.”

  “Will do, Murdock.”

  Lam went forward to find out what the Chinese were doing. He had his Motorola hooked up.

  Five minutes later
the call came. “Damn, Skipper, they don’t waste any time. They put slings on the whole damn beer truck. Couldn’t get the bomb out of it, my take. The chopper has lifted off and now the sling is tightening. There it goes. You should be able to see it about now.”

  Murdock watched the whole beer truck lift slowly away from the green of Hawaii and move into the air. The trip would not be fast, as the helicopter seemed to be straining just a little to keep flying. It headed straight for the mountains, toward what looked to Murdock to be the most rugged section in sight.

  There was no sign of the Marine chopper. Murdock talked to the lip mike. “Drivers, let’s choggie. We’re heading straight up the hill as far as these little donkeys will climb. Moving out.”

  Ed DeWitt came on the Motorola. “We going after the bomb?”

  “How many defenders can they have around it up there?”

  “Damn few. But what if they don’t stop on top, but keep going over the summit and down the other side?”

  “Then we contact CINCPAC for some tracking from that side of the mountains. Moving.”

  The Humvees were built for off-road work as well as blacktop, but there was a limit to how far up the slopes of the Koolau Mountains they could go. Ching got his rig over a ravine Murdock doubted that he could, and then the second Humvee made it, and they climbed another quarter of a mile before they came to a sharp gully that they could not beat.

  “Hit the ground, we’re walking,” Murdock said. He had made a regular check behind them, but saw no sign of the Chinese forces that had captured the bomb from them. He had no idea where they had vanished to. They had to be hidden away somewhere in the immediate area. He’d let CINCPAC worry about that.

  The undergrowth became thicker as they moved up the slopes. The higher they went, the more rain fell, and the more rain, the more trees and shrubs and grasses. They hiked up the ravines and ridges and more slopes and ridges. Now and then on a high spot, Murdock could see their objective. A slightly open spot in the rugged and green-covered spires where the chopper might have found room to land, or at least to hover while the sling was unhooked.