War Cry sts-9

by Keith Douglass

  They had six Colt M-4Al's with the grenade launchers below the barrels. Murdock called the men with the launchers up and explained what they were going to do. "How many WP do we have?"

  They counted up. Eighteen WP rounds.

  "We're looking for some stored gasoline drums, but not sure we'll find them. We'll need almost maximum range on these forties. Let's try to hit something. As soon as you fire the last rounds, we'll be moving to the left a quick half klick, then due south. Stand by."

  Murdock and Major Streib took turns with the binoculars. It was Lam who found it.

  "Just to the left of that second tent, the one with the lightbulb hanging outside. Looks to me like about twenty barrels of fuel."

  "Oh, yes." Murdock passed the word to each of the forty mike shooters and set them up fifty yards closer to the target. He sent Jaybird with the Army brass a half klick to the left. When his stopwatch showed ten minutes had elapsed since they'd talked with Lewiston, he told his Colt men to start firing.

  He watched the first round hit. Short of the barrels, but it set a tent on fire. Almost at once three more 40mm rounds landed. One hit a truck and the gasoline tank exploded. Six more rounds hit in rapid order, and one blew up right beside one of the drums of gasoline. They had fire, but the WP wouldn't rupture the drums.

  Without being told, three of the shooters went to HE, and a minute later two rounds hit close enough to the stored gasoline to rupture one of the barrels. It blew and exploded the rest of the barrels of fuel into one gigantic bonfire.

  "Move it," Murdock said in his mike, and the SEALs double-timed to the left, hooking up with the Army men and running south toward the MLR.

  They heard the artillery rounds going over. Just a minor whisper before they hit near the furiously burning gasoline.

  Lam held up his hand when they had moved what Murdock figured was a half mile to the south.

  "Homeboys right ahead," Lam said. "Must be their MLR. Looks like about a dozen of them along a fifty-foot front."

  "See anybody leave, like going back to that camp?"

  "No one left while I've been watching."

  "Bradford and Fernandez, front and center with your tools," Murdock said in the Motorola. "Move up, now."

  Murdock found firing positions for the two by the time they got to where he waited. They were eighty yards from the mounds of dirt ahead of them. The trench behind the mound was open to this side.

  "We need as many of them down before we move through here and as quietly as possible," Murdock told them.

  They nodded. "Open fire at your pleasure," Murdock said.

  Bradford eased down behind his H&K PSG1 suppressed sniper rifle, and sighted in on the last man he could see to the left. Fernandez, with an identical rifle, sighted in on the last man he could see on the right. They both fired at about the same time.

  They each moved to the next man in line. Six of the NKs were down in the trench before the others noticed. One gave a high screeching yell, and the six went flat in the trench.

  Jaybird pushed in beside Murdock. "They done what they can. How about some old-fashioned fraggers?"

  Murdock nodded. He and Jaybird began crawling forward. Now and then one of the NKs lifted up from the trench, but then dropped down. Murdock and Jaybird found some cover halfway there. They paused. Murdock told the others to hold fire, and he and Jaybird wormed another fifteen yards, then took out three grenades each and looked at each other in the darkness.

  Murdock nodded. They pulled the pins and each threw a bomb. Before the first fraggers hit, the two throwers had the pins pulled on their second grenades and lofted them at the trench.

  The first ones hit short; the second ones hit the berm and rolled back into the trench, where it detonated.

  After throwing the third fraggers, the two lay still for a moment until the small hand bombs exploded. Then they came to their feet and charged the trench. They made it with no return fire. Murdock ran one way down the trench, Jaybird the other.

  Murdock spotted two NKs twenty feet down the trench trying to get to their feet. He slammed two three-round bursts into them and they went down and dead. He moved another thirty feet, and saw no more live defenders. He heard Jaybird's muted weapon fire down the other way.

  "Clear right," Murdock said.

  "Clear left," Jaybird reported.

  "Platoon, move up to the trench and over the berm," Murdock said in the mike. "This is a flat-out run for this opening. It won't be here long."

  Murdock heard running feet to his left. He brought his subgun around and cut down three rushing NK infantrymen as they rounded a slight bend in the trench. He heard Jaybird firing as well.

  The fastest of the SEALs sprinted to the trench, went up the berm and over it, then hunkered down just on the other side to wait for the rest of the platoon.

  The general was the last one to the berm. Major Streib gave him a hand up the berm, then let him drop over the side. The general grunted and swore as he hit the ground.

  DeWitt had been counting. "We got all of our people," DeWitt said on the radio. Jaybird and Murdock rolled over the berm and ran up to the rest of the men.

  "Easy now, we don't want to get shot up by friendlies over there. We go silently until our Korean buddy can make contact. Holt, try for a talk with Lewiston again. He might have some clout down here."

  They moved forward slightly, alert. The no-man's-land between the lines was wider here, maybe four hundred yards, Murdock figured. That was good. They began taking some rounds from behind them now. Evidently some of the NK soldiers had filtered in and around the bodies in the trench and figured it out. But the NKs had no targets in the dark Korean night.

  Murdock took the point with Lam. Four eyes were better than two, they decided. These South Koreans could get trigger-happy sometimes. Then ahead, they could see the concertina wire and a hastily thrust of dirt that must be the MLR. When Murdock looked around, the Korean interpreter crouched behind him.

  "This it?" Murdock asked.

  The Korean looked and nodded.

  "Can you talk to them from here?"

  He shook his head and began crawling forward. He was a dozen feet away and to the left when a machine gun fired from the South Korean side. The little Korean man buckled, then rolled over and lay still.

  "Damn," Murdock said. "There goes our ride home." He touched the lip mike. "Ching, get your bones up front, fast."

  He came a few moments later. "The MLR," Murdock whispered. "They just killed our Korean. Can you try some Japanese on them?"

  "Shit, what if they don't know Jap talk?"

  "Worth a try. Find some cover first."

  Ching crouched behind a boulder and looked over it. He shrilled out a string of Japanese and ducked. There was a stunned silence behind the SK lines. Then a thin voice came back. Ching grinned in the darkness, and shouted again in Japanese. He told them they were the American patrol that went out the night before.

  They answered him. He looked at Murdock.

  "They want a fucking password." "Tell them package. Package. We don't know a password. Try it, package."

  Ching shouted the word there times. His only answer was a six-round burst of machine-gun fire. He returned fire with a ten-round burst from his Colt M-4.

  Holt eased into the shallow where Murdock and Major Streib lay. "Got the lieutenant. He says we're in the wrong sector."

  Streib took the handset. "Lewiston, what the fuck is the matter with you? We're opposite where the big fire is, where your artillery rounds came in. Your Southern Fried Friends are shooting at us. Get over here and stop them. We've still got the package, but we could lose half of them if the North Koreans keep shooting."

  "To the west more. Okay, I'll get on the horn. My Korean isn't all that good, but we'll try."

  "Don't just try, Lewiston, do it. Just trying is going to bag you a dead general and some dead bird colonels."

  The machine gun fired again. Somebody behind them swore.

  "All weapon
s. A thirty-second firing. Go at that South Korean MLR. Let's do it now."

  The fourteen weapons of the platoon snarled, rattled, and thundered on automatic fire, shredding some of the trees over the MLR ahead of them.

  "Cease," Murdock said to the Motorola. "Ching, say it again."

  The big man from San Diego bellowed out the Japanese words again. He threw in that they had twice the firepower the men on the line had, and they would kill everyone there if they needed to.

  An American voice came back at them in the silence that followed Ching's words. "You might be who you say, you might not. So tell me, who is Beavis's buddy?"

  "Butthead, you butthead," Ching shouted in English. "You believe us now?"

  "Hey, I'm coming over the berm with no weapon," the American said. "Just to show you that I believe you." "'You got a name, friend'?"

  "Yeah, Master Sergeant Wilcox, and you guys and your fancy weapons almost turned my wife into a fucking widow. I'm coming out. Hold your damned fire."

  A moment later they saw a flashlight beam moving over the berm and down the bank; then the light reversed and lighted a redheaded American's face.

  "Let's move it, ladies," Murdock said into the mike, and the SEALs and their package of Army officers hurried forward, over the berm, and back into friendly territory.

  Again the general was the last man over the berm because he moved slower than all the rest. Once on the ground on the South side, he took over at once.

  "Who the hell's in charge here?" he bellowed.

  A first lieutenant in the Republic of Korea troops hurried up and saluted. He chattered in Korean. The general brushed him aside.

  "Get the SATCOM. Where is it? I want a chopper in here within five minutes. Streib, get your ass over here with my SATCOM and roust those bastards back in Regiment. I want some action, now."

  Murdock pulled his platoon to one side. He took Master Sergeant Wilcox with him.

  "Stay away from the general," Murdock said. "He's furious that he had to walk out. Now, how do we get out of here to where we can get picked up by a Navy chopper?"

  "Sir, I'd say about half a mile down the road here and to the left is a field you can use for your LZ. Be glad to show you the way."

  "What sector is this? How can you tell our chopper where to find us?"

  "Get me on the horn with your pilot and I can guide him in here like biscuits to gravy."

  "Good, come with us." Murdock moved the platoon out without another look at the general. Holt hooked up with the carrier on the SATCOM, and ten minutes later he had contact with a Sea Knight on the way to pick them up.

  Holt put the sergeant on, and the noncom gave the directions. "Right, sir. We're sector twelve. I can give you coordinates; then we'll pop a couple of red flares in the LZ. Yes, sir, a secure area and we'll be at least a klick behind the MLR. Right, sir, we'll see you in about thirty."

  With the sergeant leading, it took them another ten minutes to get to the field. It was a former rice paddy, larger than most, and still half-frozen from the winter chill.

  Holt kept on the SATCOM with the Sea Knight, and when he was close enough, they threw out two red flares. The big bird settled down and Murdock gave the sergeant a handshake, then ran with his men for the loading door on the big helo.

  Just inside, Murdock found Don Stroh with a huge grin.

  "You did it, you sonofabitch, you did it."

  "Never a doubt, except when that asshole general and his men all got drunk and nearly gave our position away."

  "Heard about that. General Reynolds heard about your chewing out your general buddy. He's not the most popular man in the command. But he and his staff knew too much to risk getting them caught. If you couldn't extricate them, they were going to call in an air strike and waste all seven of them."

  "Major Streib should get part of the credit for the mission. He's a good man. I want you to pass that along to the general. He was a good help."

  Murdock saw the last man in the chopper. He looked at DeWitt.

  "We have fourteen bodies, Commander, all ready to move," DeWitt said.

  "Tell the crew. Let's get out of here."

  Murdock looked around at his SEALs in the faint light. "Somebody got hit back there on that final MLR. Who picked up the lead?"

  "Must be me, if nobody else is bleeding," Colt Franklin said, his voice soft, shaky.

  Mahanani found him sitting against the side of the chopper. "Where?"

  "My side. Don't seem all that bad." His voice trailed off. Mahanani got him stretched out on the floor and with a flashlight checked the wounded man. He put a compress on the entry point of the bullet and felt under the man's back. The slug hadn't come out. He gave Franklin a shot of morphine, and covered him up with a pair of Navy blankets from the helo.

  "You take it easy, buddy. Have you in sick bay before you know it. You've got a slug inside somewhere that the docs will find. Looks like no more late-night assignments for you for a while."

  A half hour later, Murdock and DeWitt talked with the surgeon in the Monroe's sick bay.

  "We'll have to go in and take out that slug. We found it and it's not in a critical position, but it has to come out. It missed most of the vitals, but did nick part of the small intestine. He won't be fit for duty for a month at least."

  "Thanks, Doc," Murdock said. "We'll check with you tomorrow." He looked at his watch. It was still in the stopwatch mode. He punched the button for the current time: 2320. Time for a good night's sleep. All he had to do was write up the after-action report. A lot of people were going to be reading this one, including the general they'd saved. No wonder the Eighth Army didn't want anyone else to know the man's name. That sounded like the Army.

  14

  USS Monroe

  Yellow Sea

  Miguel Fernandez dropped on his bunk and closed his eyes. It had been a long day. He'd cleaned his weapon, shaped up his gear, and repacked everything ready to roll. If and when. He gave a big sigh. The head again. He could go for eight hours on a mission without needing to urinate, but back on the ship it hit him every hour or so. He pushed his feet down to the floor from the three-high bunk, and bumped into Joe Douglas. They stared at each other.

  "What's the matter, you never saw a white man before?" Douglas said, his face stitched with a sneer.

  ''Not an asshole one like you, Douglas."

  Douglas had eased away from the other man. Now he lunged forward. Mahanani grabbed him by the cammie shirt and jerked him backward like a weightless rag doll.

  "Hold it there, fast stuff," Mahanani said easily. "Hey, you're not getting this berthing into trouble. Thought the JG told you guys to stay apart."

  "Just coming to get something from Quinley," Douglas said with a touch of a whine. "Then this fucking spic jumps down on me."

  "Didn't know you were there or I'd have stomped you good," Fernandez said. He'd been called worse names, but the racist jibe from Douglas was ten times as bad. He glared at Douglas.

  Mahanani prodded Douglas toward the door. "Little buddy, best you get out of here. Get whatever you need from Quin tomorrow. We're all tired and hurting. Things will look better in the sunlight."

  "Hell, no," Fernandez shouted. "This has been going on for too long. Let's get it finished right here with fists and no rules."

  Mahanani laughed. "Fernandez, you're not that stupid. Everyone knows what the JG told you two. One more blowup and you're both out of SEALs digging snow in Adak, Alaska. You want that?"

  "I'm not gonna let some — "

  Mahanani grabbed Fernandez and pushed him against the bunks. "You'd rather give up what you've worked for for three years — to be a SEAL? You're not that stupid, Fernandez."

  He stared hard at both men. "Fernandez, get back in your bunk. Douglas, you get out of here and back to your compartment. If any hint of this gets back to the JG, I'll smash a few heads just for the fun of it. You guys hear?"

  Douglas snorted and stalked out of the berthing compartment. Fernandez lay bac
k in his bunk, no longer needing to go to the head. When Fernandez looked up, the big Hawaiian/Tahitian stood there grinning at him.

  "Hey, little buddy, it goes down hard, but it goes down. I've had some of that too, through the years. I know how bad you want to stay in SEALs, so do it." He leaned in closer so no one else could hear him. "Yeah, I know what happened at that barbecue on the beach. I was there, remember? Nothing you can't live with for a while. I wouldn't give Douglas a hell of a long time in this platoon. He's a natural fuckup. Just hang on, things will get better. If it gets too bad, I'll go to the JG."

  "No, Mahan, don't do that. I can fight my own fights."

  "Not if the other guy is always hitting below the belt. Now just relax. It's over for tonight." Then Fernandez knew he had to get to the head. He eased down, and looked at Mahanani. "You want to hold my hand while I take a piss."

  "I think you can handle that," the big Hawaiian said, and slid into his bunk.

  Fernandez took a towel with him and left the compartment for the head. He had just passed the other compartment and turned down the companionway when someone jumped out directly in front of him, and before he could more than try to step sideways, a fist slammed into his face, then again and again, until he went down to his knees.

  For just a moment the other man started to kick, then put down his foot.

  "Fucking greaser asshole," the man said. That was when Fernandez knew the attacker was Douglas. He tried to get up. Douglas pushed him sideways and he fell on the deck, skidding his right hand and producing a floor burn. Douglas snorted and hurried down the hall.

  Fernandez got to his feet, his head still woozy and his vision not what it should be. He tried to clear his head. His face felt like he'd been run over by a tank. He made it to the head, tried to wash his face off with cold water, then half walked and staggered back to his own compartment.

  The lights were off inside. Even the Hawaiian was sleeping. Fernandez hadn't noticed much difference in the appearance of his face when he looked in the mirror in the head. Tomorrow morning would be different. Damn, what would he say when the JG asked him how he got his face beat up? Fernandez didn't know. All he knew was that he wanted to stay in the SEALs more than anything else in the world. Well, with the exception of his wife and family. They came first, then the SEALs. But it was a damn close call.