Murdock spent half the morning in sick bay. The doctors had decided to let Franklin rest during the night. They said the operation would be on at 0730.
It didn't get started until 0930. They wanted to do more tests. An X ray found the North Korean slug. It had hit some hard tissue and curved around, and was now lodged two inches from the spine, pushing gently against the Lumbar Five vertebra and a bundle of nerves that controlled the lower extremities. If it didn't come out, it could paralyze him.
The surgery took two hours. Murdock and DeWitt paced the compartment like caged tigers. They took turns filling the coffee cups. Just before 1200 the doctor came out smiling.
"Got the damned thing. Looks free and clear. Ordinarily on a wound like that, the bullet would go in the front of the side and out the back causing little trouble. This man will need at least two months before any strenuous activity. Somebody say he's a SEAL?"
"Right, sir," JG said.
"Put him behind a desk or give him a month's liberty. Don't let him anywhere near that O course of yours in Coronado or I'll have both of you up on charges."
"Tomorrow morning would be too soon to send him to a mission then, I imagine," Don Stroh said from behind them. The doctor scowled, turned and left.
"Way too early, Company man," Murdock said. "We're down to thirteen good men, so from here on let's keep it simple. How is your war going?"
"It's evening up out there. The South Ks are getting their defenses together. Might even be some counterattacks soon. What I'm wondering about is what you did to that general. I still don't know his name. I was having breakfast with the admiral when this Army guy called Kenner. He put it on the speaker phone so I could hear.
"This one-star general called you every name in the book. Said you were insubordinate, refused to follow his orders, claimed you outranked him on this mission, and about a dozen other charges.
"'Kenner listened to him, then snorted and asked this general if the SEALs had saved his ass. He said yes, but… Kenner cut him off, told him he was lucky he didn't get left behind. Told him he better write up a glowing report about the SEALs' rescue or Kenner would forward to General Reynolds a copy of your after-action report.
"That cooled down the one-star in a rush. He said maybe he was a little hasty and he wouldn't press any charges. "'Charges!' Kenner thundered. He said the general should at least recommend you for a Silver Star or a Navy Cross."
Murdock led the other two men to the SEALs' assigned assembly room.
"I'm still going to send a copy of my after-action report to General Kenner," Murdock said. "He probably never will see it, but I owe it to my men to protest that asshole general's actions."
Stroh grinned. '"Yeah, you're a real team player, Murdock. Trouble is, I don't have a single job for you to do today. You get to sit fat, happy, and warm while those GIs out there are fighting for their lives."
"Good for them. I hope you had a good breakfast. Now, time for us working stiffs to get to it."
Jaybird had the men going over their gear, doing resupp ly on their ammo packs, and cleaning their weapons, again.
Ed DeWitt checked over his men. He had five now instead of seven. Fred Washington was still in sick bay from his wound suffered in the action in the Kuril Islands. Now Colt Franklin was also in sick bay with that strange side wound. DeWitt stopped in front of Fernandez, who had his H&K PSG1 sniper rifle broken down on a wipe cloth in front of him. Fernandez looked up and DeWitt scowled.
"Fernandez, into my office." DeWitt walked down to the far end of the room and put the SEAL in a chair.
"Just what the hell happened to you?"
"Fell off my bunk, sir. I'm the third one up. Hit some gear on the floor. Hurt like hell. Then this morning I see I got some bruises. Nothing busted, though. Fit for duty."
DeWitt closed his eyes and shook his head. "Fernandez…" He gave up and looked away. "Am I going to have to talk to the rest of the squad?"
"They don't know a thing, Lieutenant. Happened in the companionway. It was dark. I never got a good look at who hit me."
"But you have a good idea."
"No hard evidence, sir."
"You know our squad is down to five men. I leave both of you behind, that gives me three men. What the hell am I supposed to do with three instead of seven?"
"Sir, this is personal, not professional. I would never violate my job as a SEAL to settle a personal problem. I have no doubts that the other man in this problem would also act like a SEAL in every aspect of a combat situation. We can function in the same squad, sir, and we won't let you down."
DeWitt sat down near Fernandez and stared at him. He was a good man, a fine SEAL, a team player. He was so thrilled to be a SEAL that the vibrations shot out of him in all directions. He knew his job, he did it, he was happy in his work.
Douglas was another matter. He had made the grade, passed through BUD/S, earned his Trident, and was in his second year with the teams. But something just didn't jibe right. Something wasn't 4–0 with him. For the life of him, DeWitt couldn't pin it down. It was nothing right now that would get him ramrodded out of the SEALs. Still…
"I'll have a talk with Douglas. In the meantime and from now on, you keep away from him. You're in separate berthing compartments, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Carry on, Fernandez." DeWitt watched Fernandez go back to his field stripped sniper rifle and begin putting it back together. He knew Fernandez was married, the only one in the platoon. Marriage was almost impossible for a SEAL. Long hours, days, weeks, sometimes months away in the field. No schedule, no time together with a wife and family that could be counted on. Most SEALs who got married found that it didn't last long. Miguel had held on.
DeWitt walked down the line and motioned for Douglas to follow him. At the other end of the room, he had a standup talk with Douglas.
"You notice the bruises on Fernandez's face?"
"Yes, sir."
"Any idea how he got them?"
"No, sir. He told Mahan that he fell out of his bunk. Said he had a third-level slot."
"You believe that?" "No, sir."
"Did you beat him up in that dark companionway last night, Douglas?"
"Me? No. No, sir. Not me."
"Who else?"
"I don't know."
"Douglas, if it turns out you're lying to me, I'll have your ass keelhauled. You know how long it would take you to go all the way under the keel of this carrier and come up on the other side?"
"About an hour, sir."
"Hope you can hold your breath a fucking long time. Dismissed."
Douglas gave him a short grin, then dropped it and hurried back to repacking his ammo. DeWitt watched him go. Dammit to hell. What could he do next? He had to keep them apart. He could do that in the field, but if they had a full day and a night here on the carrier, anything could happen. He'd caution Mahanani to keep a close eye on both of them.
Lieutenant General Richard F. Reynolds studied the wall map that still showed the front lines of the North's invasion. The bulge was greatest daggering at Seoul. It was still twelve miles away, eighteen miles from the Eighth Army Headquarters. What he wouldn't give right now for a pair of fully outfitted U.S. Army quick-response battalions. He quit dreaming. All but one sector of the 151-mile-long front line was manned by South Korean units. They were sharp, well trained, with good U.S. weapons, but they were still ROKs. Some had held, some had fought valiantly in spite of overwhelming odds. Now the front line was relatively stable. Four days of war and not a hell of a lot to show for it.
Yes, the South troops were holding. Partly because the North had a massive supply problem. They had overextended in some areas and were paying for it. There had been some counterattacks to retake strategic high ground, but no big move on either side.
He had air superiority. The Navy planes had been a real help. Now he had to figure where to put a thrust. He had a two-division reserve. Not much, but it would have to do. The bulge toward Seoul would be th
e logical point of attack. But he and some of his top staff had thought about doing a dogleg. Striking quickly through a weak point to the east of Seoul where the current MLR had been pushed back only three miles from the old DMZ.
Ram through there with tanks and troops and plunge in five miles north, then take a sharp right turn and jolt through mostly unprotected countryside for fifteen miles before turning south and trying to cut off the eight to ten thousand troops and armor that the North must have on line against Seoul. If he could cut them off for three days, it might be enough to bottle up the troops and slice them to pieces with artillery and air.
His senior command had been highly in favor of it. They would start with artillery along the line, then a fake attack near the Seoul bulge, and at the same time launch their major thrust north at Changdan. It should work.
Tanks, how many tanks did he have to have that he could commit? It would take two battalions of tanks, twenty-eight of them. That should do it. They could lead the attack, drop off one here and there for protection along the line, and then race across the bulge if they could toward Songu-ri. Yes. He liked it. His staff had liked it. The ultimate decision was up to him.
He turned to his phone and called Switzer, his tank commander.
"Yeah, I can give you twenty-eight tanks. We patch two outfits together and have Major Kitts in charge of the new Ninety-first. When do you want them and where?"
Reynolds made three more calls, then got his staff together and told them it was a go. They would push off at first light the next morning. All tanks and troops and a supply column with food and ammunition and supplies would be ready to follow the troops.
General Reynolds sat back in his chair and tried to relax. In the morning he was committing over ten thousand South Korean troops to a major battle. He made certain Major Hawkins had all the facts when he talked to the Navy. Hawkins was his Air Liaison officer with the CAG on the carrier. The Navy ground-attack planes would be there to help the troops. Yes, everything done or in motion.
In an hour he'd fly down to the Point of Departure and see how things were shaping up. They had time enough to get the troops down there and the tanks. Most of the movement would take place after dark so they didn't tip off the North. Yes, if this worked they could trip up the whole invasion and then throw the NK remnants back across the DMZ.
Would the United Nations let them chase the NKs all the way back to Pyongyang and end this thing once and for all? From what he'd heard so far, the North Korean equipment was still basically what the Soviets had given them ten years ago. It was old and wearing out and falling to pieces. He was surprised they had surged as far over the DMZ as they had. He had sent a top-priority radio request to the President of the United Nations General Assembly that morning asking if his UN troops had to stop at the DMZ. He'd hoped for a quick reply. So far, no word.
His sergeant major poked his head in the door. "General, better hit the floor. We've got an air raid warning. Not sure if the planes will get through, but they have ordnance. The North Korean jets are less than three minutes away and could launch missiles at any time."
15
Near Changdan, South Korea
The MLR, five miles below old DMZ
Major Donovan Kitts checked with his men again. He was back to full strength with the 91st, but with only six of his tanks and crews from his former unit. The 32nd, which had been battered as badly as his bunch, was blended in with his machines. He had his six vehicles in the point of the attack.
At the last briefing, General Reynolds himself had told them that their line-crossers had reported no armor and not over a company of North Koreans directly opposite them. The 91st would slash through the first line and see what was in the rear areas. Five miles, then a fast turn to the right for a run across the countryside. He had trained in some of this South Korean land.
His only problem would be holding back so the infantry could keep up with their advance. They had to secure the area as they moved. Maybe three miles an hour. It would work.
He went to each tank and talked to the tank commander, meeting some of the men from the 32nd for only the second time. Urging them to do their level best.
"This is one strike that could put a fatal thrust into the whole invasion," he said. "If we can bottle up those forces facing Seoul, and take them out, the whole damn invasion could just evaporate."
"Yeah, but if they riddle us, kill our tanks, and slaughter these ROKs, our asses are really in a sling," one of the tank commanders said.
Kitts grinned. "Yeah, truly. So let's keep our behinds out of any slings."
He could see some of the vehicles and troops behind his tanks. The other tank battalion would lead a thrust a half mile to the left of them. If all went well, the two columns would merge at the five-mile point north and swing due west.
Kitts slid down through the hatch on his tank and waited. He'd trained for three years for this night. In those three years he'd had exactly two days of combat. Now it would be a little more. They had to do well. They would do well.
The artillery opened up at precisely 0445. It was almost an hour to sunrise. The artillery started far to the west and worked one unit at a time eastward, until the whole thirty mile front rang with exploding artillery rounds.
He heard the whispers as the 105 and 155 rounds whistled overhead and exploded less than half a mile away. The rounds went in for ten minutes in front of them, three or four a minute exploding in a deadly choreography of death.
Then it was quiet. Ten minutes later jet aircraft dove on the MLR of the North Koreans and unleashed cannon fire and air-to-ground missiles.
At 0510, just as dawn crept over the far hills, the order to move out came. Kitts ordered his tanks to button up and advance with him. He was the first tank in the diamond formation, and thrust forward in his assigned direction. They passed through the South Korean MLR in a narrow path, then expanded in their diamond and charged ahead over the uneven ground at fifteen miles an hour.
Over five hundred troops followed closely behind the clanking, roaring vehicles of sudden death.
"Anything?" Kitts asked his gunner on the intercom.
"Nada, Major." He was using his scope and checking every aspect of the land ahead. "Okay, I have their MLR, there is some firing coming. Machine gun. We'll work the area with a round."
The 105 round fired, and the familiar fumes seeped into the compartment. Kitts watched on the AN/VVG-2 ruby range finder. He saw the muzzle flash of a machine gun; then the whole area of the berm gushed in one large explosion and the flashing stopped.
The tank's 7.62mm machine gun began chattering. He saw more rounds taking out the MLR fortifications the NKs had quickly thrown up two days ago.
Then his tank was at the MLR. His driver edged through the hole their round had made, found no tank trap on the far side, and gunned through the MLR and charged forward.
They were in a series of rise paddies, with their two-foot high dikes around small plots less than fifty feet square. Ahead he could see no troops and no vehicles.
"Check in when you clear the MLR," he radioed his tanks. Quickly six checked in, and before they were a quarter of a mile ahead, the rest reported they had breached the enemy MLR with no problem.
A Captain Casemore came on the radio. He was Infantry with the ROK company directly behind his tank.
"Slow it down, Major. We've got a few nasties to put down along here. Not many, but too many to leave in our rear. Take a five-minute break where you are and let us catch up."
Kitts pulled his rig to a stop, ordered his tanks to stay in place and to keep watching ahead. He spotted a six-by truck on a road a half mile ahead. His gunner swung around, used the M-21 solid-state analog ballistic computer, and zeroed in. Before the truck could get under way, a 105 round jolted into it and blew the truck into scrap metal spread over a two-acre field. Kitts checked his watch. After four minutes of waiting he called the captain on the radio.
"Yeah, we're ready to move, Major. One
of your tanks rolled right over a hidden machine gun that was giving my guys fits. Move it now."
Major Kitts rolled his tanks again. They found little opposition. There were no tanks opposing them. Two trucks they saw wound up in the ditch and burning. Along one road, they ran into a string of twenty NK troops, who quickly threw down their weapons and gave up.
Kitts unbuttoned the turret and stood up, checking the terrain ahead.
Twenty minutes later he came to the landmark that had been described, and executed a sharp turn to the right, heading due west.
"Now, things should get more interesting," he told his gunner.
High overhead, Tomcat 204 and 206 flew CAP for the six F/A-18 Hornets from the Monroe. They scanned north for any NK aircraft, and usually came up empty.
The Hornets buzzed around the attack to the north; then when the tanks and the column turned west, they worked ahead, attacking any targets they found.
"Horny One-Sixteen, I've got two trucks on that road down there. Want to take turns?"
"That's a roger, Horny One-Twenty. We'll use the twenties, no sense wasting anything heavier. I'm right behind you."
The Hornets turned toward the slow-moving trucks^ taking a high angle to get more rounds on the rigs from their Mach.9 speed. The first Hornet dumped twenty rounds from his six-barrel gun.
That still left him with five hundred rounds.
"Caught him with three of them, One-Sixteen. See if you can find the fuel tank."
The second Hornet made his run, blasting ten rounds into the lead truck, blowing a front tire, slamming it off the dirt road, and setting it on fire.
"Oh, yes, Doctor," One-Sixteen said. "Now where did that second truck vanish to?"
"Saw him heading for some trees back there, just west of the burning truck. Let's take a look."
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