Firestorm sts-5

by Keith Douglass

  Dewitt turned and waved, and Murdock swam over near him.

  "We dumped Frazier's 4A1. He's having a hard time. Can I trade you Frazier for Holt for a while?"

  Murdock swam up and caught hold of Frazier's arm.

  "Which is the bad side?" he asked.

  Frazier turned toward him, his eyes glassy, then shook his head. "Sir, right side, sir."

  "Easy, Frazier, easy. You're out of Hell Week. All we're doing is getting down this river to the salty Taiwan Strait. You're going to make it fine. Right, Frazier?"

  Murdock looked at the man. He was nodding. Murdock shook his arm, and Frazier came back to the present.

  "Take it easy, Frazier. We don't leave men behind, remember? You're with us all the way."

  Murdock saw what Dewitt meant. It took more effort all the time to hold Frazier up. Murdock called quietly for Holt, who came back and held Frazier from the other side.

  "No sweat, sir. We'll get him there."

  Ten minutes later Murdock saw big trouble ahead. He figured they had come two, maybe three miles when he heard the rumble of motors. He knew what they were at once. Shallow-draft river patrol boats.

  "Dewitt," Murdock called.

  He swam over from where he had been and nodded.

  "Patrol boats ahead," Murdock said. "Swim up and contact the other men and get them all out of the water on the right-hand side. Looks like more protection on that side. Leave one man close to shore we can spot."

  Dewitt waved, and struck out with a crawl stroke that would eat up the distance quickly, taking Fernandez with him.

  Murdock and Holt began angling back to the right-hand shore. They hit bottom twice and pushed off. The growl of the patrol boats came sharper now. The river made a bend to the left, and then Murdock could see them.

  Six flashing lights showed maybe a quarter of a mile downstream. There were six patrol boats working slowly against the current, searchlights playing over the water and touching both shores, probing through brush and trees.

  "Looking for us," Holt said.

  "True, let's hit the bank and get into some cover. We'll find the rest of the men later."

  They got Frazier to shore, but had to help him walk as they worked up the bank into a thick growth of brush and some trees. Frazier shook his head.

  "I can make it. Damn side isn't that bad. I can make it."

  Murdock sent Holt running downstream to find Doc and bring him back. He hoped the others weren't too far ahead.

  Dewitt swam as strongly as he could while holding onto Fernandez for what he figured was five minutes. He hadn't found the others. Then he heard a cough ahead and stroked hard again. He found them standing neck deep in the water near the shore.

  "Out and into the brush," he said. "Murdock is just behind. Doc, you better get back along the bank and see if you can do something to help Frazier. He's not good. They might be near shore or in the brush somewhere. He's hurting pretty bad."

  Doc waved and shook the rest of the water off him, made sure his MP-5 was drained, and took off upstream at a jog. Dewitt moved the men deep into the brush. He'd seen the probing searchlight and he wanted to be sure they were out of sight.

  Doc ran along the shore. The boats were far enough away so he was not taking any risk staying in the open. He heard someone coming and dropped to his knees, his MP-5 up and ready. A shadow loomed out of the darkness and before he could swing the weapon up, someone slammed into him.

  Doc jolted to the ground and rolled over. He started to swing his room broom around when he heard a chuckle.

  "Damn, Doc, I nearly wasted you good," Holt said. "How you know I was coming to fetch you?"

  "You came within a red cunt hair of getting three slugs up your left nostril. How bad is Frazier?"

  By the time Doc got there, Frazier was feeling better. Doc gave him a shot of morphine, a drink of water, and two chocolate bars. "Don't ask me where I got them," Doc growled.

  "We have time to get up to Dewitt before the patrol boats get here?" Murdock asked.

  "Not likely, L-T. We best do a hide-hole right here if we can."

  They moved deeper into the brush and settled down flat on the ground.

  Five minutes later, the patrol boats came chugging by. The powerful searchlight dug through the trees and brush, but revealed nothing unusual to the Chinese men on the boats. They kept on working their way upstream.

  "The water again?" Frazier asked.

  Murdock made up his mind. "No. Too dangerous. They could come steaming back downstream silently and catch our asses. We'll stick to the land. We should be getting close to the beach."

  They went back to the shore and worked up to where Dewitt and the rest of the platoon waited for them.

  "How is he?" Dewitt asked.

  "Better," Murdock said. "We'll stick to dry land for a while. The beach can't be far away now."

  Red came up and checked the stars. "L-T, we need to swing away from the river to get southeast. We ready?"

  Murdock sent him out thirty yards ahead and he and Holt followed. All had drained and checked their weapons. All were locked and loaded and ready to fire. Murdock asked Doc about Fernandez.

  "His arm is giving him a bad time. I put it in a sling and gave him a shot of morphine. He should make it. He's one tough cookie."

  Their line of march cut across a field, edged around a small village without a single light, and then back on their heading. Murdock kept hoping he would smell salt air. He didn't. Maybe there was an offshore flow of air. Yeah, that must be it. They had to be within a mile of the surf.

  They hit a road that went almost in the direction they wanted. They took it and the men eased up a little. The walking was better there than across the uneven fields, jumping rice paddy dikes and wading through unharvested grain.

  A truck's lights down the road drove them into the field and they kept there after that. A half mile farther along, Murdock stopped still. He turned his head and grinned. Salt air. At last he could smell the salt air.

  He ran up to Red and they checked out what lay ahead. They saw a few lights of what must be one small village to the left maybe a mile off. To the right they saw no lights of any kind.

  "Salt air, Red. You smell that?"

  Red nodded. "About fucking time. How far?"

  "No idea, but our Chinese friends have no clue where we are, which is good for us," Murdock said. "They checked the river and our former position. We vanished into thin air on them. No reason they should think we're down here. Now, all we have to do is find the beach, give a yell on the SATCOM about where we are, let them triangulate the transmission, and come and pick us up."

  They stared straight ahead down their star path.

  "Let's hit the road again for a half hour. Then we'll see just where that beach is."

  Twenty minutes later they slowed and stopped. Murdock moved up beside Red.

  "Trucks," Red said. "I can hear them and they are right in front of us somewhere. We need a little rise or a hill or something."

  The ground around them was flood plain and flat as a rice paddy.

  "Closer," Murdock said.

  They walked ahead a hundred yards and came to a slight rise. When they looked over it they saw lights strung along what only could be a road. Trucks rolled both ways. The salt air seemed stronger to Murdock.

  "Trucks and more trucks," Red said. "The damn Chinese must have a division out looking for us."

  "Good, give them something to do while we slip right through their net and into the water. Four hundred yards to the beach. Let's move up as close as we can get without giving away our position. We need a good look at this situation."

  The word was passed. No talk, no noise, quiet or dead. They worked up slowly, crawling the last fifty yards through tall grass that gave them perfect concealment.

  Murdock and Red eyed the roadway from the grass. It was built up like the other road, only this one had knots of Chinese troops every hundred yards. They were all carrying weapons, each gro
up now and then patrolling halfway to the next group.

  "Doesn't look good, Skipper," Red said.

  Murdock could hear the faint roar of breakers across the road. He could see no lights beyond the road. It had to be the beach just beyond that thin line of troopers. His only problem was how in hell did he get across that line without losing half his platoon.

  37

  Monday, May 18

  0210 hours

  Coast road

  South of Amoy, China

  Murdock moved his troops into a dry irrigation ditch three feet deep that ran alongside the roadway. They were still a hundred yards from the Chinese troops.

  "We need to find a weak spot," Murdock whispered to Red. The scout nodded. He motioned to the left and they crawled that way. After two hundred yards they could see no change in the placement of the troops along the far side of the road.

  "Seems like they expect us to come this way," Red said.

  "Yeah, and they might have this many troops along a twenty-mile stretch of the coast road. They must figure the raiders are Taiwanese and they'll try for the coast."

  Red checked his watch. "We've got maybe four hours of darkness left. That's to get through the troops here, into the surf, and get picked up before daylight."

  "Yeah, don't keep reminding me."

  They moved back to the middle of their line of SEALS in the ditch.

  "We wipe out the closest guys and make a run for the surf?" Jaybird asked. "I hear breakers not a hundred yards from that road."

  "We'd never get wet," Holt said. "They' d cut us down like corncobs in August."

  Jaybird frowned. "Holt, that makes no sense at all. Corncobs in August? Whoever heard of that?"

  "You're not a farmer, Jaybird. Else you'd know."

  Jaybird didn't give it up. "Hey, we assault their asses here, all charge across at once, and make a break for the water. Most of us would get through."

  "Most. We could lose six men that way," Murdock said. "Not a chance. We all get through, we all get out of fucking China. That's the way it's gonna be. No more talk about casualties." As Murdock said that, a truck pulled up on the road in front of them and discharged a dozen more soldiers who joined the group directly opposite the SEALS.

  "Bad news," Murdock said. He pointed, and moved the SEALS down the ditch two hundred yards to the right where the line of Chinese troops wasn't so thick. Here they were still spread out at one-hundred yard intervals with only six men at each post. The SEALS might have a chance rushing them here.

  Murdock and his men lay in the ditch for an hour. He touched Holt's shoulder.

  "Wind up that SATCOM and let's see if we can talk to somebody with some clout. Call the damned carrier."

  Holt took out the radio, broke open the antenna, and folded it out and aligned it with the satellite. Then he turned it on and listened for a minute. Nothing.

  He sent a burst message asking the carrier to reply. A voice message came back almost at once.

  "We read you, Murdock. In clear. No results yet with the Taiwanese. Our President talked with their President. We keep hoping. We'll have aircraft in the area south of Amoy just prior to dawn if you can get into the water. Our orders are firm. We can take no direct land action."

  "Can you pinpoint our location via this signal?" Murdock asked.

  "That's a Roger. We have you nine miles south of Amoy on the coast."

  "Good. Sure like to see some Navy out here damn soon."

  "Do what we can. Stay healthy."

  Murdock shut off the set. He looked at the Chinese troops in front. Be better to get half his men out than none at all. He watched the eastern sky. No hint of dawn yet. It couldn't be far away.

  Choppers to the left caught his attention. Three big birds settled down to the ground in their landing-beam islands of light. He saw twenty men jump off each one and form up into a skirmish line.

  They were a mile, maybe a little more to the left. If they came straight forward, it would take them fifteen, maybe twenty minutes to get here. If they ran they could make it in ten minutes.

  He could shift more to the right, down the irrigation ditch, maybe find some cover somewhere. In the gloom he couldn't see any growth of brush or trees.

  They had to move away from that concentration of troops. Dewitt dropped beside him.

  "Company," Dewitt said. "We got no fucking place to go."

  "Move to the right," Murdock said.

  "We're gonna run out of room that way after a while."

  "Better than staying here."

  Murdock passed the word. They would move to the right again, a thousand yards if there was room. He had a feeling the irrigation ditch wouldn't last that long.

  They crawled some places. In others they could bend over and do a poor imitation of a duck walk. Murdock was at the front of the line. When they had come about three hundred yards, he looked ahead and saw that the road turned directly at the irrigation ditch, which ended abruptly. Nowhere to go.

  He stopped the line and moved them back fifty yards from the end of the ditch.

  "What now?" Jaybird asked.

  "We wait and see what happens."

  Twenty minutes later they found out.

  "Trucks over on the right," Red Nicholson said. Murdock closed his eyes and concentrated. Then he could hear them. More six-bys probably bringing in troops. Did the Chinese know that they were in this little pocket, or were they just hoping?

  He checked the soldiers out front. They were still six per post at hundred-yard intervals. Placed that way they could provide fire support for each other, but they'd risk the danger of gunning their own men.

  Murdock called in Dewitt and Jaybird.

  "Nothing else we can do. We've got to make a try for the beach. No way we're gonna sit here and get clobbered by troops on both flanks. I'm expecting somebody to start marching at us from the rear any minute. Any ideas?"

  Jaybird nodded. "How about we do the dirty trick. We straggle out of the dark and we have Ching yell at them that we're coming in and not to fire. It's worked in some combat situations."

  "Yeah, with the Germans in U.S. uniforms," Dewitt said. "Back in WW Two."

  They passed the word for Ching, who crawled up. He listened to Jaybird lay out the idea.

  "Yeah, might work. Could get us close enough to wipe out one pocket, but then they gonna hit us with them six guys on both sides."

  "A hundred yards in the dark," Jaybird said. "Surprise. They won't know what the fuck is happening. All we need is to gun those six and turn our guns on the six on each side and run like hell for the surf."

  Murdock nodded. If anybody thought that the officers had the only good ideas, they were really fucked up.

  "Jaybird, I think you have it. We don't like have a lot of time. You go one way, Ching the other, and brief the guys. We waste the six right ahead, after we get as close as we can on a ruse. Then we gun to the sides and run for the damn surf. Everyone okay with that?"

  The other three nodded.

  "Tell them. Then, Ching, get back here. We'll come out of the ditch in a ragged line so we don't shoot each other. You stay in the middle of the line and call out when we get within forty yards or so. Your call. If you think we can walk right up to them, do it. You'll be the first man to fire when you think it's right."

  Ching nodded and the two men left. Ching was back in three minutes.

  "Let's do it," Murdock said.

  They stood and stepped over the ditch into a dry rice paddy. They walked forward, a ragged line of thirteen men in cammies, some with soft hats, some bareheaded. They walked with weapons held down, as if returning from some patrol.

  Ching held the center of the line, watching the Chinese beyond the roadway. He could see them from the waist up. Most were talking, some laughing. None seemed to be watching across the road.

  They moved up to forty yards from the roadway when the first Chinese noticed them. He looked, then pointed. He yelled something in Mandarin.

  Ching bar
ked back at him. Saying in Mandarin they were coming back from a sweep and tired enough to fall down. The Chinese soldiers seemed to understand that. Then another man beyond the road called something out to Ching.

  Ching asked him to repeat it. Then he said quietly, "Now, guys." He lifted his CAR and fired a three-round burst. Up and down the line twelve other weapons joined in. The Chinese, caught unaware, took three casualties. The other three dropped below road level and threw grenades. They popped up and fired single shots, then threw more grenades. Weapons on both sides of the target now joined in firing at the point where they thought there was an attack.

  The SEALS hit the dirt. Ching threw a fragger, but it hit short and went off on the roadway. One SEAL bellowed in pain.

  Lieutenant Blake Murdock felt something slam into his upper left arm. He spun and sprawled in the dirt. Ching rolled over beside him.

  "Won't work, Lieutenant," Ching said. "We better haul ass out of here."

  Murdock felt the waves of pain billowing through his arm, down to his torso, and up to his brain. He gritted his teeth to hold in the moan. Some of it came out. "You hit, L-T?" Ching asked.

  "Yeah, arm. Get us out of here."

  "Pull back to the ditch," Ching bellowed. "Crawl, it'll be safer. No more firing."

  They moved. Ching helped Murdock crawl. Elbows usually do most of the work pulling the body ahead. Murdock only had one elbow that was contributing. They worked slowly. The fire had slowed, then stopped from the Chinese. They had no targets. They knew their enemy was out there somewhere, but the night and a drift of clouds over the moon had helped to save the SEALS' skins.

  By the time Ching and Murdock made it to the irrigation ditch a hundred yards behind the road, Doc was waiting for them.

  "We got one more casualty," he said. He looked at Murdock's arm. "Shit, we've got two more casualties, sir." He stripped the cammie back and worked on the wound, wrapping it after dosing it with antibiotic powder. A shot of morphine followed.

  Murdock lay there breathing hard. He shook his head. "Who else got hit?"

  "Ronson, took one in the thigh. Nasty one. I think it slanted off a bone. He's hurting, but says he can walk, run, and swim to get the hell out of here."