The doctor motioned to the box of drugs. “He says the one with the blue label will bring the prisoner around in ten minutes, and leave no harmful effects.”
“DeWitt, you have the subject, can he travel?” Murdock asked on the radio.
“Not yet, maybe in ten minutes. Your situation?”
“We’re through the fence, mopping up. Found half a dozen more guards. Most of the others seem to be out in blocking positions. We control the area. You really smashed that personnel carrier.”
“Good old TNAZ.”
De Witt looked back at the doctor. “Tell him to do it now. Any problem and he’s a dead man, very slowly and painfully a dead man.”
Fernandez had tied the other two civilians’ arms behind them with plastic strips and sat them down along the far wall. The doctor picked up the medication, put it in a syringe, and went toward Cullhagen. DeWitt grabbed his hand.
“Do it right or you’re dead.” He put the Bull Pup muzzle against his head and said, “Bang.” The doctor almost fainted. He nodded, pushed the needle into Cullhagen’s arm, and injected the drug.
Two minutes later the CIA man began to recover. Five minutes and he looked around, scowled, and started talking, but they couldn’t understand him.
DeWitt frowned and called Murdock to come up. They watched Cullhagen and whispered to each other.
“Is he going to be lucid enough to travel with us?” DeWitt asked.
“Or do we put him down?” Murdock asked.
“I didn’t want to make that decision myself,” DeWitt said.
Twelve minutes after the injection, Cullhagen coughed, looked up, and blinked. He rubbed one hand over his face and stared at the doctor standing in front of him.
“Like I told you, you sonofabitch, I’m not going to tell you a damn thing. I don’t know anything. I’m a fucking driver who got pulled into this assignment because our regular guy got the — do you believed it — mumps.” He looked around, grinned when he saw the SEALs. “Well, different uniforms. Our side, I hope.” He held out his hand to DeWitt. “Cullhagen here. When the hell does the chopper get here to take us out of this pigsty of a rat fucking hole?”
“Sir, as soon as you can walk and carry an AK47 rifle and forty rounds.”
Cullhagen blinked, shook his head. “Damn glad to see you guys. Let me walk around a little. Don’t hurt these guys, they weren’t half bad. They had an Army interrogator coming in. He’d have pulled my asshole right out my nose before he was done with me. Let’s get moving.”
“It’s seven miles through the sand,” Murdock said.
“Hell, I did two tours in Nam. I can hike fifty miles with a fifty-pound pack. Let’s go.”
They went down the stairs and out to the front of the house. Half a dozen soldiers lay on the ground where they had been tied up after capture. They would live. Jaybird ran up waving his arms. “Found a truck at the side of the barracks. Old, but it runs. Might beat walking.”
Murdock had watched Cullhagen walk down the stairs and then out of the house. There was no chance that he could do seven miles even without a rifle.
“Can we all get inside?” DeWitt asked.
“It’s a flatbed with stakes on the sides and back. Room for everyone.”
“Get it over here,” Murdock said. “We run into the patrols this way and any blocking force, we use the EAR on them so they don’t warn anyone ahead we’re coming. Let’s do it.”
Ten minutes later they left the front gate. They had to nudge the toppled personnel carrier out of the way, then rolled down the gravel road. The old truck would do thirty miles an hour top speed. That was five times what they could do walking.
A mile down the road they saw lights and slowed. The two men with the EAR weapons aimed them over the top of the cab and waited. It was a blocking force of troops, about fifty, Murdock decided. Two vehicles lit up the sides of the road. Two men stood in the road waving for them to stop. At two hundred yards, the pair of EAR weapons fired. The effect was immediate. Almost all of the men in the roadway collapsed unconscious. The EARs fired again ten seconds later, one at each side of the road. Most of the rest of the surprised soldiers went down unconscious. Half a dozen men survived the effects of the enhanced audio and ran into the desert.
At the block itself, the truck stopped, SEALs jumped out, and dragged enough unconscious soldiers out of the way so the truck could drive through without crushing anyone.
“One of our more humane days,” Murdock told Cullhagen. “Don’t count on that happening too often.”
The CIA man was fascinated by the EAR weapon. “Heard we had something like that on the shelf. Didn’t know it was operational.”
“It isn’t yet, but we snagged a few for field testing,” Murdock said. “Works damn well for silent attacks.”
Once in the truck, Mahanani heard about DeWitt’s shot arm, and peeled up his shirt sleeve and checked it. “An in-and-out, j.g. No big deal. Might slow down your left-handed drinking, but that’s about all.” He sterilized the areas with alcohol wipe pads, then put some medication on the two wounds, and wrapped them securely to stop any more bleeding. “Good as new, j.g., but no Purple Heart, since we were never here and this mission never happened.”
Five minutes later, a pair of headlights showed down the road coming at them. They let it come, and crouched down in the truck bed, hoping not to attract the attention of those in the oncoming rig. It turned out to be a sedan that slammed past them at maximum speed and continued on without backward glance from the driver.
Jaybird turned the rig right when they came to the paved road along the beach, and a half mile down he turned toward the coast. It was less than two hundred yards away.
“Let’s find our little bunch of trees and get out of here,” Murdock said. Lampedusa found the right trees, and the rubber boats were still there.
“Good,” DeWitt told Cullhagen. “You won’t have to swim out.”
Cullhagen was showing signs of exhaustion. “No sleep or food or water for three days,” he said. The SEALs gave him water, then some of their emergency food bars.
“So damn hungry I can’t even taste them,” he said.
Ten minutes later the rubber ducks were in the water and the SEALs and Cullhagen loaded on board. The storm was over, and the Mediterranean Sea looked like a big pond, it was so calm. The time was almost 0400. Two hours of darkness left if they were lucky.
Murdock made a call with the Motorola, but got no response. He kept trying as they motored slowly due north. The submarine was supposed to be on the surface from 0400 to 0600. When they were a mile offshore, the sub answered on a Motorola the SEALs had left on board. The sub was waiting. Murdock stood high in the IBS and waved three light sticks. His radio spoke again.
“Floaters, I have your signal. Red light sticks. You’re dead ahead and we’ll make contact.”
“Oh, yeah,” Vinnie Van Dyke said. “A whole fucking mission and we didn’t even get wet.”
Twenty minutes later they made a safe transfer to the sub, collapsed the IBS craft as far as they would go, and pushed them into the boat. Once inside the submarine, Cullhagen asked for an encrypted radio and sent a message to Washington.
The SEALs found bunks and sacked out. Murdock didn’t sleep much. He still had to integrate totally two new men in the platoon into the operation. That would take some doing.
3
NAVSPECWARGRUP-ONE
Coronado, California
Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock leaned back in his chair in his office in Third Platoon, SEAL Team Seven, and played it over in his mind again. Yes, it should work. He needed a good test for his new men in the squad. They had performed well in the mission to Libya, but that had been fairly routine. There had been no real test for either Luke Howard or the new Senior Chief Timothy Sadler.
The training exercise he had in mind would help glue the new men into the squad, and help Sadler begin to earn the respect and loyalty of all the men in the platoon.
&nb
sp; It was 0630, and Murdock was the only man in the platoon area. He liked it that way. It would give him time to sort things out without any interruptions.
By 0730 Murdock had his desk cleaned up, his after-action report on the Libya affair finished on the computer and e-mailed to Master Chief MacKenzie, who would download it and print up the number of copies needed for distribution.
Senior Chief Sadler came in and showed surprise.
“Sorry, sir, just can’t get used to you being in so early. In my other platoon I was always the first one across the quarterdeck. My PL usually wandered in about 0900.”
“Old habit, Senior Chief. This way I get my desk cleaned for the day’s training. I have a new routine for us for today. Give you a chance to work the men and get to know them a little better.”
“Good, Commander. I’ve needed that. Taking me a while to get settled in here. Some of your men have been together for three years?”
“Going on that, Sadler. We’re a combat outfit. We get a lot of action and the men tend to build strong bonds when they’re saving each other’s skins. Sometimes they think one of them should be Senior Chief, but they don’t have the rate, so it can’t happen. Coffee?”
They both had cups, and the Senior Chief looked up. “Commander, what’s the training sked for today?”
“In the field. We’ll go out east on Highway Eight a little past Boulevard, where we have a handshake arrangement with a landowner. We can do some live firing up in his hills as long as we pick up our brass and don’t start any fires. Some rugged hills up in there that make good training grounds, and a lot closer than going all the way out to Niland and the desert site there.”
“Live firing?”
“You bet, and some tricky work that will take some concentration by all the troops. I’ll brief you on the way up. First call is for 0800 as usual. The six-by will be here by that time, and all we have to do is pick up our ammo, equipment, and gear and we’ll be off. I want you to final-check each man before we leave. Oh, I hope you’re working on names. I want you to know each man’s name and be able to identify him from looking at the back of his head.”
“Working on that, sir. Have our squad down, but not all of Bravo.”
Later Murdock watched as Sadler checked out the equipment on each of the thirteen other EM SEALs. He caught a few minor problems and smoothed over the corrections. Murdock had never doubted Sadler’s ability as a SEAL. He had interviewed four men before he picked Sadler for the top spot here. But as with any new man, the personalities had to mix just right for the top man to be the true EM leader of the platoon. So far Sadler was looking good.
The ride in the six-by truck out to the shooting grounds always took longer than Murdock wanted it to.
By 1030 they were on the ground hiking toward a pair of peaks off the highway by eight miles.
Senior Chief Sadler had given the troops the news. “Men, we’re going on a short hike, about six miles; then we’ll go into combat mode and attack the hill to the left. There are some steep spots and we may have a little rock-climbing work to do to get there. It’s going to take some teamwork and roping. You all have the 600-strength nylon rope. We’ll probably need it. I’ll set the pace at five miles an hour; it’ll help us get the kinks out.”
There were a few grumbles, but nothing Sadler could pick up on. He grinned and led out toward the mountains over the San Diego back country’s dry hills, which received under ten inches of rain a year and grew mostly some low grass and sage. Here and there a splash of green showed in canyons where runoff helped nourish a few live oak trees.
Murdock nodded at the pace. It was strong. The average good walker can do a mile in fifteen minutes, about four minutes to the mile. Five miles is pushing it. Race walkers, who always have one foot on the ground at all times, can do seven to eight miles an hour.
An hour later the sweating SEALs eyed the sharp cliffs and rises in front of them.
“We going up that mutha?” Paul Jefferson, Engineman Second Class, asked. Then he laughed. “Shit, I can do that one blindfolded with one hand.”
Senior Chief Sadler smiled. “Good, Jefferson. You can take the lead. You won’t need any pitons here, but some roping will help. I want you to go up to that first ledge, tie off a rope, and let it down to help anyone up who needs it. I’d just as soon see that rope left untouched by the rest of you.”
Jefferson grinned as he looked at the rock. He’d done some free climbs and quite a bit on rock. He picked his route up the thirty feet to the ledge, and went up it almost without stopping. He kicked loose some rock on one of the footholds. Jefferson tied off his line to a solid upthrust and tossed it down the side.
“Hey, you tenderfeet, you’all can come up now,” Jefferson said.
“Bravo Squad, up the side in combat order. Jefferson, you go up to the next level and wait.”
The climb to the first ledge wasn’t difficult. It took a little care and balance, but the first six men in Bravo made it fine. Only Khai had to grab the rope to keep from falling and power up the last two handholds to the ledge.
Senior Chief Sadler went up the rocks right behind j.g. DeWitt, and then passed the rest on the ledge and worked up thirty-five feet to the second ledge, where Jefferson sat whistling.
“Hey, Senior Chief, about time you got up here. What a view. Look out there, you can see the highway.”
“Yeah, Jefferson, nice view. Now let’s get a rope tied off and down to the first level just in case.”
“Watch Howard, the new guy. Told me he hated rock climbing.”
“Okay, Bravo, send up the squad,” Sadler barked. “Weapons over your backs as usual. Let’s move it.”
The Bravo Squad worked up the next slope, while Alpha came up the first one. The second slope was tougher, with no easy path, and two or three ways that would get you to the top. Fernandez made it with ease; then Franklin went a different route and slipped and skidded four feet back to the ledge. Three SEALs caught him and he tried again. This time he made it.
As the men came to the top of the second shelf, Sadler told Jefferson to lead them off to the left where the ledge bled into a gentle slope toward the top of the mountain.
Ostercamp had some trouble on the second slope, grabbed the rope and saved himself, and went on to the top. From there it went smoothly until Howard started up the second climb. He went up partway, then climbed down and tried another way. On the third try he slipped and fell ten feet down the rocks. Bradford and Lampedusa saw him sliding and broke his fall. All three slammed to the rocky ground, but no bones were broken.
Bradford pointed to the far left route. “That’s the best one, man. Do that one and it’ll be a piece of cake.”
Howard took a deep breath and started up the climb. At the branch to the left route he hesitated, then went that direction and, with only one small slip, gained the top.
Ten minutes later all sixteen SEALs sat in a group on the flank of the mountain looking at the top. Sadler stood and pointed up where they were all looking.
“Nope, we’re not going all the way up. Fact is, it’s time for a short lunch break, twenty minutes to devour those gourmet lunches you brought in your small packs, the ever-loving MREs. So take twenty.”
Meals Ready to Eat were not the favorite of the SEALs, but they had kept them alive more than once on long missions. The SEALs ate what they wanted, and trashed the rest, then carefully picked up every plastic bit and envelope and package, and stuffed it all back in their packs.
Sadler checked his watch, and at precisely twenty minutes after the lunch break started, it ended. “Men, look over to your right. See that snag of a live oak? How far are we from it?”
“A thousand yards,” Ching said.
“More like twelve hundred,” Jaybird chirped.
“Not a chance, it’s not more than nine hundred,” Lampedusa said.
“The scout is right, it’s nine hundred yards. We’re going to capture it. From here to there we have a ravine, a slab of rock an ac
re wide, and some sagebrush. We’ll go on twenty-yard surges. The rear man gives covering fire as his partner races up twenty yards, goes prone, and when the man behind him stops firing, he opens up as his buddy runs past him and up twenty yards.
“The important points here are two. I want a straight-string line across those men advancing and going prone. Any man more than two feet out of line gets a hundred push-ups on the spot. Second, be sure you don’t gun down your buddy running up beside and then out in front of you.
“Pair off in your combat sequence. We want an eight-man front across here, ten yards apart. Get paired up. I’m with Van Dyke at the end of the line, but I’ll be watching your progress. Any questions?”
“If my partner shoots and kills me, can I have a different partner next time?” Jaybird asked.
“Not a chance, Jaybird, because we’ll be using you for our target in the Shoot the Naked SEAL Runner game.”
The platoon howled in laughter. The Senior Chief had a quick wit to match Jaybird.
“Let’s line up and do it,” Sadler bellowed. They each paired off beginning with the first two men in the combat order, and looked at Sadler.
“This isn’t a race. Keep in line on the run forward. Let’s go. As soon as the first man takes off, his partner should be live-firing five yards to his left. Watch where you’re shooting. Go.”
The eight men ran forward. As soon as they left, the prone eight men began firing. Then all stopped as their partners dove to the ground in the prone and began firing. The backup men ran forward, past their partners, and kept running for twenty yards.
“Keep the fucking line straight,” Sadler brayed as he ran in his turn advancing with the others. They straightened the line, then hit the ground and began firing.
After five rotations of the teams, they had covered two hundred yards, and Sadler blew a whistle. All firing stopped, all men paused in place. Third Platoon hadn’t heard a whistle since most of them were in BUD/S.
“Hold it in place,” Sadler shouted. He went up to the front. “Enough. You have the idea. We don’t need to waste any more ammo. This drill is called teamwork. If you don’t do your job exactly right, precisely the way you’re supposed to, one of you could get shot up and be dead on the spot.”
Ambush sts-15 Page 3
