Death Blow sts-14

by Keith Douglass

  He heard nothing for three minutes. Murdock knew it was three minutes because he counted: one alligator, two alligators, three alligators… when he reached a hundred and eighty, he cautiously lifted his face off his hand and peered out. He could see a few heads over the closest ridge line. Where was the three-man patrol? He moved his head slightly and slowly so he could see downstream. There they were. The men had crossed the dry bed and were halfway up the far ridge. They all had been below the SEALs or the one who went through the patrol hadn’t stepped on anyone.

  A voice bellowed at the patrol from the near ridge, an order of some sort. The patrol turned and began jogging back. If they kept their course they would miss where the SEALs were hidden.

  They all waited.

  Murdock used the lip mike. “Hold fast everyone. The patrol is heading back to the ridge. Their route will miss our location.”

  “What happens if they decide to leave a lookout up on that ridge, Skipper?” Jaybird asked.

  “Then we all go to sleep until it gets dark,” DeWitt answered.

  Later Murdock used the mike again. “Anybody see the patrol?”

  “I’ve got them,” Lam said. “Almost to the top of the near ridge they came down.”

  “Just hold on, guys. We played Indian this way for four hours at a time in training, remember?” Two minutes later, Murdock wondered about the wounded man. “Canzoneri, how are you doing?” Murdock asked.

  There was no immediate reply.

  “Cap, I think he went to sleep,” Mahanani said. “He had an ampoule and he was getting sleepy when I helped him with his hole. He should be okay. Just so he doesn’t sleepwalk.”

  They waited again.

  “The patrol just went over the ridgeline, Skipper,” Lam said. “I haven’t seen any heads up there for ten minutes. You want me to ease up there and see if they all left?”

  “And what if they haven’t left?” DeWitt chimed in.

  “Then I’m a dead Mandarin duck in goose sauce,” Lam said. “Yeah. Guess not a good idea.”

  “Can anybody can see his watch?” Murdock asked.

  “Yeah,” Ching said. “I’m a little claustrophobic so I always get my watch where I can see it. Almost seventeen hundred.”

  “Roger, seventeen hundred,” Murdock said. “Should be dark in another two hours. Everyone take a nap. No wet dreams you guys, you’ll shake all the sand off your bodies.”

  Murdock moved slightly, then again. He felt some of the carefully placed sand, dirt and rocks spill off him. Couldn’t be helped. He had to get better look at the ridgeline. Now, he had it all. Where he had seen heads and an occasional rifle before, now there was nothing. Were they playing possum on him, waiting out his next move? Or did they give up and figure that the SEALs had bugged out over the next ridge and were running like crazy? Could be either one.

  He waited.

  Now he had moved so he could see his watch. Time dragged. He thought of something pleasant. Like Ardith Manchester the only woman in his life for the past three or four years. Yes, beautiful, tall, Ardith with the long blond hair, a svelte sexy body, and a sharp lawyer’s mind. Still in D.C. working with her father the senator from Oregon. Murdock was still trying to persuade her to leave D.C. and move to San Diego. Move in with him. Maybe, some time soon.

  He shifted minutely and felt the sand and dirt shift. Not good. Murdock checked his watch. Past eighteen hundred. Could be dark in a half-hour.

  Murdock looked at the ridge again. Hell, he should move up there and check it. He got the men into this trap. He should be the one to get them out of it. He moved one leg, then stopped. Give it a few more minutes.

  His earpiece sounded off. “Don’t go, Murdock,” DeWitt said. “I know what you’re thinking. It isn’t time yet. Wait for dusk at least.”

  “Hadn’t crossed my mind.”

  “Don’t let it. After dark we can get back on our westward trek and be home free in India before morning.”

  “I’m taking bets on that,” Murdock said.

  They waited.

  Ten minutes later, Murdock looked at his watch. It was nearly dusk. Time to move out. He freed one arm when his Motorola responded.

  “Cap, good news,” Lam said. “The fucking fucked up Chicoms have bugged out from the ridge. Not a sight nor sound of them up here. No wonder, I got ten feet away from you guys, and I couldn’t locate any of you. I’d say it’s time to rock and roll.”

  “Lam, didn’t I order you not to go up there,” DeWitt barked on the radio.

  “Yes, sir, Lieutenant sir. You told me not to go up there at that time. You didn’t tell me not to come up here later on. It’s done, so sue me.”

  “Enough,” Murdock said. “Let’s rise and shine, you guys. Count heads to be sure we don’t leave somebody sleeping. Up and at ’em.”

  Murdock got to his feet and watched the river bottom erupt with bodies every twenty feet. It was weird, surprising even though he knew there were twelve other men down there. They all came up spitting and coughing, Within two minutes they had cleared their weapons, cleaned any problem areas, locked and loaded and were ready to travel.

  “Lam, out front by fifty, keep us in sight if possible. We’ll head due west across this valley and up the other side where the Chicoms think we already went. Anybody want to put a ten spot on our getting into India by midnight?”

  “No way, Skipper.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Not with our luck so far.”

  “At least you guys put your mouths where your money isn’t. Let’s roll.” A moment later Murdock remember the wounded man.

  “Canzoneri, what’s your status?”

  “Up and moving, Skipper. Looking for a sturdy stick I can use as a cane. Leg don’t hurt much. I can walk, just don’t know how far or how fast.”

  “Mahanani and Canzoneri up front. You set the pace. We’ve got ten hours of blessed darkness to get to India.”

  They walked ahead, through the valley and up the slope to the ridge. Murdock figured they were making about three miles an hour. Not bad considering Canzoneri’s wound.

  They went down the far side into another ravine-like valley and over two more ridges before Lam called a halt.

  “Can’t be sure, Skip, but sounds damn like a war is going on up ahead. Can’t be more than two or three miles off. I’ve got machine guns, rifles, and what sounds like artillery rounds all blasting away. Come on up and take a listen.”

  Ten minutes later the platoon was convinced.

  “We got a fucking war on out there,” Jaybird said.

  “Could be the Chicoms and the Indians going at it on a border clash,” DeWitt said. “They have been having trouble along half their frontier for the past twenty years.”

  “Great, so we pick the one spot where it’s flared up on the night we want to cross,” Murdock said. “We keep moving straight ahead until we see how broad the front is. Then we go around the closest end in a student body left.”

  “A sweep,” Anderson said. “Yeah we used to use that one when I played some college football.”

  “Cost us some time but what else can we do?” DeWitt asked.

  “We’re going to have to slow down again,” Mahanani said. “Canzoneri is down. He can’t walk on that leg anymore. We’re going to have to carry him from here to the border.”

  27

  They kept moving straight ahead as Murdock had ordered. Each man who weighed as much or more than Canzoneri’s 190 pounds was detailed to carrying him. The man packing Canzoneri farmed out his webbing and vest and weapon to others. The assignment was for a quarter of a mile. Then the next man took over.

  It worked remarkably well. There were six men in the platoon who outweighed the injured man. Murdock took the first carry and kept his position as second in the line of march with Lam out in front and the rest stretched out behind at five-yard intervals.

  They went down the next ridge and across another valley.

  “Why can’t we follow more of these
snarks downstream a ways?” Ching asked.

  He knew the answer before he finished the frustrated question. Obviously, the downstream direction was not the one they wanted to take.

  Murdock turned the carrying job over to Howie Anderson after almost a half mile. He was winded but not done in. After that he would make sure they stuck to the quarter-mile distance.

  They moved a little slower. The up and down ridge lines slowed them more and Lam estimated they were doing well to get three miles an hour.

  Slightly after 2000, Lam called a halt. “Better take a look up here, gents,” he said on the net. Everyone worked forward to another ridge line. This one had a scattering of taller brush than they had seen lately. Now the sound of gunfire and bursting shells could be heard plainly. In the distance almost due west they could see some flashes as the larger shells exploded.

  “An artillery exchange?” Murdock suggested.

  “Maybe, but what are those machine guns doing?” Ed DeWitt asked. “Artillery would be four to six miles between the shooters.”

  “Supporting an infantry attack,” Lam said.

  They watched the flashes. Most of them were coming from the right-hand side of the battle area.

  “How far away are they?” Jaybird asked.

  Lam frowned. He knew it was coming. “I’d say not over two miles for the strongest artillery hits.”

  “Let’s swing on a forty-five to the left,” Murdock said. Lam headed out on that bearing and Paul Jefferson lifted Canzoneri on his back and claimed the second spot in the line of march. So far they had been through the six men and were ready to start over.

  “Jeff, I’m sorry man that I fucked up and got in the way of that round.”

  “Shut up, Canzoneri. Not your fault. My job to get you down the line another quarter. So let’s ride happy back there.”

  They had slowed again. After another mile, Murdock called a halt. He and Lam went up a ridge that looked higher than the others hoping they could see the battle area. They could.

  “Holy shit, look at that,” Lam said.

  In front of them a broad valley opened that looked to be ten miles long and half that wide. In the middle of it they could see tracers and hear small arms, and machine guns firing. The big guns pounded farther back. There was a war on down there, infantrymen, and on a flat fighting surface.

  “My guess the international border runs right through the middle of the valley, half in China, half in India,” Murdock said. “A damn good spot to hold a battle.”

  Lam studied the area in the sometimes moonlight. A cloud scudded away from the moon and he stared through his binoculars. “If we can get down another mile, we can hit the very edge of the valley and creep along it into India. We should be two, maybe three miles from the fighting.”

  “But you can bet that both sides will have patrols and lookouts in the areas,” Murdock said.

  “So, we watch them. Take them out with the EAR. Is there any battery left on it?

  Murdock shook his head. He’d checked.

  Murdock took over the carry work as they climbed down the side of a steeper ridge and headed for the flat lands of the valley. Franklin’s arm wound broke open and they stopped to let Mahanani rebandage it. Then they moved again. DeWitt brought up the rear.

  A half hour later, Lam and Murdock looked out past a pair of good-size trees at the valley. They were fifty feet off the floor itself and could see where the fighting raged. The artillery still probed. The ground fighting was about a mile across the valley from them.

  “This side should be best,” Murdock said. “We work along the side, just off the valley itself. A lot more trees and brush here we can hide in if we have to. You stay out front two hundred and keep in constant contact with your Motorola. Let me know what you see, what you hear, what the brush is like, everything. Be a chatterbox.”

  “You got it, Skipper.”

  When the troops came up, Mahanani carried Canzoneri like he was no more than a second pack. The big Hawaiian’s 240 pounds did the job easily.

  Murdock and the rest of the SEALs heard Lam.

  “Working along the side of the valley,” Lam said. “Almost across from the fighting. Looks like the two sides are dug in about two hundred yards apart. Deadly no-man’s-land in the middle. Bush is thick here. Moving closer to the valley. Hold it, a patrol.”

  The ear pieces went silent for thirty seconds.

  “Okay, troops, that was close. Finally made out that it was a Chicom bunch, eight of them working along the edge of the valley, watching for line crossers, my guess. So keep twenty yards up in the brush and move slowly. No rush now. Maybe the next patrol I spot will be the Indians.

  “Yeah, okay. The brush thins. I’m actually directly across from the fighting now. An occasional round comes this way, but not often. Fighting seems to be slacking off. No more MGs that I can hear. A little bit of rifle fire. Even the big stuff has gone silent. Now the patrols will be out in force. Wait a few, visitors.”

  Again the radio speakers went silent. It was two minutes this time before Lam came back on.

  “Oh, yeah. That was closer. This bunch of six Chicoms poked into the brush. I had to go flat and not move. One guy would have stepped on me, but his sergeant called him back two steps before I’d be greasepaint. They’re gone now. Watch for this bunch. I’m going to hold up and make contact with you. Have a feeling I’m too far ahead of you. Skipper?”

  “Good idea, Lam. Not sure how far ahead you are. We saw the one Chinese patrol but not the second. Hold there.”

  Five minutes later Murdock saw the second Chinese patrol. They had left the edge of the valley and moved out fifty yards working silently forward.

  Murdock looked around a few yards later and Lam stood beside him.

  “How do you do that?”

  “I’m half Apache, didn’t I tell you,” Lam said grinning. “I’ll stay in better touch. I’d say another half mile and we could be in Indian territory. I don’t expect a welcome gate, but there could be a marker fence of some kind.” He vanished into the brush ahead without making a sound.

  Murdock knew that his platoon had slowed. The horses were getting tired. Canzoneri was a load. Murdock had done duty three times so far and it was starting to tell. His legs felt a little rubbery, and he hadn’t felt that often in his SEAL career.

  Past a thick growth of brush, Murdock found Lam leaning against a tree.

  “We’ve got an outpost ahead. Sand-bagged bunker with two machine guns sticking out of it. One is a fifty, the other a thirty, I’d guess or comparable. I’ve heard at least four men in the bunker. Not sure what is behind it or how we get to it. There are firing lanes cut into the brush back fifty yards. That’s fifty yards we need to cross to get to the bunker. Let me borrow your NVGs.”

  Lam took the night vision goggles and vanished for a pair of minutes. When he came back he nodded. “Oh, damn, they have NVGs too. One of them lifted up to check something in the goggles, and I nailed him, spotted him. Which means it will take me a few minutes longer. I’m going to circle around and come up behind them. I’m counting on their not having any mine fields in this area. If so, I’m so much canned mush. If I can get around them and come up and talk to them, I’ll keep my lip mike open, and tell you when to come across.”

  “Any other way?” Murdock asked.

  “Not unless you want to blast them out of there with the twenties, or knock them out with the EAR. Don’t think they would appreciate either one.”

  “You’re sure these are Indians and not Chicoms?”

  “Dead sure, Cap. I heard one of them chattering away in English. It’s the second language in India.”

  “Go.”

  “Get all of our people down in good cover positions in case I mess up and that fifty starts whacking away. Make damn sure everyone is protected. Those fifties would cut right through here even out of the firing lanes.”

  “Roger that, now move.”

  It took Murdock five minutes to get everyone
down and behind a tree or log or rock for good protection. Then they waited to hear from Lam.

  Lam worked into the brush at a right angle turn away from the bunker. He moved without a sound, without breaking a stick. When he was fifty yards away from the valley, he did a due west turn and moved a hundred yards through the thinning brush and a few trees. Then did another right angle turn toward the valley. This should put him a hundred yards behind the bunker. He could watch for backup and any camped out troops in support. Twenty feet from the edge of the woods, he found a rough road that ran toward the bunker. He kept near it yet still in the brush.

  Just behind the bunker were six small two-man tents laid out in a neat company row. Yes. Good. He moved closer and now could hear the men in the bunker talking. Some spoke what he figured was Hindi. Others spoke English. Definitely Indian and not Chinese. He moved closer, watched a shift change. He was six feet from the back entrance to the bunker when an officer came out. He said something to the men inside in English then turned to head for the small tents.

  When he turned, Lam stood directly in front of him with both hands up, his weapon slung around his neck.

  “I’m a friend, an American, we need your help. We intend you no harm. Hey, we’re on your side.”

  The man’s face went taut, his eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open. Then he gave a yell.

  “Americans? You’re the U.S. Navy SEALs we’ve been told to watch for. It’s been all over the military radio on this end of India for the past two days.”

  “We’re SEALs. Lost our transport inside China and have been looking for you. Can our people come on in? They’re out in front of your firing lanes about fifty yards.”

  “Yes, yes. You have a radio. Just a minute.” The officer went into the bunker. “Hold your fire. Friendlies coming in. Hold your fire.”

  He came out. “Tell your people to come in. How many?”