As soon as the MG stopped, he’d try to carry the big man to the water. How in hell could he do that? The bullets stopped whining into the sand and he was just about to grab Bradford and move him, when a white flashlight beam nailed him where he sat and someone shouted in Arabic at him. A rifle slammed three rounds into the sand and dirt beside him. Slowly, he lifted his hands.
Shit, he’d be the first SEAL in the platoon captured by the enemy. The Navy didn’t even furnish them with cyanide pills.
In the gentle surf forty yards away, Murdock stood and watched the shore. There was no sign of Holt. He had checked Alpha Squad and quickly discovered the missing man was Bradford. If he was badly hurt, there was little chance that Holt, at 170 pounds, could drag him off the beach and into the water. Then that damn MG had started.
Senior Chief Dobler squatted in the water near Murdock.
“They got pinned down by that MG, or blown away,” Dobler said. “Look, a light. The damn infantry must have found them. What the fuck we do now, Skipper?”
“We’re not losing two good men. Get everyone to move up the channel toward the base. First we nail that bastard on the machine gun, then we get our troops back. Let’s go.”
The SEALs hit the water and swam silently up the channel to where they figured the machine gun was. Murdock and Jaybird took the assignment and worked out of the water silently and up the slight incline.
“There he is,” Murdock whispered. The gun was set up with sandbags holding down the legs for better accuracy. Two men hovered over it but weren’t firing. One man used a handheld radio.
Murdock nodded at Jaybird. “I’ve got the one on the right,” he said. The two SEALs lifted their silenced MP-5s and sighted in. The range was only thirty yards.
23
Naval Base
Bandar Abbas, Iran
Murdock and Jaybird fired their silent weapons on three-round bursts at almost the same time. They watched both Iranian soldiers in the faint moonlight take the rounds. One slumped over the machine gun; the second one slammed away from the weapon and sprawled in the dirt. The SEALs worked up to the gun position carefully. When they were sure the two were dead, they took the weapon apart and threw the pieces in different directions.
Then they moved silently down the slope. All the SEALs had put their radios back on.
“Machine gun clear,” Murdock whispered into his lip mike.
Ahead they could see little. They knew the rest of the platoon was working up from the side. All the SEALs were between the Iranian patrol and the naval base.
Murdock froze against the ground as he heard someone in front of him. A lead scout walked forward, watching half the time back the way he had come. When he was six feet away, Murdock put three rounds into his chest, and he jolted sideways and died in the dirt.
“White flare,” Murdock whispered.
“Yo,” Lampedusa said on his radio. Twenty seconds later the flare went off overhead, turning the point of land into midday brightness. Six of the Iranians went down to the silent shots of the SEALs. Murdock saw Holt grab a dead Iranian’s rifle and kill the three Iranians nearest him. There were no more Iranian soldiers alive.
“Cease fire,” Murdock said. SEALs from the side charged forward, checked the Iranians to make sure they were dead, then looked at Bradford.
Mahanani sprinted ahead of the others and knelt beside Bradford. He used a small pencil flash and found the wound. It had hit Bradford in the belly and knocked him out. He was barely conscious now. Mahanani bandaged the wound the best he could and found Murdock.
The medic told the platoon leader about the wound. “Quicker we can take him back to the carrier, the better. He’s in a bad way. Should have a chopper come and get him.”
Murdock used his Motorola. “Pegasus, this is Sailor One. Can you read me?”
He waited. There was no reply. He tried three times. Each time, the speaker in his ear remained silent.
“Move everyone down to the farthest point of land we can,” Murdock said into the mike. “We’ll try again on the Pegasus. No way we can swim out two miles.”
Bradford couldn’t walk. Jefferson and Ronson carried him. He passed out from the pain after three steps. They had left the JG and Ching on the point before the rest moved up the channel. Now they came to them, and Murdock made a check.
He had fifteen bodies, but two of them were not able to swim. On the point, he tried the Motorola again. He heard some static, but he wasn’t sure if it was the Pegasus.
The SEALs had automatically spread out in a perimeter defense with all of them facing toward the naval base. The two wounded men were in the center of the arc.
Lam stayed out a hundred yards, hunkered down behind a stump, watching toward the naval base. He wondered how long it would be before the patrol was missed and the Iranians sent another one, larger and with more heavy weapons.
Murdock called over Senior Chief Dobler.
“Hang tough here. If we have company, do the best you can. I’d expect a patrol boat with a light would be checking out this area before long. If it comes, kill the light first, then give them a reception. Move away from our wounded before you fire. Then shoot and scoot to a new location.”
“You going for a swim?”
“Only thing I can do. We’ve got to bring the Pegasus into this point or say good-bye to two good men.” He handed his submachine gun to Dobler and started to take off his rebreather. He stopped.
“Yeah, keep it on. You might find a patrol boat out there. How far out you going?”
“Until I can contact the damn Pegasus that’s supposed to be out there. No way Stroh would let them hang us out to die.”
Murdock walked into the small wave action on the point, then bent and thrust out into the water. A moment later, he was working a fast racing crawl stroke directly away from shore. He knew there were two small islands nearby, but they had missed them coming in, should miss them going out.
He worked three hundred crawl strokes, treaded water hard, and lifted up enough to take out his Motorola from the waterproof pouch.
“Pegasus, this is Sailor One, can you read me?”
He pushed the earpiece in and listened. Only the same static he’d heard before.
Murdock tried the call twice more, then pushed the little set back in his waterproof pouch and swam again. He picked out a star for his aiming point and kept swimming.
This time, he went five hundred strokes, then went through the same routine with the radio.
“Pegasus, this is Sailor One, can you read?”
This time some words came over, but they were too garbled for him to understand.
“Pegasus, if you read, come in closer. We need you on the dirt on the point of land at the mouth of the naval base channel. We have two badly wounded men who can’t swim. Come in the hell and pick us up.”
Again, the only sound in Murdock’s ear was garbled; he made out no single words.
He swam again. He knew his crawl was slowing. He figured he was out almost two miles when he used the radio again. The garbled words came through again. Then he heard two words he knew.
“Light stick.”
They must be receiving him. Maybe his earpiece got wet or some other malfunction on the receiver. He used the lip mike. “Yes, light stick. I’m about two miles off the point. Light stick coming on.” He pushed the set back in his pouch and rested on the water a moment. Then he pulled the light stick off his wet suit and broke it. The pink glow seemed brilliant. He shielded it from the land and waited, treading water just enough to stay on top.
The light stick said it was good for six hours. He wondered if that was right. He’d never used one that long. Where the hell was that boat?
His kicking slowed and he drifted down until the light went underwater. He shook his head, kicked harder, and held the stick up with his arm fully extended.
Somewhere far away, he heard the throb of an engine. Yes. He waited. No. The engine was too heavy, too large. Then he saw th
e searchlight cutting through the chop that had developed on the strait. The boat came closer. A damn Iranian patrol craft. He wasn’t sure how big it was, but it was doing a search pattern. Working closer and closer to him.
He pushed the light stick underwater. It gave off an eerie glow, but it couldn’t be seen ten feet away. He kicked over and tried to float. The rubber suit was too heavy and dragged him down. When he looked up, the boat came closer, then it changed course and angled straight at him.
How could it? The sailors on board couldn’t see him. They hadn’t seen the light. He was too small to show up on surface radar. He waited. It would change course in a new search grid.
It didn’t change course but bore down on him. He pushed the Drager mouthpiece in place and duck dived down twenty feet. He saw the craft’s searchlight probing, then swing around. The boat passed fifty feet to one side and was gone.
When the rumble of the motors faded, he went back to the surface. He kicked out high again and tried the Motorola.
“Pegasus, Sailor one. That patrol boat damn near ran me down. You see it? Where the hell are you?”
This time he shook the earpiece and pushed it in place. The words came loud and clear.
“Yeah, we’re tailing him. Hear you five by five. Show me your light stick. Can’t be more than a few hundred yards from you.”
“Hear you fine now. Yeah. Light stick up.”
“We have it, we have you, coming up slow. There’s a landing platform on the back. Just installed. We’ll coast in. Grab that platform, and we’ll talk.”
Murdock looked up and saw a black chunk of the night moving toward him. The purr of the engines sounded. He waved the light stick. Then the black-painted Pegasus slid in beside him, and he touched the hull as it slipped past, almost dead in the water. Yes, the platform. He pulled up on it and hands grabbed him and hoisted him on board.
“Commander, good to see you. Where are the rest of you?”
“I told you, Ensign, they’re on the beach. I have two seriously wounded who can’t swim. We don’t leave our men behind. I want you to run into that beach. It’s just west of the channel in to the naval base, about two miles from here.”
“Can’t do that, Commander. That would seriously jeopardize the safety of my men and my ship.”
Murdock grabbed him by the shirtfront and pushed him against the bulkhead. “Listen up, shithead. I have fourteen men in there, and you are endangering their lives. I outrank you, mister. Now get this tub turned around and headed for shore. I’ll guide you when you get close enough.”
“No, Commander. On my boat I’m the captain, and I outrank you.”
“You’re putting your own safety ahead of fourteen men? Those are my SEALs in there, mister. You better reconsider your position. The admiral on the carrier personally sent us on this mission. He wouldn’t be at all happy with your orders.”
“Sorry, I won’t jeopardize my boat or my men. That’s final. Coxswain, let’s head back for the carrier.”
Murdock hit him flush on the jaw with his best right cross, and the ensign went down like a sack of wet concrete. The sailor grinned and tossed Murdock a .45 automatic. Murdock pulled back the slide and heard a round slip into the chamber.
“Coxswain, let’s head for shore. Low throttle. We don’t want to attract any attention. You have radio contact with the Enterprise?”
“Yes sir.”
“Get them. Tell them the situation and that we’ll want a search and rescue chopper to meet us once we get our men on board and we head for the ship. Have them get in the air now and be here soonest. We’re about two miles off Iran and picking up fourteen SEALs. One has a bad chest wound, the other a stomach wound. Both bullet wounds. Go.”
The sailor nodded and hurried into the small cockpit.
Murdock hung with the coxswain.
“Sir, the ensign is usually a good man, but tonight he was nervous as hell about this mission. He’s gun shy. Never been shot at.”
“Too bad he fell down that way and hit his jaw on the rail.”
The coxswain grinned. “Yeah, too damn bad, sir. That’s exactly what happened. I saw it.”
They lifted the throttle to ten knots and drove forward, not making much noise, but Murdock knew it was too much. He didn’t care. He wanted his men back.
Three minutes later, he could see the glow of the lights at the naval base.
“Yeah, now ten degrees left. The men are on the west bank of the channel. Ease off the throttle.”
Murdock took out his Motorola. “Hey, SEALs, you hear us coming?”
“That we do, Skipper,” Senior Chief Dobler said. “Probably half of Iran does, too. No action here. Must be afraid to find out what happened to that patrol.”
“Get the swimmers in the water. We’ll come in stern first. Use everyone to lift the injured into the boat. How close are we?”
“No way to tell,” Dobler said. “Hey, yeah, I can see a small wake, two hundred yards, maybe less. Keep it coming.”
Murdock went into the stern. The coxswain would turn the boat around and back in the last few yards until the stern grounded.
They turned, and Murdock could see his men moving into the water, getting ready with the two wounded. The Pegasus hit the sand of the point in two feet of water. Murdock stepped down to the platform and jumped into the water. Jaybird and Dobler had Bradford halfway to the boat. Four men helped lift him in and jumped in to put Bradford down on a stretcher the boat crewmen had brought out.
Then the JG came. He walked partway, then his knees caved in, and Lampedusa and Ronson caught him and carried him to the boat.
In a minute and a half, the wounded and the rest of the SEALs were on board. Lights of a vehicle cut through the night behind them and curved around the rise above them.
“All aboard,” Murdock bellowed.
“Hang on,” the coxswain shouted, and the Pegasus’s engines roared and the sleek boat ground off the shore sand and shot forward into the strait. Behind them, a machine gun chattered, but it was aimed at the wrong side of the beach.
They were almost a mile offshore when the coxswain called to Murdock.
“We’ve got a patrol boat showing on our radar. He’s three miles off to the east and making eighteen knots. He can’t catch us. We’ll kick it up to thirty knots if your wounded can take the shake.”
“Give it a try. How are we with that chopper?”
The crewman who manned the radio came up.
“Made contact, sir. They launched about twenty minutes ago. They want our speed and course so they can intercept.”
Murdock looked at the coxswain. “Tell him. I want these men to have medical attention as soon as possible.”
“Once we’re ten miles out from shore, we’ll turn on all our lights,” the Coxswain said.
“What happened to the ensign?” Murdock asked.
“He has a bad headache. He gave me the con until we get back to the carrier.”
Murdock chuckled. “Yeah, good move.”
He went inside the cabin where Bradford lay on a bunk. Mahanani bent over him, changing the bandage. He gave him another shot of morphine.
“In and out of consciousness, Skipper. “What I’m worried about is peritonitis. Round might have ruptured an intestine. All that shit mixed up in the cavity down there works the same way when an appendix bursts. It can kill a man damn fast. I’m watching him. The JG is not in any danger, just a hell of a lot of pain. Damn, Skipper, you know that makes seven of our sixteen men who have been wounded so far on this fucked-up mission?”
They saw no more Iranian patrol boats. Ten miles out, the Pegasus showed every light that it had and stood out in the dark gulf like a firefly looking for a mate.
Murdock heard the radioman talking with the search and rescue chopper.
Ten minutes later, the bird turned on its lights and came over the Pegasus, which had throttled down and stopped.
The radioman came out. “When the basket comes down, be sure not to tou
ch it until it hits the deck. It will have a tremendous charge of static electricity from the rotor wash.
“When it hits, we hold it, get Bradford in first and strap him down, then they lift him away.”
Bradford was unconscious again when they carried him out on the boat’s stretcher. They eased him out of it, into the basket, and fastened the straps.
The loudspeaker came on when DeWitt was safely in the chopper.
“You men do good work. We have your SEALs safely stowed. We also have a doctor on board who will do what he can on our return trip. We’re about forty-five minutes from the carrier. See you there.”
The lights snapped off, the chopper slanted away, and then raced at full speed to the southwest.
The Pegasus got under way, then speeded up and hit forty knots, and Murdock used the radio. The radio operator on board the carrier said he’d find Don Stroh and have him call the Pegasus.
Twenty minutes later, Stroh called.
“Stroh, your little boats should be at the bottom of the naval base. We’ve had some casualties.”
“I heard your call for an S&R bird.”
“True, the JG and Bradford. Bradford is serious, maybe critical. I want you to get down to sick bay and ride herd on those medics. Let me know what happens. It’ll be at least three hours before we get on board. Get me a report on both of them.”
“Yes, will do. Congratulations on the prank. Mother is happy.”
“Enough of the wild talk, Stroh. Get down to sick bay. They should be landing any minute.”
The Pegasus crashing along at forty knots presented the SEALs with a slam-bang ride. There wasn’t that much rush. Murdock asked the Coxswain if he could cut the speed to thirty knots. It would take an hour longer, but at thirty, they could get some sleep.
Murdock didn’t sleep. He kept going over in his mind what had happened and how he could have done it differently. Getting two men wounded so badly on a mission meant something went sour. He didn’t know if it was his fault, the luck of the draw, or the original planning. He’d have a long talk with De Witt, Dobler, and Jaybird tomorrow and see what they could decide.
Frontal Assault sts-10 Page 21
