Frontal Assault sts-10

by Keith Douglass

  He shrieked again in Arabic. They were close enough that they could see the wild look in his eyes. His movements were quick and jerky. He motioned to them with one hand and to the canister with the other.

  “Franklin, get over here to the other building,” Murdock talked in his lip mike. “We need your Arabic. On the double.”

  Murdock watched the Iraqi. He was screaming, crying, pointing at them, then at the container.

  “Could be some of the nerve gas in there,” Holt said where he stood near Murdock.

  “Yeah, but what does he want? Why is he crying and screaming?”

  “I’d say he’s scared shitless about now. He wearing a uniform?”

  Murdock looked closer. The man had on a military blouse with bars of some sort on the shoulders. His pants were civilian. He had no hat or weapon. Just the deadly looking canister.

  Murdock laid his MP-5 submachine gun on the floor and looked at the man.

  “See, I put down my weapon. We don’t want to hurt you. What’s in the container?”

  The man frowned, wiped his eyes, then stared hard at Murdock. He jabbered again in Arabic. Calmer this time. He seemed to be getting control of himself more now. Murdock knew he had to keep talking to the man.

  “We’re not sure what you want. We’re here to help you. To get you out of this desert of death.”

  The Arab slumped to the floor, but held the canister tightly. He wiped his eyes again, motioned Murdock and the others back. He put the cylinder on the floor in front of him and took out a small-caliber handgun and aimed at the silver container.

  “No,” Murdock bellowed. The Arab looked up. He shrugged.

  Murdock heard movement behind him, and Franklin stepped in beside him.

  “Talk to him, Franklin. That could be nerve gas in there.”

  Franklin spoke softly in Arabic. The bearded man looked up, surprised, then curious. Murdock had no idea what Franklin said. He and the Arab spoke back and forth for several minutes. Then the Arab man shook his head. He picked up the container, stood, and placed the muzzle of the pistol against it.

  “Skip, the man says he’s been cheated, deceived, lied to, and he’s terrified. He just wants to end it all right here and right now. I don’t know how to talk him out of it.”

  Murdock watched the man. He was serious.

  “Skip, he says he’ll shoot the canister open and we’ll all die in seconds. If we shoot him, he’ll drop the container and it will split open and we’ll still all die.”

  Murdock watched in deadly fascination as he saw the Iraqi’s finger tighten on the trigger.

  28

  Nerve Gas Facility

  Iraqi Desert

  Murdock watched the Iraqi soldier’s finger tighten on the pistol’s trigger. He would kill them all.

  “Jaybird, do him,” Murdock whispered.

  The crack of the single shot from the MP-5 subgun sounded louder than normal in the closed building. The round smashed into the Arab’s forehead, driving him backward.

  At the moment of the shot, Lam surged forward from where he stood beside Murdock. He took three running steps, then dove toward the falling Arab, his hands extended outward like a wide receiver reaching for the football for a winning touchdown.

  His hands touched the container as the dead Arab dropped it. It slid off his stretching right hand but deflected just enough to land on the Arab’s chest where he fell on the concrete floor on his back. Lam twisted around, lunged forward from his knees, and grabbed the canister before it rolled off onto the hard floor.

  There wasn’t a sound in the building for several moments. Then held-in breaths came free and the SEALs began laughing and talking and wiping sweat off their foreheads.

  Murdock moved beside Lam and took the container from him. He put it down gently on a worktable.

  “Good work, guys. That could have been one hell of a long leave for all of us. Let’s see what else we have in this one.”

  They checked the rest of the building but found nothing more.

  Murdock used the Motorola. “Dobler, find anything?”

  His earpiece responded at once. “Two civilians and one soldier who surrendered rather than fight. Sent them all to the administration building out front. Your excitement over?”

  “All clear here. It was close. Let’s move to the last two buildings in this row.”

  The SEALs checked outside, then ran to the next wooden structure. It had doors that looked sealed. A bar lock and lever had to be moved, then one side of the heavy door swung open. Inside, the SEALs stared in surprise. The place was filled with what they figured were Scud missiles. They were larger than they had expected.

  They counted forty of them, each on a dolly that could be hooked up and rolled away to a waiting truck. Each of the missiles had red painted circles around the warhead.

  Lam came up to Murdock after they counted. “Some of these could be Al-Hussein missiles. I’ve heard that they are about the same size as the Scuds, but I couldn’t tell the differences.”

  “We’ll give them a count and let the brass figure it out,” Murdock said. There were no guards or civilians in the building. They came out, and Murdock used the radio.

  “Report, Dobler.”

  “A batch of smaller missiles and more artillery shells, all with the red ring around the warhead or a red tip.”

  “Let’s move on to the other row. Must be more people around here somewhere.”

  The platoon moved half a block to another street with six buildings on it. Just as they came around the corner of the first building, they found the people they had been looking for.

  Fifty yards down the street, a machine gun opened fire. The SEALs darted back behind the building or took cover behind a low wall. Six-round bursts kept the SEALs’ heads down.

  Lam wormed to the edge of the frame building and looked around. “Skip, it’s an MG with sandbags around it. Good protection. We’ll have to flank him or use forty mikes.”

  Murdock waved at Dobler, who slid into the sand beside where Murdock kneeled.

  “Take your squad down past two buildings and see if you can flank that machine gun. We’ll throw in some forty mikes.”

  By the time he said it, four of the men with grenade launchers had positioned themselves out of the line of fire but so they could send the grenades at the machine gun. The first two rounds fell short but silenced the gun as the soldiers evidently dove for cover. Another forty mike hit just beyond the gun, then one at the side.

  Senior Chief Dobler ran his squad down the street and around the second building, then slipped up behind cover so they could see the machine gun. A grenade burst beyond the gun, and the two men manning it dove behind the sandbags.

  When they came up, four SEALs fired at them. The two machine gunners turned in surprise, then fell, slumped over the weapon they had been ready to fire. Both were dead in an instant.

  “The MG is clear, Skipper. The MG is clear, and I don’t see any other troops.”

  On the search down the street, they found another building that was a manufacturing plant for the poison gas. They searched it quickly, found no people, and hurried on. Two more structures had the large missiles, but these were crated and ready for transport to some of the sixty Scud firing sites that Saddam had spread around Iraq.

  In the process, they rounded up ten more civilians and captured three more soldiers who had dropped their weapons and held their hands high.

  Colt Franklin talked with each man caught. All said that the army captain and his men had gone by truck that morning down the road to meet a force of invaders. They hadn’t come back. They had no contact with them by radio.

  Murdock stared at the buildings. They had checked each one. They had killed eight or ten Iraqi soldiers and captured six more and eighteen civilians.

  “Jaybird, what’s the count on the missiles?” Murdock asked.

  Jaybird looked at his ever-present notebook. “With the last building, it comes to a hundred and sixty-eight,
all with the red tips, which we believe mean they are loaded with nerve gas.”

  Murdock moved the men back toward the administration building near the front of the complex. Holt hurried up beside Murdock after a Motorola call.

  “Get on the horn on TAC Two. Tell the choppers that we’re done here and should be ready to roll in about twenty minutes. We have six Iraqi soldiers and eighteen civilians to transport.”

  Holt nodded and called the choppers and gave them the messages.

  Murdock had the men and the prisoners at the administration building and ready to march out to the choppers when he heard the first whine.

  He looked up but couldn’t see the jets as they made their run. He heard the hoarse whisper of missiles as they slashed out of the sky and hit one of the Chinook choppers, shattering it into a hundred pieces. Two of the Cobras got off the ground, only to be shot down by cannon fire moments later. The second Chinook escaped the first attack and had just lifted off when another missile hit it and exploded with a huge roar that sent a shock wave across the desert.

  “Stay down and out of sight,” Murdock bellowed. “Nothing we can do for those men out there now. Must have been two MiGs.” He looked around. “Holt, on me, now.”

  Ron Holt ran up with the SATCOM radio and gave Murdock the handset.

  “We should be able to contact the other Chinooks on this channel.”

  Murdock took the handset. “Chinooks with Marines, can you read me. This is SEAL One.”

  He waited, looked at the burning choppers. There could be no one alive in any of the four choppers. The two surviving Cobras had lifted off and gone in opposite directions. With luck, the Iraqi MiGs wouldn’t find them.

  No response to the radio call. Murdock made the call again. Then a voice came on the speaker.

  “SEAL One. This is Cobra with you. Any survivors on the four choppers hit?”

  “Negative Cobra. Can we warn the Marines about the MiGs?”

  “I tried, SEAL One. I couldn’t raise them. I’ll move in that direction and try again. You’re without transport. Suggest you leave your captives and move to the west. We’ve contacted our base in Saudi about the hit here. No suggestions. We have no more Chinooks at our forward base. The Marines have four. They could stuff in thirteen SEALs.”

  “Roger, Cobra. We’re leaving here and moving on foot to the west. Contact the Marines with your suggestion. Otherwise, it’s a damn long walk for us.”

  “SEAL One. You sure on that survivor report?”

  “Afraid so, Cobra. Sorry.”

  “Yeah, some good buddies. We’ll stay in the area, give you cover support. Not much we can do about transporting you. Our base has been instructed not to attempt to recover bodies from the downed helos. That we don’t understand. We’ll stay with you.”

  “Thanks, Cobra. Any help now is appreciated.”

  Murdock turned to the SEALs. “You all heard. A scant chance we might hitchhike a ride with the Marines. Right now, we’re hiking into the desert. Check this place for water. We should take some with us. Franklin, ask some of your buddies where they have water around here and how we can take some along. You have five minutes.

  “Holt, let’s try the Marines again. We had them before.”

  “SEALs calling Chinook Marines. Can you read?”

  There was silence.

  Murdock made the call again. Then a voice came on.

  “SEALs, Chinook Marines here. We’re under fire. Half mile from the choppers. Damn Iraqis are angry.”

  “Chinook Marines. We took a hit by Iraqi MiGs five minutes ago. Get your choppers in the air, or you’re sitting ducks. Move them now. We have no transport back. Can thirteen SEALs hitch a ride with you guys? We’re moving out. Mission accomplished. Heading west out of the complex.”

  “SEALs, we’re moving ass here. Choppers warming up, ready to ramble. Thanks for the warning. Will find you. No sweat. Will call off our Marines and put the gunships on the Iraqi. Out.”

  “Let’s move it, people,” Murdock said to his SEALs.

  “Skipper, what about the Iraqis we have collected?” Dobler asked.

  “We’ll walk them with us. Get them out of the way at least. Tell them they need to be ten miles from this place when it blows because of the nerve gas.”

  They walked away from the buildings and hopefully from the fatal consequences of the nerve gas.

  An hour into the desert, Murdock figured they had covered four miles. The civilians were holding them up. He called a halt and made another radio call.

  “Chinook Marines. Where are you? It’s been an hour. SEALs here calling.”

  The answer came back quickly.

  “SEALs. We’re having some trouble here disengaging. We have three birds ready to move with troops. Last fifty men are still challenged by the Iraqi. Determined. Our Cobras are doing the final attack on them. Yes, now we’re loading the last bunch. No sign of your MiGs. Hope they don’t find us. Moving in ten. We’ll go up this road to the buildings and turn west. We’ll find you.”

  “Roger that, Marines. We’re hung out to dry here.”

  Murdock told Holt to change frequencies to the satellite. He put in a call to Stroh on the Independence. He didn’t expect to get him, but he’d leave a message. The encrypted words went out quickly:

  “Stroh, the complex is sanitized. All personnel removed. We’re without transport, walking five miles from the center. When we are clear by ten miles, we’ll give you another call. Murdock out.”

  Senior Chief Dobler listened and looked at Murdock. “So where to now?”

  “Go west, young man, go west. Another six miles, unless the Marines land before then.”

  The line of thirty-seven men had spread out as they walked. The SEALs had ten yards between them from training and practice. The civilians had straggled. Murdock was at the end of the line playing cowboy drag catching the strays.

  Nobody heard or saw the MiG until the rounds hit. The cannon fire exploded in the sand around the walking men from behind them. Their spread-out formation saved the lives of a lot of them. The MiG made one pass. It was traveling at Mach l and coming in at an angle, so even the two-barrel cannon could make the 23mm rounds hit the ground only one every thirty feet. Murdock bellowed to the men to disperse. Franklin shouted the same thing in Arabic. By the time the MiG came back, he had a target that was spread out fifty yards wide and half again that long. He fired, but no one was hit.

  The plane raced off to the east.

  Murdock called for casualties. He had no reports on his radio. Franklin came on. “Two of the civilians and one Iraqi solder have been hit. One of them is dead.”

  “Can the wounded walk?”

  “I think they both can. Not hit too bad.”

  They walked on to the west.

  “Where the hell are the Marine choppers?” Murdock asked.

  Holt gave him the handset. “We’re back on TAC Two, skipper.”

  Murdock called the Chinooks.

  “Have a small problem, SEALs. We’re overloaded. Our pilots refuse to take on any more men, not even three or four per bird. I can’t overrule them. We’re heading for the temporary base just across the line. We’ll unload and send one Chinook back for you. Hang tight for another two hours, and we’ll have you.”

  “Let me talk to that chickenshit pilot of yours. Those Chinooks can carry over seven tons. Fifty Marines at two hundred pounds each is only five tons. That overloading is a bunch of bullshit. Tell him!”

  “I’ve told him a dozen times. He outranks me. He’s the boss of his plane. Captain of his ship. I can’t change his mind.”

  “I’ll make an appointment with him at that advanced base just as soon as we get in. Tell him to get his life insurance paid up. Out.”

  Murdock gave Holt the handset, his face a mask of fury. He tried to calm down. The way he felt right then, he’d change all four of those pilots’ status into KIA if he had the chance.

  “So, skipper?” Dobler prodded.

 
“We keep walking west. Get as far from that damn nerve gas as we can.”

  Dobler and Jaybird got the men back in line spread out ten yards apart, and Dobler led the line west.

  They had walked for fifteen minutes when Lam frowned and motioned to the rear.

  “Commander, we’ve got a vehicle coming up behind us.”

  “Scatter, spread out. Franklin, get the Iraqis spread out. We don’t know who this fucker might be. Damn sure he isn’t one of ours.”

  The SEALs went to the sand, covered part of themselves with it, and ducked their heads to complete the camouflage with their desert cammies.

  Murdock watched to the rear. He saw it three minutes later. The rig was a half-track of some brand. It had a machine gun in front and a man scanning the landscape.

  “Stay down,” Murdock said on the Motorola. “This one has an MG up front with a man on it. Not sure what else he has. Hope he gets close enough before he spots us. Long guns, get ready.”

  “Yeah, see him,” Fernandez said. “Holding.”

  The half-track kept coming. Murdock figured it was still back five hundred yards. The guy on the gun wouldn’t be able to see the SEALs, but he might spot some of the civilians. Would he shoot at them?

  “Got him dead to rights,” Tony Ostercamp said.

  “Hold. If he fires, we fire,” Murdock said. “Weapons free at that time.”

  They watched the half-track grinding across the sand and rocks of the western Iraqi desert. It came to a slight rise and paused. The man on the machine gun lifted binoculars and scanned the landscape ahead of him. He passed quickly over the area where the SEALs and the Iraqis lay. Then he came back and studied it again. He went behind his weapon and fired a six round burst into the area.

  One of the Iraqi civilians stood up, screaming in fear, and held his hands high. The machine gunner splattered him with five rounds and he went down, dying in the sand. The half-track turned and charged forward at the place where the civilian died. The rig was only a hundred yards away when Murdock changed the order. No one had fired when the MG did because of the range.