Frontal Assault sts-10

by Keith Douglass

  Army High Command

  Damascus, Syria

  General F. Jablah settled back in his big chair and watched aides move markers on the wall map that showed the front lines. Today it had shrunk to a three-mile fighting zone. A mile on each end of the strip had been closed off and the enemy overwhelmed, captured, or slain. A few went screaming back toward the Iraqi border.

  Yes, the war was going well. His troops had performed brilliantly once the first onslaught had been blunted and then stopped. His aircraft had helped rule the skies. The allied planes that came, especially the Americans, had also helped. The last three days there had been no reports of Iraqi planes over the fighting zone.

  He was not sure why. A daring raid with fighter-bombers into the major Iraqi airfield near Baghdad had been the clincher. There were reports that Saddam had sent most of the surviving 250 fighters and 200 helicopters he had left into Iran so they wouldn’t be bombed. He had done the same thing in the Gulf War ten years ago.

  Now it was a case of mopping up, pushing the last of the infantry units across the border, and making them suffer as much as possible without sustaining any more Syrian casualties than absolutely necessary.

  He had used his airpower here effectively. First a bombardment and strafing by helicopters and fighters, then the infantry would sweep in and mop up any of the opposition that hadn’t run for the border.

  Another two days and it would be over. He watched the center of the map where there had been a nearly twenty-mile thrust toward Damascus. Now the thrust had been stopped and pushed back ten miles. Elements of his tank and infantry had smashed through light resistance near the border to cut off a ten-mile corridor of Iraqi troops, guns, and trucks. They were surrounded and would all be taken prisoners or killed.

  He had lost a lot of good men, especially on the sneak attack that rolled so far into his beloved land. But anyone in any country who puts on a military uniform voluntarily must come to accept the fact that he could die. War is not a tea party. War is man’s greatest game. War is also a giant chessboard where the actors die as the game is played.

  He heard a cheer and looked up.

  “My General,” an aide said. “It has just been told here that the majority of the Iraqi troops in the corridor that has been cut off have been surrendered by a brigadier general who was in command.”

  General Jablah sipped at the thick black coffee and stared over the top of the cup. So, soon he would have to decide. Did he pursue the enemy into his own land, capturing as much matériel as possible? Take over the tanks and trucks that would still run and the field guns and small arms and supplies of food and fuel?

  Or did he stop at the border?

  He knew it would be an almost impossible job to defeat Saddam on his home territory. There the Syrian troops would have the long supply lines. The Iraqis would have the emotional cause of defending their homes and protecting their women and children. It would take more than his resources to invade Iraq and dethrone Saddam Hussein.

  His troops would stop at the border. Someone else would have to take care of the devil Saddam Hussein.

  USS Enterprise CVN 65

  The SEALs had been back on board the floating island for over a day now, and Don Stroh had not been seen or heard. They put their gear in shape, oiled their weapons again, and, once rested from the last challenge, they began to get bored.

  They knew that operations on the big platform had slowed. There were fewer and fewer of the F-18s screaming off the catapults. Fewer calls for pilots to report to the ready room. They heard reports that the war was slowing down, that Saddam was licking his wounds and making a mad dash for home. The Syrians jolted along, hot on his heels, gathering up as much war matériel as they could before it vanished across the border.

  On the second day with no action for the SEALs, Murdock looked up Stroh. The CIA man had just finished a big meal and sipped at an ice-cold cola.

  “Murdock. Wondered where you were. Word came through about an hour ago. I have new orders for you.”

  “At least this time we’re rested and ready to go.”

  “Good. This afternoon, your three hospital cases are being flown out of here, heading for San Diego’s Balboa Naval Hospital. The rest of you slackers will be leaving by COD for Riyadh and the big Air Force base near there. I’m washing my hands of you. You’re reassigned back to Coronado.”

  Murdock stared hard at the slightly plump CIA man and scowled. “Stroh, this is not something you should joke about.”

  “No joke, Red Ryder. You get on your cayuse in two hours and you’re out of here. You might want to tell your guys and get them ready to boogie.”

  Murdock laughed and nodded. “Okay Little Beaver, now I believe you. You keep yourself well, and we’ll talk in about three months. I need at least that much time to get my troops back in top fighting shape.”

  “Three months? Easy. I don’t know of anything that’s even cooking on the back burner. You take care, and we’ll see you when we see you.” He took a drink of the cola. “When did you say the best yellowtail tuna fishing season was there off San Diego?”

  “It’s mostly off Baja California, Mexico, and it could be almost anytime. But usually in the summer. Last year they caught yellows ten months out of the twelve.”

  “Good. We’ll keep that in mind.”

  Murdock waved and hurried into the companionway and down to his men to get them ready for the COD transport plane on their first leg of the long trip home.

  30

  Naval Special Warfare Section

  Coronado, California

  Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock had settled into his small office in the SEAL Team Seven, Third Platoon, building in the SEAL compound on the beach at Coronado. He’d had his platoon back in town for three days, and they were getting used to walking on land again.

  Most of his time had been spent in Balboa Naval Hospital up in the park. Bradford had taken a bad turn and would be in bed another two weeks with his stomach wound. He kept joking about no guts, but that was too close to the truth. His doctor said he should be fine in two months.

  Adams, whose left arm had been blown off by the mine, was progressing slowly. The attachment had taken; the blood surged through the arm almost normally. Some of the nerves weren’t responding the way the doctors had hoped. He had partial use of his arm and hand.

  He was still under treatment in the hospital. They wouldn’t let him out until they were satisfied that they had established as much use of the arm and hand as possible.

  “Yeah, Skipper, I know. I figured it out. I can’t be a SEAL anymore. Turn in my trident. Sometimes I wonder, ‘Why me?’ Then I quit feeling sorry for myself. Hell, I should be dead by all rights. So I’m one lucky puppy. I’ll do whatever I can, but I want to stay in the Navy and I want to stay with Team Seven if you can wangle me a light duty spot somewhere at BUDS/S.”

  Murdock said he would try.

  The JG could be a problem. DeWitt had not responded to treatment the way the medics hoped. He was still having trouble with the punctured lung. Some veins were chopped up by the splattering lead, and they still hadn’t found all of the fragments. He would be in the hospital for at least a month more.

  That left Murdock with a problem. Did he check out the JG and ask for a replacement squad leader, or did he let senior Chief Dobler carry the load until the JG was fit for duty? He’d have to decide soon.

  His other casualties were healing. Lampedusa’s shoulder wound had closed and caused him little trouble. The medics at the hospital checked him and the other walking wounded and released them all.

  The shrapnel in Franklin’s left leg had worked its way out and was healing. The eye men checked Holt twice and decided there was no physical damage to his eyes from the exploding mine. His blindness was from shock and psychological trauma and had left no lasting damage. Ching’s arm wound had almost healed, and he was ready for duty.

  Master Chief Gordon MacKenzie came into the office and dropped into t
he chair beside Murdock’s desk.

  “Laddie, that after-action report. Well done. I passed it on to the commander. He’s away for a month’s special duty at Norfolk.”

  “Maybe he’ll get promoted to NAVSPEC Two.”

  MacKenzie chuckled. “Not a chance, Laddie. We’re stuck with him until he retires. You had a bunch of rough missions since you’ve been home.”

  “True, Master Chief. We got our asses shot off, is what happened. Going to take at least two months to get back in shape to go out again.”

  “I told the commander three months. Aye, you’ve got some holes to fill and some mending to tend to.”

  “First I better get a replacement for Adams. We’ve got to figure out where to put him in the nonaction part of the team.”

  “First he has to get past the medical board,” MacKenzie said. “I have my doubts he’ll be in the Navy much longer. A medical discharge and forty percent disability is my guess.”

  “That could kill Adams. He’s SEAL from head to gullet.”

  “I’ll call in some favors and see what we can do for the lad. Oh, you had some fan mail this morning.”

  The master chief pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Murdock.

  “A fax,” Murdock said. He read it: “Murdock. Checked by phone with Seaforth Landing. Said they had over 200 yellowtail and six dorado yesterday. I may need to come to San Diego next week. I might have a special assignment for you and Jaybird on board the Seaforth Two. I’ll keep you up to date.

  “The chief was pleased with your platoon’s operation during the past month. Sorry we gave you such a large dose. Nothing on the horizon that looks interesting. Following some leads, but none are getting hot. Tell Master Chief MacKenzie to keep cracking the whip. Stroh.”

  “I’m afraid we’ve created a fishing monster here, MacKenzie.”

  “Do him good. He’s too uptight all the time.”

  “And you’re the picture of relaxation?”

  “Aye, that’s me, sir.”

  “I want you to arrange a leave for all of my men not in the hospital. Get them out of here. Let them get drunk and scream and yell and whore around a little. Do them good. Starting in two days. Do the paperwork.”

  “Aye, Commander.”

  “Speaking of paperwork, I better get at this. Send me four suggestions for a new man to replace Adams. Oh, are there any JGs on our roster without a platoon?”

  “For a replacement or a temporary duty?”

  “Right now as a temp. We’ll have to wait and see how DeWitt handles the healing process. I’m hoping he’ll be fit for duty within two months.”

  “What if Stroh yells with a problem?”

  “Tell him that I’ve got medical reports that put six of my men on the unfit-for-duty roster, and that the platoon won’t be ready for action for at least three months. He’ll have to work with another platoon if it’s that big of an emergency.”

  “Har, har, Commander. I like that spunk. I’m moving on those leaves.”

  The master chief had just left the office when the phone rang. Murdock checked his watch: 1500.

  “Murdock here, Third Platoon Seven.”

  “Just wondered if you wanted veal or T-bone steak for your entrée at dinner tonight.”

  “Ardith Jane.” That was all he could say for a moment. Then he hurried on. “You sneaked into town?”

  “I did. Your condo needed some cleaning up, but it’s ready for company now. What’s your choice for dinner?”

  “You… in that thin, wispy silk thing.”

  “That’s dessert. Welcome home, sailor. Can’t wait to see you.”

  “Three days; you’re late.”

  “Don Stroh promised to call me, and he forgot. He owes me. How about the veal?”

  “Fine. I’ll be home in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Later that evening, he couldn’t remember what they had for dinner. They sat in front of the fireplace and watched the flames. She pressed close to him.

  “How is Ed DeWitt?”

  “Struggling. He’s fighting a couple of medical problems, but his doctors think he’ll come through it in good shape. It’s going to take some time.”

  She looked up at him from clear blue eyes that showed a touch of moisture. She wiped at them. “Hey, I could get used to this. Having you here, watching the fire, not even talking. Just… just being together.”

  He held her tighter.

  “I might quit my job in Washington.”

  He pushed her away and stared at her. “Quit? Washington? Are you joking?”

  “No. I’ve had a good offer from here in San Diego. A big electronics/computer firm that does a lot of work for the government. They must think I can help them in D.C.”

  “What would you do?”

  “I’d be in legal and sales and promotion. Mostly promotion with D.C., from what they said.”

  “So, you’re considering it?”

  “I don’t know. As soon as Dad found out about the offer, he spread the word in the halls. The next day, I had three offers from various agencies and one from State.”

  “The State Department?”

  “Yes.”

  “So?”

  “I wanted to see what you thought.”

  “We talked about this possibility before. It has to be your decision. If I urge you to come out here and you wind up miserable in the job, we’ll both be unhappy. This has to be what’s best for your career first. I come in second on this race. That’s the way it should be.”

  “I could never be miserable if I’m with you.”

  She stretched out on the soft rug and pulled him over her. They didn’t say a word for several minutes. She kissed him long and deeply and then gave a little whimper.

  “Please, darling. Right now. Right now.”

  Later that night, they lay in his bed and watched the shadows the small night light threw on the ceiling.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. I saw your father before I left. He said to tell you he missed you by a day in Riyadh. He wanted to go up north to a temporary forward helicopter base near the Iraqi border, but some colonel told him the base came under fire frequently and no civilian was permitted up there except the President himself.”

  Murdock laughed. “I wondered where he was this time. Figured he’d wangle a trip over there somewhere. I spent a few hours at that forward base going and coming.”

  He watched her in the soft light, so blonde and sleek and beautiful.

  “About those job offers,” he said.

  “Let’s not talk about it tonight. I was hoping that you would have your paperwork caught up by now and we could drive up the coast. Maybe go to Moro Bay again.”

  “Yes. I’m taking off a week. We’ll drive all the way up Highway One along the coast to Carmel.”

  She smiled, kissed him softly on the cheek, and leaned back. A moment later, she slept. He didn’t see how she could do that so quickly. At last he went to sleep.

  The phone roused them in the morning. It was eight o’clock.

  “Yes?” Murdock said, his voice growling.

  “Wake up, you two, time to rise and shine and smell the bacon. I don’t want to intrude, but it will be at least a week before I can make it out there for our fishing trip. I want one of those overnight ones so we can catch the big yellows. Something stirring here. Not too sure how bad it’s going to be. We’re watching it. Might not pop for a couple of months yet.”

  “My platoon is on medical restriction. We won’t be cleared for active duty for three months.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Talk to my phalanx of doctors.”

  “Fight that battle later. What do you know about Libya?”

  “Libya is a nothing.”

  “What about Colombia in South America?”

  “Nothing in Colombia except drugs.”

  “What about the Golden Triangle?”

  “Drugs, the Far East somewhere.”

&
nbsp; “Good. I don’t want to interfere with your reunion. You hang tough and get that platoon back into fighting shape. One of these days, we’re going to need you again.”

  “Right, Stroh. Right. I love you, too. And last time, I caught the most fish.” Murdock said good-bye and hung up.

  “Colombia, Libya?” Ardith asked.

  “Forget it, he’s just probing. I have to call the master chief and tell him I won’t be in for a week. He’ll do the paperwork. When shall we start driving north?”

  “Right now.” She paused and giggled like a teenager. “Well, after we get dressed and have breakfast. No, let’s drive awhile, then have breakfast up the coast somewhere, maybe at Laguna Beach.”

  It took Murdock two days to relax. Even then, he wondered what Stroh had meant about Libya. Qaddafi had a long history of being a thorn in the side of the U.S. Maybe the CIA had at last decided to do something about him. What? There was no excuse for the U.S. to go in there in force with the military. So, covertly with the SEALs. Murdock threw a stone in the bay and thought about it. Could happen. But not for three months.

  He grabbed Ardith’s hand, and they ran for the stairs leading up from the bay. They had a basket full of clam strips waiting for them in that little restaurant that overlooked Moro Bay. That’s all he wanted to think about right now.

  SEAL TALK

  MILITARY GLOSSARY

  Aalvin: Small U.S. two-man submarine.

  Admin: Short for administration.

  Aegis: Advanced naval air defense radar system.

  AH-1W Super Cobra: Has M179 undernose turret with 20mm Gatling gun.

  AK-47: 7.63-round Russian Kalashnikov automatic rifle. Most widely used assault rifle in the world.

  AK-74: New, improved version of the Kalashnikov. Fires the 5 .45mm round. Has 30-round magazine. Rate of fire: 600 rounds per minute. Many slight variations made for many different nations.

  AN/PRC-l17D: Radio, also called SATCOM. Works with Milstar satellite in 22,300-mile equatorial orbit for instant worldwide radio, voice, or video communications. Size: 15 inches high, 3 inches wide, 3 inches deep. Weighs 15 pounds. Microphone and voice output. Has encrypter, capable of burst transmissions of less than a second.