Deadly Force sts-18

by Keith Douglass

  “It’s a government chopper, so why won’t they shoot it out of the sky?”

  “They will if it gets close enough. I ID the place and then we go in another way.”

  “How?”

  “The road goes up ten miles, then there are horse trails. If horses can get through, a dirt motorcycle can too. I take another biker and we see how close we can get to their camp on the trails.”

  Jaybird came back to the conference room table. “They have two choppers and both are four-passenger types. Civilian models and with no weapons. I didn’t ask if we could use one, but I’d bet the word would have to come from the general himself.”

  “Thanks, Jaybird,” Stroh said. “I’ll call the general and make the pitch. Maybe the CIA will have some clout with him.”

  He went across the room to the telephone, found a number, and called.

  “Who’s going?” Jaybird asked Murdock.

  “You, Lam, and me. They’ll want their own pilot. That’s if we get a bird. Don’t get your jockstrap on just yet.”

  Stroh came back looking as if somebody just stole his all-day sucker.

  “Who ate your canary?” Jaybird asked.

  “Fucking General Assaba. Says we have to talk. He hinted at the idea of our renting the damned chopper. I’m on my way over there right now.”

  “Going rate for that size bird is a hundred dollars an hour,” Jaybird said. “At least in civilized countries. Don’t let him bleed you dry.”

  “We’re doing this bastard a favor and he’s trying to wheedle some cash out of us? Ridiculous. How bad do you want the bird?”

  “I’d say up to a-hundred-fifty-an-hour bad,” Murdock said.

  “Only if that’s the only way I can get it.”

  Stroh stormed out of the embassy, yelled for a car, and rode to the general’s office thinking up all sorts of arguments for the general to be more than glad to lend them the chopper. The big man made him wait for ten minutes. Then a lieutenant let Stroh into the inner office.

  It was huge, with game trophies on the wall along with large-caliber rifles, fishing rods, and pictures of the kills.

  General Assaba remained seated when Stroh came in.

  “Yes?”

  “We just spoke on the phone about our making a recon trip for your Army, up the Amunbo River to tie down the exact location of your major enemy, Mojombo Washington.”

  “Yes. I’m not convinced that it would be helpful.”

  “Right now do you know exactly where his camp is?”

  “No.”

  “Then how could it not be valuable information? With this intelligence we also plan on using the SEALs to make some kind of a move against the camp, but we need the data first.”

  “Our Army pilots argue against the flight.”

  “Your Army is democratic where the soldiers tell the officers what to do?”

  “No. We command.”

  “Then it’s your decision. We brought the SEALs here to help you with your permission. Our Vice President is in jeopardy every minute he’s in that camp. We think it’s in your best interests to help us get him out of there.”

  General Assaba turned and looked at the wall. When he turned back, he nodded. “Very well, we’ll rent the helicopter to you, and our pilot will fly it and determine if he is in any danger of ground fire. You can use the chopper for one hundred twenty-five U.S. dollars an hour.”

  “That’s not a diplomatic offer, General. We are here to help you and you want to charge us for using your equipment?”

  “I’m not a diplomat, Mr. Stroh. I’m an Army officer. That’s my first and final offer. Take it or stop blabbering.”

  “I’ll take it, but our ambassador will also send a stern note to your President.”

  “Do what you wish. I’ll need cash in advance for four hours. None is refundable.”

  Stroh felt his face turning red. He shot an angry glance at the small general, then turned quickly and hurried out of the room before he exploded.

  * * *

  An hour later the money had been delivered and the route chosen. They would move out from the river five miles and go upstream. Then when they were thirty miles away, they would start moving downstream and watching for an encampment.

  Murdock inspected the craft before they took off. It looked as if it had been serviced and maintained properly. The last problem he needed was to crash the bird into the jungle.

  They whipped north along the river for five miles. Then the pilot moved to the right of the river for five miles before turning north again, which would take them upstream.

  “Sir,” the pilot, a second lieutenant, said. “We’re upstream about twenty-five miles.”

  “Good, do another five miles, then let’s go find the river,” Murdock said. He had been watching the jungle below, and was amazed how thick it was and what few clearings and signs of smoke he saw that could indicate habitation.

  A few minutes later they swung to the left and back to the river. It was only a stream here, maybe ten to fifteen feet wide, and there were several stretches of rapids where the water raced downhill. There were no villages on this part of the river. But after three miles they began to find small settlements along both sides of the stream.

  “Keep a sharp lookout,” Murdock told his men. “Anything that moves, give us a yell.”

  “On the left,” Jaybird chirped. “Looks like six men. Yes. A small puff of smoke, had to be a rifle shot.”

  At once the pilot wheeled away from the river and dove to get out of the line of fire.

  “Stay close enough so we can see the river,” Murdock shouted. “Go up another five thousand feet. Then get back to the river.”

  “Too dangerous,” the pilot said.

  Murdock put his KA-BAR blade against the young pilot’s throat. “For now, I’ll tell you when it’s too dangerous. Now take us up to five thousand feet and get us back so we can see the fucking river.”

  The pilot’s forehead beaded with sweat and he swallowed twice. “Yes, sir. Will do.”

  Higher in the sky gave them a wider view, but even so, they almost missed it. The pilot said they were twenty-five miles from the airport. In the distance, about a half mile from the river, they spotted a large clearing, and could see tents, many fires, and as they came closer, dozens of men.

  “Get out of here,” Murdock told the pilot when he saw some riflemen on the ground and figured they were about to fire. The bird pivoted to the left and dove a thousand feet, then leveled off.

  “Take us back to town,” Murdock said. “Make it the safest route you know. We’ve found out what we need to know.”

  Jaybird heard the shouted exchange with the pilot over the roar and clatter of the chopper.

  “So, Commander, sir. Are we going to take a hike up to the rebel camp?”

  “Not a hike, Jaybird. But some of us are going to pay them a visit.”

  11

  Don Stroh raised his hands in a futile gesture. “What’s a man to do? That’s what the big brass in D.C. tells me, so I toe the mark. I tell you and you follow suit. The word again is: The U.S. Navy SEALs are not to engage in any firefights with the group of men headed by Mojombo Washington who call themselves the Bijimi Loyalist Party. The word is that we can probe, we can recon, but in no case can we fire at or near the camp or at any group of men from the Bijimi Loyalist Party.”

  Murdock slammed his hand down on the table. His open palm made a popping sound. “That puts a real crimp in our plans. I was figuring that maybe after we move up on the camp, we give them a show of massive firepower into the trees and brush overhead, and then use a bullhorn and tell them we’re coming in to get the Vice President and any fire from their side would result in massive casualties.”

  “Good idea, but now it won’t work,” Stroh said. Murdock and his planning group sat around the table with Stroh working on coffee and soft drinks.

  “So what the hell can we do?” Gardner asked.

  “Quite a bit is left,” Murdock s
aid. “We know for sure where they are. We know they are lightly armed, mostly with the weapons they stole from the Army and police. We can still probe and recon. Jaybird, get Luke Howard in here. We’re going to do another recon, one on the ground. We’ll try to make contact with the Vice President. There is a horse-and-cart trail up the river. My guess is it goes all the way to the rebel camp. If it’s wide enough for a horse, a dirt bike will roll over it like a superhighway.”

  Howard came in with Jaybird. “Howard, I want you and the senior chief to go out and get us a pair of motorcycle dirt bikes. Get the most cc’s you can find. Rent them, buy them, or steal them. With first light Howard and I will be straddling those bikes and moving up the trail. We’ll take our regular weapons, and food and water. I figure about thirty-five miles by land. We should be able to make thirty miles an hour if the trail is used much. We get as close to the camp as we can without attracting any attention. Then we try to move in on foot and make contact.”

  “What if the Vice President doesn’t want to come out?” Gardner asked. “He sounded pretty convinced this Mojombo is the Second Coming.”

  “We fight that one if and when we get to it. The Vice President outranks us all to hell, but we can say we are operating under orders of the President, who outranks Adams. The President says for the Vice President to come out, so we pick him up and pack him out of there.”

  “That could turn out to be a nasty assignment,” Stroh said.

  Sadler agreed. “One hell of a mess if we had to do that. We’d have to reason with the man.”

  “Are you still here, Senior Chief?”

  “Yes, sir. We need some cash, some dagnars, the old spondolics. Will Mr. Stroh provide the loot or will the ambassador?”

  “Let’s go talk to the ambassador,” Stroh said, and the three left by the closest door.

  “How far you think you’ll get?” Jaybird asked. “I mean, they are bound to have some outposts along the river, and the cycles ain’t gonna be easy to keep quiet out there in the jungle. Hear you coming for two miles.”

  “Yes, there could be some outposts,” Murdock said, “but we’ll have to figure out what to do when we get there. Did I see a report that the rebels stole a whole box full of personal radios on one of their raids? If so, they could have good communications between their outposts and the main camp.”

  “What are the rest of us lost souls going to do?” Jaybird asked.

  Murdock grinned. “Jaybird, you and the JG and the rest of the men are going to do a fifteen-mile conditioning hike tomorrow with full gear. Get you acclimated a little bit better. I noticed you sweating like a pig yesterday.”

  “Thanks, Jaybird,” Lam said. “We could have stayed here in the great air-conditioning….”

  “Not a chance,” JG Gardner said. “We’ve had some training on the docket all along. In fact, the rest of the day is going to be devoted to an hour of PT and then a road run. Let’s get everyone out of here and form up outside.”

  Murdock went with them and participated in the workout. It was one of the mandates of the SEALs. All officers went through the same bash-and-smash six-month BUD/S training that the enlisted men did. They had no special privileges. The only difference was all officers had to score ten percent higher than the EMs. Officers in the platoons also took all the conditioning runs, workouts, and swims the men did. It was a true togetherness operation and it worked. In the field there was no rank, only two squad leaders.

  In the afternoon, Sadler and Howard rolled up to the embassy on a pair of motorcycles. One was an older Kawasaki. The second one was a Suzuki. Both were 500 cc’s and had knobby, cross-country tires and shocks. Murdock grinned. He hadn’t been on a bike for more than a year. He used to own three. He slid onto the Kawasaki that Sadler had ridden up, and led out with Howard right beside him. They did a cheap tour of the city, not riding fast, just getting the feel of the bikes and what they could do. When they came back nearly an hour later, both nodded.

  “Should work,” Howard said. “Mine is a little short on pickup, but we’re not going to be in any races.”

  “Make sure the tanks are full of gas and park them in a protected place inside the garage,” said Murdock. “We want to take off from here a half hour before light in the morning.”

  “The bikes will be ready” Howard said. “We take our MP5s on our backs and no combat vests?”

  “Sounds good. And plenty of water and some chow. We’ll have the kitchen fix us something to travel.”

  “What’s for tonight?” Howard asked.

  “The ambassador has planned a special dinner. He wants all of us to attend. We won’t be at the far end of the cafeteria this time. We put on clean cammies, our best manners, and we get a shot at the dining room.”

  “I understand there are several women here,” Howard said. “We don’t see much of them.”

  “For good reason,” Murdock said. “Everyone will be on his best behavior tonight or there will be five hundred push-ups in the morning.”

  Howard chuckled. “I’ll pass the word.”

  At six-thirty that night, the SEALs marched into the dining room in squad order. Mrs. Oberholtzer, the ambassador’s wife and a matron of about forty with a generous waistline, immediately took charge.

  “Young men, I don’t want you to sit beside each other. Space out around the table. We have more than enough people here to separate you.” She looked at some of the staff and five teenage girls, who stood at one side. “I want to remind you young ladies that you will show proper decorum and manners at all times. So, everyone please be seated.”

  Murdock sat beside the hostess, and soon they were into a discussion about Southern California. She had grown up in Escondido and then gone to college in Washington, D.C., where she’d met her husband.

  “Are the avocado orchards still there?” she asked. “They were such a wonder and the fruit was so delicious. It’s impossible down here to get any avocados. I would give twenty dollars a cup for a good supply of guacamole.”

  The conversation raced around the table as the first course came, and then the second. Most of the SEALs had no idea which of the eight knives, forks, and spoons to use. The men and women who sat beside them gently hinted at the right utensils.

  Jaybird had been lucky to be seated beside the eldest daughter of the ambassador.

  “I’m Cynthia,” she said as soon as she sat down.

  “Miss, I’m Jaybird, or David, I guess would be better. How come you’re here at the embassy?”

  “Oh, my father is the ambassador. I’ve lived in eight different countries now, but I wish I could get back to school. Could you talk to my father about my going to San Diego State University? My mother always wanted to go there and she tells me such interesting stories about that area.”

  Jaybird was without words for the first time in his life. The young lady couldn’t be more than eighteen, he decided, and had a soft white complexion that proved she didn’t take much of the African sun. He tried to say something, and stumbled. Her eyes were so blue and her smile engaging. He shook his head and tried again.

  “Sorry, Cynthia. I don’t know what to say. I’m sure the ambassador wouldn’t have time to talk to me. Why do you want to go to San Diego State?”

  “The pictures of the campus are so great. I sent for a catalog last year and it is exquisite. Then the climate is so great and I want to learn to surf and dive in the ocean. I love the ocean, but we don’t have one here.”

  “I noticed that.”

  They both laughed, drawing the attention of her mother. But the woman only smiled and went back to talking to Murdock about San Diego.

  By the end of desert, Jaybird and Cynthia had gone through most of the ritual information exchange of a first-date dialogue, talking about where they’d grown up and what they liked and also about parents and family. Then the dinner was over. Jaybird tried to walk Cynthia back to her room, but a Sierra Bijimi guard at the stairway shook his head.

  “Upstairs here is the
private quarters of the ambassador,” he said. “Entry is by written order of the ambassador only.”

  Jaybird caught her hand and held it a moment, then squeezed it and waved good-bye. He smiled broadly all the way back to his room, where Bill Bradford had just taken out his sketch pad.

  “Have a whole potful of ideas I want to get down on paper before I forget them,” he said. Jaybird shrugged and rolled onto his bunk. He was used to going to sleep with the lights on while Bradford worked on a painting or a sketch.

  * * *

  The next day, Howard and Murdock were on the road a half hour before sunrise. They had full tanks of gas, three canteens each, and a packet of food the kitchen had prepared. There were mostly sandwiches that would last all day and lots of fruit. They had been warned against drinking any of the water in the streams no matter how clean it looked.

  They cleared the city and took off on the dirt road that led alongside the Amunbo River. They had the road to themselves until daylight. Then they spotted small tractors pulling loaded flatbeds that held fruits and vegetables and firewood. As the morning brightened, more and more rigs hit the road, and the motorcycles were slowed as the carts pulled by horses showed up and nearly clogged the road.

  “Must be market day,” Howard said. “We saw that big open market with stalls down at the edge of town yesterday. Lots of empty tables and booths. This must be the day.”

  By the time they hit the end of the dirt road, the farmers heading into town had dwindled to only a few. The SEALs kicked into the wide wagon trail along the river and made better time. Now and then a ditch cut across the path where a stream worked its way into the mother river.

  It was after 0800 when Murdock held up his hand and pulled to the side of the trail. “Chow stop,” he said. “I’m starved. Did we have breakfast before we left?”

  “That we did, Commander. Bacon and eggs and hash browns with toast and jam and coffee. I ate until I almost popped my buttons. You did pretty well yourself with seconds.”