Direct Action

46

Murdock pitched face-first onto the rocks. He knew he was hurt; it felt like hot needles sticking into him all the way down his legs. But sometimes blind terror was a help, not a hindrance. Murdock pushed himself up off the ground. If his legs worked he was going to move.

His legs worked. He got on his feet, but his ears were ringing and he was disoriented; he didn’t know which way to run. Then he saw Razor’s muzzle flash. More grenades exploded around him. They spurred Murdock into a loping, limping run across the rocks toward Razor.

“Razor!” Murdock spoke into his microphone. He got no reply. He kept running, but it didn’t seem to him as if he was gaining much ground.

Suddenly rounds began cracking past him. Some Syrians must have finally made it around the dome.

Murdock threw himself over the rocks, almost into Razor Roselli’s lap. Considering the expression on Razor’s face, Murdock didn’t think he was in such good shape. Razor was yelling into his radio. Murdock couldn’t hear a thing in his own earpiece, and the ringing in his ears didn’t allow him to hear Razor. In that kind of situation there was only one thing for a SEAL to do. Murdock leaned over the rocks and brought his weapon to bear. His NVG was smashed, so he ripped it off his face. The Russians had designed the AKM with handy luminous night dots on the front and rear sights. Murdock lined the dots up one on top of the other and began firing at the Syrian muzzle flashes in front of him.

Razor Roselli had to shout in his microphone to reach above the noise of the firefight. “Jaybird, you got anything going on down there?”

“Negative, Chief.”

“Then you and Magic get your asses up here. The lieutenant’s hit and we could use some help.”

“On the way,” said Jaybird.

“You need me?” Doc Ellsworth broke in.

“Negative, the lieutenant’s still shooting,” Razor said proudly. “I want you on the 117. You’re the primary radio now. Stand by to bring those birds in.”

“Roger,” Doc replied.

There was an explosion among the Syrians in front of the dome. Razor knew it had to be his PDM. The Syrian fire slackened, so Razor stepped up his rate of fire. Between shots he kept sneaking glances over at Murdock. The lieutenant’s face was bloody; it looked like blood down the back of his legs, but the game bastard was putting out rounds like he was back on the Chocolate Mountain range. Razor spoke to his Old Testament SEAL God like a chief — no sniveling. “Don’t let me lose this one, sir, he’s something special.”

“Razor!” came a shout from behind them.

“Over here!” Roselli bellowed. “Come up!” Jaybird and Magic crawled the last stretch on their bellies. The Syrian fire was getting hot. “Put some rounds out!” Razor shouted. Jaybird and Magic paused only for a second to look over at Murdock, who was doggedly changing magazines. Then they began firing.

Razor had one grenade left. He crawled over to Jaybird and rummaged in his pouches. He found two frags and, holy shit, a smoke grenade! Just what the doctor ordered.

“I could kiss you, you sweet little shit,” Razor shouted in Jaybird’s ear.

Jaybird gave Razor a funny look and continued firing.

Razor took another frag off Magic. “Okay,” he shouted over the sounds of the firing. “I’ll throw two frags. Jaybird, you leapfrog back with the lieutenant. Two more frags and Magic and I’ll go.”

Everyone nodded. Razor whipped the grenades at the dome.

Jaybird went to put Murdock in a wounded-man carry, but was surprised to hear, “Stop grabbing at me. I can walk, goddammit!”

“Sorry, sir,” was all Jaybird could think to say.

The grenades blew, and the incoming fire slowed again. Jaybird and Murdock set off. First they crawled, because they were still exposed to Syrian fire. Then they made the cover of a dip in the ground and got to their feet. Murdock’s limp was more pronounced.

They ran until they reached the next bit of higher ground where they could get a good field of fire. A rising mound of rocks. Once safely behind it, they began putting down cover fire for Razor and Magic.

Razor pitched out two more frags, then dropped the white smoke grenade right in front of them.

The grenades exploded, the white smoke billowed up, and Razor and Magic were off to the races.

Razor heard rounds cracking past him as he ran. Then, just before they reached the rock mound, a stream of green tracers passed right across the gap between him and Magic.

An impact took Magic in the hip and spun him right around in the air. He fell forward over the mound.

Jaybird was on him instantly.

“Where am I hit?” Magic demanded. Nothing hurt. That was all right.

“A round hit the magazine pouch on your hip, you lucky fuck!” Jaybird shouted.

“Wish that’d happened to me,” Murdock called from across the mound.

That reminded Razor Roselli that his lieutenant had been wounded, and now that they had a little cover and distance from the Syrians, he ought to be checking it out.

“Magic, if you ain’t hurt get off your ass,” Razor ordered. “You and Jaybird put out enough fire to keep ‘em from charging us.” He scrambled over to Murdock. “Hold on a second, Boss, I want to look you over.”

Most of Murdock’s hearing had returned. His legs felt stiff, but the burning was less if he didn’t move. The pain wasn’t that bad, but he had a headache and was sick to his stomach. “I’m okay, Chief, don’t worry about it.”

“No problem, Boss, just roll over on your stomach for me.”

The lieutenant’s radio pack looked like Swiss cheese. Razor cut the straps off his shoulders. There weren’t any holes in the lieutenant’s back. Small grenade fragment wounds were peppered across his ass and down the backs of his legs all the way to his boots. The holes were all oozing blood, but there was no serious bleeding going on. “Roll over on your back, Boss.”

There were no wounds on Murdock’s front. He had some shrapnel cuts on the face and forehead, but nothing near the eyes. “Boss, you got about a million little holes in your ass and legs. I’d like to wrap them up, but we ain’t got enough battle dressings.”

“Oh, fuck it,” said Murdock. “Let ‘em bleed.”

Razor held up the radio pack. “This took most of the blast.”

“I know you,” said Murdock. “You’re just trying to con me into carrying the radio from now on. You done?”

“You want a shot of morphine?”

“Hell, no. It doesn’t hurt that bad, and I don’t need to get any more slowed down.”

“Then I’m done,” said Razor.

Murdock felt the chest pocket of his jacket. “Would you believe I fell on my fucking Motorola? I was wondering why it wasn’t working.”

“I’ll make sure you know what’s going on,” said Razor.