Ambush

3

Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock leaned back in his chair in his office in Third Platoon, SEAL Team Seven, and played it over in his mind again. Yes, it should work. He needed a good test for his new men in the squad. They had performed well in the mission to Libya, but that had been fairly routine. There had been no real test for either Luke Howard or the new Senior Chief Timothy Sadler.

The training exercise he had in mind would help glue the new men into the squad, and help Sadler begin to earn the respect and loyalty of all the men in the platoon.

It was 0630, and Murdock was the only man in the platoon area. He liked it that way. It would give him time to sort things out without any interruptions.

By 0730 Murdock had his desk cleaned up, his after-action report on the Libya affair finished on the computer and e-mailed to Master Chief MacKenzie, who would download it and print up the number of copies needed for distribution.

Senior Chief Sadler came in and showed surprise.

“Sorry, sir, just can’t get used to you being in so early. In my other platoon I was always the first one across the quarterdeck. My PL usually wandered in about 0900.”

“Old habit, Senior Chief. This way I get my desk cleaned for the day’s training. I have a new routine for us for today. Give you a chance to work the men and get to know them a little better.”

“Good, Commander. I’ve needed that. Taking me a while to get settled in here. Some of your men have been together for three years?”

“Going on that, Sadler. We’re a combat outfit. We get a lot of action and the men tend to build strong bonds when they’re saving each other’s skins. Sometimes they think one of them should be Senior Chief, but they don’t have the rate, so it can’t happen. Coffee?”

They both had cups, and the Senior Chief looked up. “Commander, what’s the training sked for today?”

“In the field. We’ll go out east on Highway Eight a little past Boulevard, where we have a handshake arrangement with a landowner. We can do some live firing up in his hills as long as we pick up our brass and don’t start any fires. Some rugged hills up in there that make good training grounds, and a lot closer than going all the way out to Niland and the desert site there.”

“Live firing?”

“You bet, and some tricky work that will take some concentration by all the troops. I’ll brief you on the way up. First call is for 0800 as usual. The six-by will be here by that time, and all we have to do is pick up our ammo, equipment, and gear and we’ll be off. I want you to final-check each man before we leave. Oh, I hope you’re working on names. I want you to know each man’s name and be able to identify him from looking at the back of his head.”

“Working on that, sir. Have our squad down, but not all of Bravo.”

Later Murdock watched as Sadler checked out the equipment on each of the thirteen other EM SEALs. He caught a few minor problems and smoothed over the corrections. Murdock had never doubted Sadler’s ability as a SEAL. He had interviewed four men before he picked Sadler for the top spot here. But as with any new man, the personalities had to mix just right for the top man to be the true EM leader of the platoon. So far Sadler was looking good.

The ride in the six-by truck out to the shooting grounds always took longer than Murdock wanted it to.

By 1030 they were on the ground hiking toward a pair of peaks off the highway by eight miles.

Senior Chief Sadler had given the troops the news. “Men, we’re going on a short hike, about six miles; then we’ll go into combat mode and attack the hill to the left. There are some steep spots and we may have a little rock-climbing work to do to get there. It’s going to take some teamwork and roping. You all have the 600-strength nylon rope. We’ll probably need it. I’ll set the pace at five miles an hour; it’ll help us get the kinks out.”

There were a few grumbles, but nothing Sadler could pick up on. He grinned and led out toward the mountains over the San Diego back country’s dry hills, which received under ten inches of rain a year and grew mostly some low grass and sage. Here and there a splash of green showed in canyons where runoff helped nourish a few live oak trees.

Murdock nodded at the pace. It was strong. The average good walker can do a mile in fifteen minutes, about four minutes to the mile. Five miles is pushing it. Race walkers, who always have one foot on the ground at all times, can do seven to eight miles an hour.

An hour later the sweating SEALs eyed the sharp cliffs and rises in front of them.

“We going up that mutha?” Paul Jefferson, Engineman Second Class, asked. Then he laughed. “Shit, I can do that one blindfolded with one hand.”

Senior Chief Sadler smiled. “Good, Jefferson. You can take the lead. You won’t need any pitons here, but some roping will help. I want you to go up to that first ledge, tie off a rope, and let it down to help anyone up who needs it. I’d just as soon see that rope left untouched by the rest of you.”

Jefferson grinned as he looked at the rock. He’d done some free climbs and quite a bit on rock. He picked his route up the thirty feet to the ledge, and went up it almost without stopping. He kicked loose some rock on one of the footholds. Jefferson tied off his line to a solid upthrust and tossed it down the side.

“Hey, you tenderfeet, you’all can come up now,” Jefferson said.

“Bravo Squad, up the side in combat order. Jefferson, you go up to the next level and wait.”

The climb to the first ledge wasn’t difficult. It took a little care and balance, but the first six men in Bravo made it fine. Only Khai had to grab the rope to keep from falling and power up the last two handholds to the ledge.

Senior Chief Sadler went up the rocks right behind j.g. DeWitt, and then passed the rest on the ledge and worked up thirty-five feet to the second ledge, where Jefferson sat whistling.

“Hey, Senior Chief, about time you got up here. What a view. Look out there, you can see the highway.”

“Yeah, Jefferson, nice view. Now let’s get a rope tied off and down to the first level just in case.”

“Watch Howard, the new guy. Told me he hated rock climbing.”

“Okay, Bravo, send up the squad,” Sadler barked. “Weapons over your backs as usual. Let’s move it.”

The Bravo Squad worked up the next slope, while Alpha came up the first one. The second slope was tougher, with no easy path, and two or three ways that would get you to the top. Fernandez made it with ease; then Franklin went a different route and slipped and skidded four feet back to the ledge. Three SEALs caught him and he tried again. This time he made it.

As the men came to the top of the second shelf, Sadler told Jefferson to lead them off to the left where the ledge bled into a gentle slope toward the top of the mountain.

Ostercamp had some trouble on the second slope, grabbed the rope and saved himself, and went on to the top. From there it went smoothly until Howard started up the second climb. He went up partway, then climbed down and tried another way. On the third try he slipped and fell ten feet down the rocks. Bradford and Lampedusa saw him sliding and broke his fall. All three slammed to the rocky ground, but no bones were broken.

Bradford pointed to the far left route. “That’s the best one, man. Do that one and it’ll be a piece of cake.”

Howard took a deep breath and started up the climb. At the branch to the left route he hesitated, then went that direction and, with only one small slip, gained the top.

Ten minutes later all sixteen SEALs sat in a group on the flank of the mountain looking at the top. Sadler stood and pointed up where they were all looking.

“Nope, we’re not going all the way up. Fact is, it’s time for a short lunch break, twenty minutes to devour those gourmet lunches you brought in your small packs, the ever-loving MREs. So take twenty.”

Meals Ready to Eat were not the favorite of the SEALs, but they had kept them alive more than once on long missions. The SEALs ate what they wanted, and trashed the rest, then carefully picked up every plastic bit and envelope and package, and stuffed it all back in their packs.

Sadler checked his watch, and at precisely twenty minutes after the lunch break started, it ended. “Men, look over to your right. See that snag of a live oak? How far are we from it?”

“A thousand yards,” Ching said.

“More like twelve hundred,” Jaybird chirped.

“Not a chance, it’s not more than nine hundred,” Lampedusa said.

“The scout is right, it’s nine hundred yards. We’re going to capture it. From here to there we have a ravine, a slab of rock an acre wide, and some sagebrush. We’ll go on twenty-yard surges. The rear man gives covering fire as his partner races up twenty yards, goes prone, and when the man behind him stops firing, he opens up as his buddy runs past him and up twenty yards.

“The important points here are two. I want a straight-string line across those men advancing and going prone. Any man more than two feet out of line gets a hundred push-ups on the spot. Second, be sure you don’t gun down your buddy running up beside and then out in front of you.

“Pair off in your combat sequence. We want an eight-man front across here, ten yards apart. Get paired up. I’m with Van Dyke at the end of the line, but I’ll be watching your progress. Any questions?”

“If my partner shoots and kills me, can I have a different partner next time?” Jaybird asked.

“Not a chance, Jaybird, because we’ll be using you for our target in the Shoot the Naked SEAL Runner game.”

The platoon howled in laughter. The Senior Chief had a quick wit to match Jaybird.

“Let’s line up and do it,” Sadler bellowed. They each paired off beginning with the first two men in the combat order, and looked at Sadler.

“This isn’t a race. Keep in line on the run forward. Let’s go. As soon as the first man takes off, his partner should be live-firing five yards to his left. Watch where you’re shooting. Go.”

The eight men ran forward. As soon as they left, the prone eight men began firing. Then all stopped as their partners dove to the ground in the prone and began firing. The backup men ran forward, past their partners, and kept running for twenty yards.

“Keep the fucking line straight,” Sadler brayed as he ran in his turn advancing with the others. They straightened the line, then hit the ground and began firing.

After five rotations of the teams, they had covered two hundred yards, and Sadler blew a whistle. All firing stopped, all men paused in place. Third Platoon hadn’t heard a whistle since most of them were in BUD/S.

“Hold it in place,” Sadler shouted. He went up to the front. “Enough. You have the idea. We don’t need to waste any more ammo. This drill is called teamwork. If you don’t do your job exactly right, precisely the way you’re supposed to, one of you could get shot up and be dead on the spot.”

He looked around. “You guys done good. That’s all of my part in this little showcase. I think the j.g. has something to say.”

Ed DeWitt stood, pulled the Bull Pup off his back, and held it in front of him with both hands. A bulge on his left forearm showed where the bandage was that covered his in-and-out bullet wound.

“We’re back from a quick mission. Sometimes I like them. They give us some action, let us get shot at, and then we’re home where we can take it easy for a while. The trouble is, we never know how long a little while will be. Right now we have no orders. I don’t even know of any hot spots around the world where we might be called to participate.

“So, we’re going back to basics. In a combat situation, we must be sharp mentally and physically. Not much we can do to change our mental ability other than to stay focused and stay alert during a mission. On the physical side we can always get better. You can do a hundred push-ups? Fine, how about five hundred? You can run a mile in six minutes? Fine, can you do it in five minutes flat? Top mile runners can do the mile now under four minutes.

“Starting tomorrow we’ll have light packs and weapons on a seven-minutes-to-the-mile run. We do ten miles. In the afternoon we will go to the ups schedule: pull-ups, sit-ups, and push-ups. The man who wins each category gets a free case of Bud.”

That brought a cheer.

“For now we’re out here for live firing. I want Senior Chief Sadler and Howard to run some rounds through on the Bull Pup, and the EAR. The commander will work with the rest of you on firing yours and the rest of the weapons for all-around familiarity. We don’t use the fifty much anymore. Our Bull Pups have replaced it with gratifying results. We’ll move up a hundred yards so we’re five hundred from the old live oak snag over there, and spread out for firing.”

Senior Chief Sadler had fired his Bull Pup on the mission, but never quite understood the range and damage the weapon was capable of. Now, in the daylight, he fired at the snag, and marveled at the way the rounds either hit close to it or did an airburst with the laser sighting.

“You were right, j.g., this damn weapon will revolutionize the ground soldier’s job. He won’t have to wait for mortars to come up, or for artillery to wipe out something, and he can shoot over the fucking reverse slope of hills, into bunkers and in back of buildings. I love this gun!”

Howard took his turn with the Bull Pup. He winced at the kick the 20mm round gave off. “Hey, like a shotgun,” he said. Then he watched the burst over the snag and laughed. “Keriest in a fucking bucket, look at that thing. I want to buy one of these to go duck hunting with. Hell, have my limit with the first flight.”

They both fired the EAR weapon, and asked about the range.

“We’re not sure, from two hundred to three hundred yards. Howard, would you walk out there four hundred yards and see if we can knock you off your feet?”

Howard stood automatically, then frowned. “You pullin’ my leg, j.g. Don’t think I’ll take that walk.”

They all laughed. “We’ve used it at two hundred yards, but I can’t remember anything much longer than that,” DeWitt said. “They must be working on a more powerful model that will reach out longer and have more of a punch, and a larger battery in the stock.”

Murdock worked the men on the weapons until he was sure that each man had fired all the types of weapons they had brought. It was essential that every man could fire effectively every rifle and machine gun that they used. If the machine gunner went down, another man had to be as good with it as the first man was, and grab it and use it at once.

By 1600 they were finished. It took them another half hour to police up the brass from the firing. They dumped the shell casings in their packs and then began the hike back to the truck. They moved mostly downhill and Sadler led them, sometimes running, sometimes walking fast. They were sweating and tired when they came to the truck after the six-mile trip. The men climbed on board at once, eager to get back to the base and a good meal later on.

Sadler looked at the Navy man who was their driver for the day. He had stayed with the truck and eaten his MRE. He had dumped the envelopes and papers and packaging in a circle around where he had sat for his lunch in the shade of the truck.

“Ready to go, Senior Chief?” the driver asked.

“Sailor, you have a name?” Sadler asked.

“Yeah, Senior Chief, I’m Rawlings.”

“Rawlings, I hope you enjoyed your lunch.”

“No way, Chief. Not a chance. It was an MRE.”

“I should make you eat the wrappings, Rawlings. Now down on your knees and pick up every spot of paper and plastic you see for ten yards and cram it all into your pockets. Don’t you ever leave a litter like that again on a SEALs trip.”

Rawlings’s eyes went wide; then he saw the Senior Chief wasn’t kidding, and he dropped to his knees and began picking up the green plastic wrappings and the envelopes and wrappings from the MRE.

The SEALs in the truck burst out cheering. Sadler went around the truck and crawled into the cab. Murdock slid in beside him.

“Good play, Senior Chief,” he said, and the two men slapped hands in a low five.

“It’s a start, Skipper. Now we have to keep these guys in tip-top condition. That’s going to take some work.”