Death Blow

26

“What do we do?” Murdock echoed. “First we pull back over the ridge and set up on the reverse slope. When they get in range of the twenties, we hit them with ten of our remaining twenty-five rounds. We take assigned sectors to do the most damage. If that doesn’t stop them, we run like hell into the valley behind us. There’s enough real dirt down there so we vanish.”

“Vanish like in hide holes?” Jefferson asked.

“Exactly. Now, let’s get over that ridge line.”

The waiting was the hardest. They had moved back to the ridge and went over it, then set up with weapons primed and ready, thrusting over the ridge, and aimed eleven hundred yards down the slope. The Chinese would be still in the valley when they came in range. Murdock hoped that they didn’t split up into flanking units.

“Fifteen hundred yards,” Lam said. “Remember, shooting downhill you’ll get a distortion. Will that make any difference on the lasered sights?”

“We’ll find out,” DeWitt said.

The troops below seemed to be moving slowly. They acted like they were on an ambush patrol checking every bush and gully. Another five minutes before Lam sounded off.

“I make it eleven hundred yards, Commander. A hundred yards inside our Bull Pup range.”

Murdock assigned all five guns to the target with each one a different sector. “I’ll fire one round for range and we’ll check it,” Murdock said. He lasered in on the point of the men in his sector and fired. They saw the flash a second before the sound of the twenty exploding slammed past them like a thundering herd of buffalo.

“Yeah, on target,” Lam said putting down his fieldglasses.

“Two rounds each on your sectors,” Murdock said and sighted in again. All but one of the ten rounds were on target. The Chinese hit the ground after Murdock’s first shot. They made a better target that way for an air burst. Two men ran to the rear. One whole diamond formation was neutralized with dead and wounded.

Two other formations regrouped, and with what must have been strong leadership, began walking forward.

“Let’s move it,” Murdock said. “Down to the dry river-bed. Twenty yards apart. Should be enough loose sand down there to make the holes easy. Go, go, go.”

They jogged down the slope.

“Twenty minutes,” DeWitt said on the net. “Should take the Chicoms twenty to get up that slope the way they’re moving. So we need some fast action of the digging.”

The SEALs came to the streambed and spaced out along it facing the ridge they had just left. Then they dug with their hands and their K-bar knives, moving enough sand to lay down in the hole and then pull the sand over them as total camouflage. Only their faces would show and the muzzles of their weapons pointing at the ridge line.

All the men worked hard. Canzoneri had given his weapon and combat vest to buddies and Mahanani helped him make the trip down to the dry streambed.

“Hurts like hell, Maha. Maybe one of those capsules when you get time.”

Both were digging in the sand with their combat knives. Mahanani gave Canzoneri a shot of morphine, then made sure he was covered and ready before he finished his own hole.

“Short time,” Murdock called. The last man slid into his hole and pulled the last bit of sand over his arms and chest.

They were good. Murdock looked ahead and could see only one lump of sand that looked unnatural. It should work.

Again they waited.

Murdock has positioned himself so he could see the ridge line they had just left. That’s where the first Chicoms should appear.

Another five minutes crawled by before Murdock saw the first Chicom head lift tentatively over the ridge line and then vanish. Two more took a look, then another, probably an officer, edged up and used fieldglasses.

“Our company has arrived,” Murdock whispered into his lip mike.

The Chinese became bolder. One man sat on the ridgetop. Another stood and pointed his rifle down into the small valley. The enemy troops were less than two hundred yards from the SEALs. If they marched across the streambed they would probably step on one of the SEALs. If they kicked one man out of the camouflage it would be a close-in deadly fight, and the SEALs would not have a chance. Would they come down?

As he watched, Murdock saw three men slide over the edge and move forward. Good move, send out a patrol. The three men moved with nervous hesitation. They looked across the valley and at the far ridge line. It was a thousand yards away, but they had been hurt before at that range. If the patrol kept coming, Murdock knew two of them would miss the SEALs. One man would be inside the group. He couldn’t see exactly where. Then they were so close, Murdock ducked his face into his hand and slid his cammy colored floppy hat over his head.

He heard nothing for three minutes. Murdock knew it was three minutes because he counted: one alligator, two alligators, three alligators… when he reached a hundred and eighty, he cautiously lifted his face off his hand and peered out. He could see a few heads over the closest ridge line. Where was the three-man patrol? He moved his head slightly and slowly so he could see downstream. There they were. The men had crossed the dry bed and were halfway up the far ridge. They all had been below the SEALs or the one who went through the patrol hadn’t stepped on anyone.

A voice bellowed at the patrol from the near ridge, an order of some sort. The patrol turned and began jogging back. If they kept their course they would miss where the SEALs were hidden.

They all waited.

Murdock used the lip mike. “Hold fast everyone. The patrol is heading back to the ridge. Their route will miss our location.”

“What happens if they decide to leave a lookout up on that ridge, Skipper?” Jaybird asked.

“Then we all go to sleep until it gets dark,” DeWitt answered.

Later Murdock used the mike again. “Anybody see the patrol?”

“I’ve got them,” Lam said. “Almost to the top of the near ridge they came down.”

“Just hold on, guys. We played Indian this way for four hours at a time in training, remember?” Two minutes later, Murdock wondered about the wounded man. “Canzoneri, how are you doing?” Murdock asked.

There was no immediate reply.

“Cap, I think he went to sleep,” Mahanani said. “He had an ampoule and he was getting sleepy when I helped him with his hole. He should be okay. Just so he doesn’t sleepwalk.”

They waited again.

“The patrol just went over the ridgeline, Skipper,” Lam said. “I haven’t seen any heads up there for ten minutes. You want me to ease up there and see if they all left?”

“And what if they haven’t left?” DeWitt chimed in.

“Then I’m a dead Mandarin duck in goose sauce,” Lam said. “Yeah. Guess not a good idea.”

“Can anybody can see his watch?” Murdock asked.

“Yeah,” Ching said. “I’m a little claustrophobic so I always get my watch where I can see it. Almost seventeen hundred.”

“Roger, seventeen hundred,” Murdock said. “Should be dark in another two hours. Everyone take a nap. No wet dreams you guys, you’ll shake all the sand off your bodies.”

Murdock moved slightly, then again. He felt some of the carefully placed sand, dirt and rocks spill off him. Couldn’t be helped. He had to get better look at the ridgeline. Now, he had it all. Where he had seen heads and an occasional rifle before, now there was nothing. Were they playing possum on him, waiting out his next move? Or did they give up and figure that the SEALs had bugged out over the next ridge and were running like crazy? Could be either one.

He waited.

Now he had moved so he could see his watch. Time dragged. He thought of something pleasant. Like Ardith Manchester the only woman in his life for the past three or four years. Yes, beautiful, tall, Ardith with the long blond hair, a svelte sexy body, and a sharp lawyer’s mind. Still in D.C. working with her father the senator from Oregon. Murdock was still trying to persuade her to leave D.C. and move to San Diego. Move in with him. Maybe, some time soon.

He shifted minutely and felt the sand and dirt shift. Not good. Murdock checked his watch. Past eighteen hundred. Could be dark in a half-hour.

Murdock looked at the ridge again. Hell, he should move up there and check it. He got the men into this trap. He should be the one to get them out of it. He moved one leg, then stopped. Give it a few more minutes.

His earpiece sounded off. “Don’t go, Murdock,” DeWitt said. “I know what you’re thinking. It isn’t time yet. Wait for dusk at least.”

“Hadn’t crossed my mind.”

“Don’t let it. After dark we can get back on our westward trek and be home free in India before morning.”

“I’m taking bets on that,” Murdock said.

They waited.

Ten minutes later, Murdock looked at his watch. It was nearly dusk. Time to move out. He freed one arm when his Motorola responded.

“Cap, good news,” Lam said. “The fucking fucked up Chicoms have bugged out from the ridge. Not a sight nor sound of them up here. No wonder, I got ten feet away from you guys, and I couldn’t locate any of you. I’d say it’s time to rock and roll.”

“Lam, didn’t I order you not to go up there,” DeWitt barked on the radio.

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant sir. You told me not to go up there at that time. You didn’t tell me not to come up here later on. It’s done, so sue me.”

“Enough,” Murdock said. “Let’s rise and shine, you guys. Count heads to be sure we don’t leave somebody sleeping. Up and at ’em.”

Murdock got to his feet and watched the river bottom erupt with bodies every twenty feet. It was weird, surprising even though he knew there were twelve other men down there. They all came up spitting and coughing, Within two minutes they had cleared their weapons, cleaned any problem areas, locked and loaded and were ready to travel.

“Lam, out front by fifty, keep us in sight if possible. We’ll head due west across this valley and up the other side where the Chicoms think we already went. Anybody want to put a ten spot on our getting into India by midnight?”

“No way, Skipper.”

“Not a chance.”

“Not with our luck so far.”

“At least you guys put your mouths where your money isn’t. Let’s roll.” A moment later Murdock remember the wounded man.

“Canzoneri, what’s your status?”

“Up and moving, Skipper. Looking for a sturdy stick I can use as a cane. Leg don’t hurt much. I can walk, just don’t know how far or how fast.”

“Mahanani and Canzoneri up front. You set the pace. We’ve got ten hours of blessed darkness to get to India.”

They walked ahead, through the valley and up the slope to the ridge. Murdock figured they were making about three miles an hour. Not bad considering Canzoneri’s wound.

They went down the far side into another ravine-like valley and over two more ridges before Lam called a halt.

“Can’t be sure, Skip, but sounds damn like a war is going on up ahead. Can’t be more than two or three miles off. I’ve got machine guns, rifles, and what sounds like artillery rounds all blasting away. Come on up and take a listen.”

Ten minutes later the platoon was convinced.

“We got a fucking war on out there,” Jaybird said.

“Could be the Chicoms and the Indians going at it on a border clash,” DeWitt said. “They have been having trouble along half their frontier for the past twenty years.”

“Great, so we pick the one spot where it’s flared up on the night we want to cross,” Murdock said. “We keep moving straight ahead until we see how broad the front is. Then we go around the closest end in a student body left.”

“A sweep,” Anderson said. “Yeah we used to use that one when I played some college football.”

“Cost us some time but what else can we do?” DeWitt asked.

“We’re going to have to slow down again,” Mahanani said. “Canzoneri is down. He can’t walk on that leg anymore. We’re going to have to carry him from here to the border.”